There was something about the girl that made her hackles rise. The six-inch high heels, the tarty ankle chain, the hair held so immaculately, unnaturally in place. Not that there was anything wrong with making an effort, trying to look your best, but this girl was …
Geraldine shuddered. She knew she was being unfair. Michael was his own man. Whatever had happened was as much his fault as Patricia’s. Nobody had made him fall for her, leave his life behind, abandon his family. If he had been someone else’s son she would have seen things differently, looked down her nose at him and branded him a typical bloody man, following the contents of his trousers instead of his head. But if the girl had dressed more plainly, done up a few more buttons on her bulging blouse, shown some respect for the fact that Michael was a father, then maybe, just maybe …
Ruby may not initially have been her ideal choice of daughter-in-law. She was young. Far too young and definitely troubled, but there were reasons for that. And Michael had seemed happy enough and settled with her, and with little Lily. While it lasted, anyway. Until the banns had been read and the flowers had been ordered and the novelty had worn off.
Geraldine sat inside the empty shop, her laptop open and a pile of receipts spread out on the counter. She hadn’t looked properly at the accounts in weeks, and today was no different. It was a job she hated, something Ken had always taken care of. Perhaps it was time to pay for some help. Someone good with figures, for just a few hours a week, to take away the burden. It was the sort of thing Ruby and Michael could have helped with, if they’d still been together. They could have made it a family business again, something to build on, for Lily’s future.
She stared out of the cluttered window, watching a young family walk by. Mum, Dad, toddler skipping along at their side with a huge balloon in her hand, and a baby snuggled down in a padded buggy, fast asleep. That’s what weekends should be about. Family. Not the shop. Not sitting here by herself, stewing over things she couldn’t change.
It had been so long since she had seen Lily, but her little face was imprinted on her brain. Such a pretty little thing. Blonde, bouncy, always giggling, just starting to talk in real sentences, develop a mind of her own, and a stubborn streak like her mother’s, already learning to answer back …
Her only grandchild. Well, as far as she knew. No, she wasn’t going to follow that train of thought. She would not go there. She’d promised Ken long ago that she would never talk about that period of her life, that she would put her teenaged mistake behind her, forget about it, never try to find out …
Considering the way Ruby had spoken to her the last time she’d called, she knew she was no longer welcome. But Ruby was angry. Hurt. She was just lashing out, not only at Michael but at anyone or anything that reminded her of his betrayal. Geraldine knew that, but it didn’t make it any easier to help her. Or to know what to do.
She had tried so hard not to take sides but, for months now, she had been a grandmother in name only. It was all Patricia’s fault. How could Michael even think of marrying the girl? She was the reason Ruby had cut off those all-important links between them, kept her at arm’s length for so long. The reason there had been no christening, even after she’d dug out the old family robe and bought the most beautiful little silver bangle, engraved with Lily’s name. No wedding either. The hat she’d spent hours choosing was still there, at the top of the wardrobe, in a big pink box. All fancy feathers and net. She’d so looked forward to wearing it, but she’d be buggered if she’d get it out for this latest bride-to-be, that was for sure.
Patricia was the reason her granddaughter was lost to her. Stealing her son away from his family, bringing out all the hate and blame and anger in Ruby, feelings that had erupted and spilled out towards Michael, and had somehow marked her, Geraldine, as the enemy too, tearing her dreams for the future and her innocent little granddaughter away from her in one fell swoop. And now she had let the bloody woman into her home. Put the naffest sheets she could find on the bed, hidden the coffee maker, plastered on a smile so false it was almost a match for Patricia’s fingernails, or her ridiculously pointy boobs. Small gestures, a silent rebellion that her son, in his Patricia-blindness, would never see.
No, she didn’t like her. And if Michael insisted on going ahead with this wedding, then she wasn’t overly keen on him either. She loved him, of course, in the way mothers tend to do – no matter what – but right now she didn’t like him an awful lot. The sooner he and Patricia sorted things out with Ruby about access to Lily, and buggered off back where they’d come from the better.
*
Lily had found the medicine easily. It had been left out on the table in the kitchen, next to the empty tomato sauce that Mummy had turned upside down to catch the last drips, and a big pile of letters. She held the small medicine bottle in her even smaller hands and pulled at the lid but she couldn’t undo it. She tried twisting and twisting until her wrists hurt but it wouldn’t come off. She had seen Mummy open things with a knife before. Slitting into envelopes, opening packets, and forcing lids off things.
Lily knew where the knives were kept, even though she wasn’t allowed to use them, except for eating her dinner and that was just a small kiddie knife without the really sharp bit. She stood up on her tippy-toes and pulled the drawer open, blindly dipping her hand inside. Wrapping her fingers around the wooden handle of one of the big knives, she pulled it towards her and lifted it out. It was heavy and it wobbled in her grasp, the blade part all long and flat and shiny. Like the sword you use to kill dragons with. Lily hoped there weren’t any dragons in real life. She could still hear the noise from the phone by the door. She was getting used to it now, and she still wasn’t sure what it was, but she didn’t think it was a dragon.
Lily sat on the floor and held the medicine bottle in one hand and the big knife in the other. She pushed the tip of the knife into the side of the lid, jabbing it hard and then moving it about, like Mummy did, but nothing happened. She pushed harder and harder, but still it didn’t come off. And then the knife slipped away from her and the edge of the blade sliced into the flesh at the base of her thumb as it fell. A thin trickle of blood appeared instantly and spread in spidery patterns across her palm. She cried out, more in shock than pain, and clutched her hand closed. Lily didn’t like blood. Mummy would have got her a plaster, one with cartoon pictures on it, but Mummy wasn’t here. She put her hand down flat, leaving a sticky red handprint on the floor, and levered herself back up onto her feet, but the knife drawer was still open and her head hit the corner of it, hard, bouncing her back.
Lily’s hand flew to her head as she fell, the warm wet blood from her thumb oozing out again and mixing with a fresh trickle that was already running from somewhere beneath her hair. She didn’t know what to do. It hurt. Everything hurt, but there was nobody to help her. All she could do was scream, cry, curl up on the floor in a tight ball, the sobs racking through her tiny body, until the throbbing, stinging feeling slowly ebbed away and the blood on her head and hands dried into a dark red crust, and she fell asleep.
When she woke up she was hungry again, hungrier than she had ever been. Her head felt better, but she needed something to make her tummy feel better too. And her poorly hand. She wasn’t sure if it was her left hand or her right hand. Was it the one nearest to the door? All she knew was that it felt sore again as soon as she tried to open her fingers out.
She had already eaten the last apple from the bowl earlier, right down to the pips, and a very hard slice of half-eaten toast she’d found on a plate on the table. But now her tummy was empty and growling out loud and all she wanted was a biscuit. Mummy always let her have a treat if she’d been brave. And she had. She had real blood now to prove it.
The cupboard with the biscuits in it was very high up. Nearly at the ceiling. Lily stood up slowly and closed the knife drawer, dropping the big bad knife back inside. She looked around for something to help her reach the cupboard, and the biscuit tin. The kiddie step was still there by the sink, standing in a little puddle of water. She dragged it carefully across the kitchen floor, leaving a slippery wet trail behind it, like a snail. Kiddie steps were made for standing on, so she stood on it, but it wasn’t tall enough. She wasn’t tall enough. She still couldn’t reach up high enough to get to the biscuit cupboard.