‘How long do you think we’re going to be stuck here?’ Eleanor crossed her arms in front of her chest. ‘There’s no way she can go home yet, but I’m supposed to be in London this weekend seeing a show with Paul, and next week I really need to go back into the office. Being stuck in this godforsaken place is far from ideal.’
‘It’s not godforsaken, it’s beautiful,’ said Lily.
‘Whatever. The fact is, being here is really inconvenient.’
‘No one asked you to come!’
‘That’s as maybe. But I’m here now, so I’m not going to leave you to deal with everything on your own. I’m just saying it’s bloody irritating.’
Lily sighed. It was typical of Eleanor to give with one hand, then take away again with the other. She clearly felt she was being helpful, and it must have cost her a fortune to travel up from Brighton and stay in the rather exclusive Roxborough Hotel up the road. But, although it had been her decision to make the journey, it seemed as if she still couldn’t resist making Lily feel bad about it.
They were sitting at a table in the Campbells’ dining room, waiting for lunch. Eleanor hadn’t been keen on the idea, but it was pouring with rain and neither of them wanted to get soaked going out to buy a sandwich. The only alternative was balancing another of Joan’s trays on the edge of an armchair in Moira’s bedroom, and Lily didn’t feel she could cope with that either.
‘Ladies!’ beamed Archie, flying through the swing door from the kitchen bearing two plates. ‘A little something to put a smile on your faces on such a miserable day.’
He put down the plates in front of them, then stepped back and stretched out his arms, as if he was about to launch into song. ‘Ta da!’ he said. ‘Quiche à la Campbell, with leafy greens and scalloped sweet baby tomatoes drizzled with a garlic and oil jus.’
‘Gosh,’ said Lily. ‘Thank you.’
When he’d disappeared into the kitchen again, leaving the door swinging energetically in his wake, Lily looked up and her eyes met Eleanor’s. They both snorted with laughter.
‘Shh!’ whispered Lily, feeling the disapproving glare from an elderly couple at a table by the window.
‘What is he like?’ Eleanor said, picking up her fork and prodding the food. ‘How are these tomatoes “scalloped”? They’ve just been chopped in half. As for the jus – it looks like French dressing to me.’
‘It’s not exactly haute cuisine, is it? You’d be better off eating at the Roxborough.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Eleanor, cutting into her quiche. ‘I’d rather eat with you.’
Lily looked at her daughter in surprise; that had almost sounded friendly. She snuck quick glances at Eleanor as they ate. She had been a pretty little girl, who’d turned into a beautiful woman with defined cheekbones, large green eyes and an almost perfect nose. But, despite what Moira had said the other night, Lily couldn’t see anything of herself in her daughter. There was so much of Nick in those features. It probably wouldn’t hurt quite as much if Eleanor had less of her father’s personality as well.
Out of nowhere, she suddenly remembered the two of them sitting across from each other at a similar hotel lunch table, many years previously. They’d all been in Sidmouth, on a week’s break during the school holidays. Eleanor was eight and loved dressing up in her best clothes to eat in the restaurant. It had been a strangely peaceful week – endless sunshine and days spent on the beach, no arguments, hardly any childish tantrums from either Eleanor or her father. Lily remembered feeling more relaxed than she had in a long time. One day, Nick had booked a fishing trip and, while he was away, Lily and Eleanor had eaten lunch together in the restaurant. She had sat across the table from her daughter, listening to her chat about rock pools and stinky seaweed. She’d just found a starfish on the beach and was writing a story about it. Her eyes lit up as she went into detail about the plot and Lily had sat in silence, soaking up the animation and enthusiasm, bursting with love for the independent, bright little girl who had so much ahead of her. That had been the last family holiday they’d taken during which Lily had been unaware they weren’t a proper family anymore; a few weeks after they got back to Brighton, Lily had learnt Nick was having an affair. It probably wasn’t the first, and she already sensed it wasn’t going to be the last.
Archie’s quiche was actually rather good. After lunch they went back upstairs to Moira’s room. She had hardly touched her food and her chest was sounding wheezy.
‘I’m not sure the antibiotics are working,’ Eleanor said. ‘Do you think we ought to get that doctor back again?’
‘No!’ said Lily, immediately realising she’d sounded too abrupt. ‘I mean, I doubt we could get someone here until tomorrow now, and it’s probably too soon to tell whether the pills are having any effect. Let’s leave it.’
‘I’d quite like to see that lovely man again,’ said Moira. ‘He was extremely handsome.’
‘Let’s not bother him,’ Lily said.
