Lily Alone: A gripping and emotional drama. Vivien Brown

get you anything else?’

      ‘No, everything’s fine, thank you, Mrs Payne. We ate a late lunch, and I’m not very hungry, that’s all.’

      ‘Tart?’

      Patsy wasn’t sure for a moment whether she was being offered more food or if Geraldine was taking a sly opportunity to tell her just how she felt about her. She looked across at Michael, hoping to see some reaction, but his attention seemed taken up elsewhere, as he gazed out at a tree branch that overhung the fence and watched a bird balancing on it like a mini ballerina, bobbing up and down on its thin little legs.

      ‘It’s apple,’ Geraldine continued, straight-faced, not batting an eyelid. ‘Oh, no, of course, you don’t like pastry. Ice cream, then? Or a piece of fruit? We do like to finish with some sort of dessert, don’t we, Michael? Even if we think we’re full!’

      We! We? Why did she think she could speak for Michael? Act like some kind of expert on what he liked to eat. As if he was still five years old. The woman was infuriating. Michael went on watching the bird, oblivious as always.

      ‘No. No, really. Nothing else. But let me help with the clearing up at least.’

      Patsy would not rise to it. She would remain on her best behaviour, breathe deeply and say nothing. She started to pile up the plates, turning her back towards the others to hide her frustration, and dropping a greasy fork onto the carpet in the process. It was lying right next to Geraldine Payne’s fluffy-slippered foot, and, as she bent to retrieve it, she couldn’t help but notice the big thick blue vein that ran haphazardly up the side of her calf like a length of coiled string. Ugh!

      There was a gravy mark on the carpet now too, but best not to point it out and risk all the fuss, so she supposed it was up to her to clean it up. She had no idea where to look for the right cloths or cleaning stuff, and no inclination to ask. It would have to be a blob of Fairy on a j-cloth. Or on one of those hideous robin serviettes. Oh, God, how she wanted to get out of here and back to her own cooking and her cold tiled floors.

      ‘Oh, and I do think you should start to call me Geraldine, don’t you? We’re as good as family now. Mrs Payne sounds so formal, and you’ll be calling yourself by that name soon enough, won’t you? If everything goes to plan …’

      Goes to plan? Why shouldn’t it go to plan? They were getting married, weren’t they?

      ‘So, Michael, when are you going up to see Ruby?’ Geraldine’s voice had dropped to a whisper but not enough to prevent it reaching Patsy’s ears as she stumbled through into the kitchen, catching the heel of her shoe on the door jamb.

      ‘It’s okay, Mum. No need to whisper. I don’t keep secrets from Pats. But in answer to your question, I don’t know. I had hoped Ruby would be reasonable for once and that she’d have been in touch by now. She knows we’re here. I’ll call her in the morning …’

      Patsy tried to keep her balance, but hopping on one foot was not easy when she was carrying a pile of plates. Chucking them ahead of her onto the draining board quickly, before they could slip out of her hands, she winced as they landed loudly. Too loudly. But at least they hadn’t smashed. ‘Oh, sorry,’ she said, half-heartedly, over her shoulder, knowing they probably couldn’t hear her anyway. ‘No harm done.’

      But Michael and his mother were already moving off into the front room, the subject changed, and were now deep in conversation about the overhanging tree and whether to talk to the next-door neighbour about cutting it back, leaving her to do the washing-up and try to make something that at least half-resembled a decent cup of coffee.