Everything is a jumble in Lillian’s mind, fragments of memory splintering and fusing. She is running through a London garden, hearing the fast patter of her sister’s feet behind. The high-pitched scream of an air-raid siren pierces the sky as she dives into the black interior of a shelter. The next moment she is trapped, lying in an airless room, a terrible pain in her legs and her lungs filling with acrid smoke as someone bangs on a wooden door. There is a loud explosion. The crackle of flames. Her sister’s cry. Shifting peacock eyes moving like a kaleidoscope all around her. She is pinned to the past – a butterfly trapped in a glass case – a caged bird fluttering at bars. She can’t breathe.
‘Lillian,’ says an urgent voice. ‘Lillian, it’s Maggie. You’re dreaming. Wake up.’
Lillian can’t wake up. The blackness is all-consuming.
‘Lillian?’
She feels a cool hand being laid against her forehead before the sound of footsteps once more, this time running away.
‘How did she seem to you?’ asks Maggie, more nervous than she cares to admit.
The doctor snaps open her briefcase and pulls out a prescription pad. ‘Her blood pressure is elevated and she does have a high temperature. I’m going to prescribe an antibiotic and a new medication to stabilise her blood pressure. I’d like to check on your grandmother again in a few days; but if you have any concerns before then, please call the surgery immediately.’ She writes the new prescription and hands it to Maggie.
‘Thank you. What about her breathing? She said she couldn’t breathe. She kept talking about smoke.’ Maggie looks at the doctor, baffled. ‘It was so odd.’
The doctor nods. ‘Everything seems normal now. It might have been a hallucination brought on by the fever . . . perhaps a bad dream or a panic attack? The most important thing is to keep her well rested and hydrated. I don’t think it’s anything serious to worry about, but after the kidney infection earlier this year, I don’t want to take any chances. In the meantime, anything you can think of to lift her spirits – sunshine, conversation, old photographs, favourite pieces of music – it’s all beneficial. We like to take a more holistic approach with our elderly patients these days.’
Maggie sees the doctor out to her car and stands for a long time in the sunshine, thinking. Something to raise Lillian’s spirits.
Maggie hands her the piece of paper in the drawing room. She feels a little sheepish. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve held on to this for far too long. I should have given it to you the moment I found it.’
Lillian, lying pale and wan against her pillows, takes the folded page from Maggie’s outstretched hand. ‘What is this?’ she asks, unfolding it, her eyes scanning over the first words. ‘My dearest heart . . .’ she murmurs. She reads a couple more lines silently before looking up at Maggie, astonishment on her face. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘I found it in a drawer.’
‘Which drawer?’
‘In Charles’s study. His desk. It was jammed right at the back.’
Lillian stares down at the page in her hand, running her finger over the words, her lips moving silently. It’s as if she can’t quite believe her eyes. ‘All this time . . .’
‘I don’t know why I held on to it for so long. I’m sorry. It belongs to you.’
‘I never thought I’d see this again.’
Maggie hangs her head. ‘I knew it was private – something special that should have been shared between just the two of you.’
Lillian nods but doesn’t look up, still transfixed by the letter in her hand.
‘But I’d like you to know that in many ways it gave me great comfort,’ continues Maggie. ‘It was important for me to know that such a passionate love could exist. You and Granddad had the longest and happiest marriage out of anyone I’ve known. And the devotion you showed him, caring for him as you did after his stroke . . .’ Maggie shakes her head, ‘well, it told me everything I needed to know about my own feelings for Gus.’
Lillian finally looks up and Maggie sees the tears in her eyes. ‘Oh my dear girl,’ she says softly.
‘I don’t want to upset you. I’m sorry. I thought it might remind you of Charles, and of happier times. Something to lift your spirits,’ she adds helplessly, parroting back the doctor’s own words.
‘Oh, Maggie,’ says Lillian, reaching for Maggie’s hand. ‘You left Gus because of this?’
Maggie shrugs. ‘Not because of it, no. But it helped to bring my feelings for him into focus.’
Lillian looks at the paper in her lap and shakes her head. ‘Things aren’t always what they seem. We humans can create wonderful illusions for each other.’
‘What I saw was no illusion,’ says Maggie firmly. ‘The way you looked after Charles after his stroke. The way you ran this house. You’re an inspiration.’
Lillian shakes her head sadly. ‘I let him suffer, Maggie. I stood by and watched as he suffered. I had no compassion for him left in my heart.’
‘No,’ says Maggie. ‘That’s not true. I saw you, day in, day out, caring for him. That was true love.’
This isn’t going the way she had imagined it. She’d thought Lillian would be thrilled to be reunited with her love letter, but she seems more sad and confused than ever. ‘It might have felt that way to you. I’m sure it was exhausting looking after him, and so hard to see him trapped in that wheelchair. I know he wasn’t always the most . . . grateful. But you stuck around. You were there for him, always. For better or worse.’
Lillian’s head snaps up. She looks at Maggie, suddenly clear-eyed and intent. ‘Listen to me, Maggie. You’re right to wait for a love that feels passionate and true – a love that you can’t live without – but in the meantime, take the reins.’ She sounds urgent. ‘Don’t let life just happen to you. Go out there and make it wonderful. Paint your pictures. Make them beautiful. Love. Laugh. Live.’
Maggie grips Lillian’s hand and squeezes it back. ‘I will. I promise.’
Lillian nods and turns her face to the window. ‘This house should have been filled with love and life. There should have been children running through its corridors and climbing the trees. Instead, it was a house of dust and dead things, beauty trapped behind glass, pinned to boards, caught in frames. Life fluttering at the bars of an invisible cage. It wasn’t how it was meant to be.’
‘Gran, don’t upset yourself. I’m sorry. I thought seeing the letter again would cheer you up.’
‘Death and decay,’ murmurs Lillian, her face still turned to the window. ‘It was all death and decay. Perhaps it would have been better if it had all gone up in smoke.’
Maggie watches Lillian. She looks so tired and drawn and Maggie can’t help the terrible feeling that her grandmother is somehow slipping from her, like the leaves that have started to turn on the trees across the estate, the first of them falling on the breeze, drifting and spiralling to the ground.