She and Jake had been exchanging texts since she got back from the lake last night – dozens of texts. Lily had started it, lying awake in bed on her own, wishing she was lying beside Jake in his hotel room. She was kicking herself for not being more forthcoming with him and being so formal when they said goodbye. So what if he might have knocked her back? She was forty-seven years old and was way past the hormonal posturing and emotional game-playing she might have indulged in twenty years earlier. Plus, she was hundreds of miles from home and due to be leaving Keswick soon and would never see this man again. So, what did she have to lose? After writing and deleting at least six versions of a text, she finally pressed send, then immediately wished she hadn’t done it.
Less than twenty seconds later, her heart lurched into her throat as a reply pinged in:
Oh my God, there was an x at the end! She squealed out loud in the darkness, then laughed at herself; what an idiot! She left it a couple of minutes before replying:
It was another couple of minutes before his reply pinged in:
She read the message again and again and again. He must be keen. He sounded keen? He wouldn’t be replying if he wasn’t. Or maybe he was just bored.
‘Lily Bennett, stop being so bloody paranoid!’ she said to herself, her voice sounding very loud in the poky little bedroom at the back of Glenmorrow.
More texts followed; neither of them declared undying love – although she was sorely tempted – but the ongoing conversation was fun and familiar and made Lily feel happier than she had felt in a long time. They finally signed off shortly before 1am, and he had texted just after dawn to say good morning and tell her he was heading out on a run round the lake if she wanted to join him. She’d told him she didn’t do running of any kind and then added a couple of heart and smiley face emojis. As soon as she’d pressed send, she wanted to drag the text back and replace it with something more sophisticated. But his reply – a row of xoxox – made her smile and she had run her finger across the screen, as if it would bring her closer to the man who’d sent the message.
Today she was feeling the after-effects of too little sleep and her head was stuffed full of an excess of Jake. Throughout the morning she kept remembering snippets of their conversation, the sound of his laugh, the way he subconsciously touched his forefinger to his right eyebrow when he was about to answer a question.
But now Eleanor was suggesting they call him back to see Moira, and although this wonderful man had taken up residence inside her head, she needed to keep him away from her mother and her daughter – the prospect of the four of them being in the same room again was enough to give her palpitations.
‘Mum, what’s the matter with you?’ snapped Eleanor. ‘It’s not as if we have to pay for the doctor to visit.’
‘That’s not what I meant!’
‘We should get him here again to check the antibiotics are doing their job. We need to be sure Granny will be well enough to travel. I’m going back to the Roxborough to do some work, so I’ll call the surgery from there.’
‘I just don’t think there’s any need…’ Lily began. ‘He must be very busy, with so many patients to see.’ But Moira was coughing again on the bed in front of them.
‘I can’t believe you’re being so selfish!’ Eleanor said. ‘I’m going to call to arrange it and that’s the end of it.’
‘I’m not bloody well going home!’ Moira said. ‘But I don’t mind seeing that handsome doctor again. He did have lovely warm hands.’
After Eleanor left, Lily sat in the armchair. Her book lay open in her lap but she kept finding her eyes had skimmed across an entire page without taking in any of it. Moira was scribbling away in her notebook, chuckling to herself every now and then.
‘He was good-looking, back then,’ she said, suddenly.
‘Who was?’
‘Oliver! He had all that lovely hair and he was very muscly. Not like he is now – that belly is shocking.’
‘I guess age catches up with us all.’
‘Well, I haven’t let myself go like that!’
Lily laughed. ‘No, that’s true.’
‘You’ve got his height,’ Moira said, staring at Lily across the room. ‘Not the hair, yours is darker. But maybe the chin is similar as well.’
Lily’s book fell off her lap onto the floor.
‘I think I’m going to have a little doze now,’ Moira said, carefully closing her notebook and putting it on the bedside table. She wriggled herself down in the bed, crossing her hands in front of her chest and closing her eyes. ‘Just a quick nap.’
Lily’s mouth had fallen open. She leant forward and picked up her book, straightening out the pages which had creased as it hit the carpet. Maybe she hadn’t heard that properly? Or she might have totally got the wrong end of the stick; it was probably just Moira, wittering on in her usual way, and Lily had read more into what she was saying than she should have done.
But she knew she hadn’t.
Her mother started to snore, the rasps loud in the silent bedroom. Lily got up from the chair and tiptoed across to the bathroom, clicking on the overhead light and shutting the door behind her. She stood with her hands on the basin, leaning forward so she was inches away from the mirror, close enough to examine every pore on her skin, every freckle, every tiny wrinkle. Her pulse was racing, blood pumping around her head making her temples thud.
She stared at this face she knew so well, the face she’d looked after so carefully: cleansing, toning, moisturising, adding subtle touches of eyeliner and mascara every morning. The face was starting to age, but it marked out who she was and where she came from. She had never thought she looked like either of her parents – though people had told her she was a lot like Moira when she was younger. But Lily couldn’t remember anyone ever suggesting she looked like her father.
It could be that she needed to study this face with someone else in mind. Maybe she should be searching for traces of Oliver?