board. It had a row of baby ducks on it, going right round in a circle, all following their mummy. She turned it over. The tap was stiff. She needed both hands to make it turn, and then the water came out in a big gush that made her jump and splashed all over her top. Lily caught some water in the cup and took a big swig before dropping the cup back into the water in the sink and washing it with the little bar of soap they kept in a dish at the side, playing with the creamy bubbles and rubbing them right up to her elbows, soaking the ends of her sleeves, as slowly the sink began to fill.
Then, suddenly, there was a bang at the front door. Someone was there. Lily froze. What if it was the Big Bad Wolf, come to get her? Or a nasty stranger? She wasn’t allowed to open the door, especially to strangers. Or to talk to them in the street, or in the park. Strangers were dangerous, like dogs. The door was right next to the curly snake that was still making the scary noise, so she couldn’t go there, even if she wanted to.
‘Hello?’
It was a man’s voice, coming from behind the door. From the hall outside.
‘Hello? Ruby? You in there?’ He was shouting louder now.
Lily stood very still.
‘Ruby? Your neighbours from upstairs were just coming out and they let me into the hall. Don’t know if you’re at home, but I’ll leave the stuff out here, love. Should be safe enough. Be back tomorrow to collect it, along with the last lot, okay?’
Then it went quiet again.
Lily didn’t know if he had gone away. She hoped he had. But she still wanted to see. She edged towards the door, her hands over her ears to stop the whiney noise, keeping her eyes on the wiry green snake in case it tried to move and bite her. But she had to look and see who was out there. She had to be brave. She was brave. Mummy had said so when she let the dentist man look inside her mouth. She had got a sticker for that. A sticker that said she was a brave girl.
She lay down on the floor, pressed tight onto the mat. There was an old cat flap low down in the door, left by the people who had lived here before them. The big cat from downstairs had tried to come in once, prodding it with his paw, but Mummy had opened the door and shooed him away before he got right through, and he had run away scared and had never come back again. Mummy said she didn’t want it to come inside. She had never had an animal before, and she wasn’t used to them, didn’t know how to look after them properly. But they were going to get a rabbit. She knew they were. Mummy had said so.
Mummy always said she was going to find something to block the flap up with, but then she forgot again. Lily didn’t want it blocked up. She liked looking through it, flapping the square of scratchy plastic in and out so it rattled, watching what was happening, at ankle level, out in the hall. Spiders, leaves, dust. She saw a mouse once, but it had soon disappeared. Maybe the cat ate it. Sometimes she liked to pretend she was an animal in the zoo, like a lion or a tiger, and that the cat flap was her own little door and she could climb through it and escape when nobody was looking and scare all the visitors, but she had tried it once and it was much too small. She could get her arm through but that was all.
Very carefully now, she pushed it open just a little bit so she could peer out. She could only see his boots, big muddy black boots, moving away from her, making big loud thuds as he walked, and the corner of the big box he’d left in the hall. But then, as he went further away and started to go down the stairs, she could see more of him, and she knew who it was. His big blue jacket, his dirty jeans, his shiny bald head. It was the iron man. Not really a stranger. So maybe she was allowed to talk to him. She could ask him where Mummy was, see if he could help find her, but it was too late now. He disappeared from view, clunking away from her, and the big front door downstairs slammed shut and he was gone.
Lily’s tummy growled just like the lion she was pretending to be. She stood up and ran quickly away from the phone, roaring at it and holding out her claws as she passed, to see if it would make it stop. It didn’t.
She was very hungry now. She had eaten up the rest of the tomatoes last night, and a piece of cheese and a big carrot, even though she didn’t like carrots all that much. She’d unwrapped a bit of paper with two sausages in it and taken a bite off the end of one, but it was all cold and pink because Mummy hadn’t cooked it yet, and it tasted horrible, so she’d spat it out. She had struggled to get the lid off the big blue tub that had the ice cream in it, but when she had, the ice cream was all runny and she’d spilled most of it when she’d tried to drink it on a spoon. Then she’d finished off the last of the milk straight from the bottle but it had tasted horrible. All warm and smelly, and a lump of something yellow had caught in her throat and nearly made her sick.
With big tears running down her face, she had pushed the chair away and the fridge door had swung shut, but the dark had still been too dark, too scary, and she’d quickly opened it again, which didn’t matter because all the food that was in there had gone and now there was some water dripping down the inside and trickling out onto the floor.
Now it was the next day, because she had been to sleep, and she had a tummy ache, and so did Archie. She thought she might need to do a poo but it wasn’t quite ready to come out yet. Mummy sometimes gave her Cowpol when she had a tummy ache, or a cold, or when her head hurt, which it did sometimes when she was tired. A big sugary-sweet pink spoonful that tasted nice and always made her feel better. She didn’t know why it was called Cowpol. Maybe they used it at the farm when the cows were sick. They would need a huge spoon though. Cows had big mouths and great big, long, licky tongues.
She could hear the water running in the sink and remembered she’d left the tap on when she’d heard someone banging at the door. She climbed back up and tried to turn it off, but it was so stiff. It went most of the way but wouldn’t go any more. She could hear it going drip-drip-drip, splashing into the water already there in the sink, bouncing off her ducky cup, as she climbed down from the step and went to look for the medicine.
*
Agnes was in her dressing gown with the tea stain down the front she still hadn’t got around to scrubbing. Her slippers were looking tatty too, but it didn’t seem to matter all that much. Nobody was going to see them but her.
Sundays had been special once, when Donald was still alive. When she would wake early and make bacon and eggs and thinly sliced toast soldiers, and a proper pot of tea, and they’d put on their good clothes and walk together, arm in arm, to church or go for a spin in the car before coming home to a real fire and roast lamb and something nice on the telly. Not any more. Now Sundays merged into all the other days, indistinguishable, ordinary, disappointing.
She poured porridge oats from one of the many packets lined up like giant cardboard dominoes in the cupboard and stood gazing out at nothing in particular through the window as the milk warmed in the pan. It was a bit late to call it breakfast but porridge for lunch was okay, wasn’t it? Why not? She had no one else to please.
There was a boil-in-the-bag cod in butter sauce in the freezer for later and a few peas, plenty for one, with perhaps a corner of the fish left over for Smudge. No need for potatoes at her age. They just filled up space, in the already over-stuffed cupboards, and in her own stomach. You didn’t need the same amount of stodge when you went nowhere, did nothing to burn it off. The paper would be on the mat in the hall by now, so there’d be a bit of scandal to read and a crossword to work on later. She’d maybe sort out her smalls and put a wash load on, pop her dressing gown in too, to see if it would get the stain out. Flip a duster round the place. Other than that, nothing. No grand plan for the day.
The kettle wheezed its way to boiling point and she made herself some strong tea, avoiding the one good pot as usual and just plopping a teabag into the cup. Then she carried it through to her armchair, using both hands, the cup shaking between them and slopping a little tea onto her dressing gown where it slowly sank in unnoticed to join and expand the existing stain like some shapeless wishy-washy brown amoeba. Yes, she’d definitely have to tackle the washing today.
The rain had stopped and there was a watery sun trying to peep between the slow-moving clouds. Agnes arranged herself in her chair, closed her eyes and turned her face towards the light coming