It was almost six o’clock when Lisa at last reached home. She burst through the back door, still glittering with the elation of the afternoon, to find her mother standing at the sink peeling potatoes.
‘Hello, Mum!’ she cried. ‘Look!’ and she smiled like a film star and whirled around on the spot.
Her mother regarded her with a face like a hot-cross bun.
‘I should think I would just look!’ she said. ‘I should think I would. Now perhaps you’ll tell me what on earth you’ve been up to. I’ve had a telephone call from that Magda you’ve been with, Mrs Zombie-something, who rang to say you were on your way home, and she doesn’t even seem to know your name! Maybe it’s her funny accent, but she tried to tell me—me!—your name is Lisa. Imagine! And here you are so late home, and where are your glasses? Did you leave them behind? And why are you so late? You told me you’d be home at four o’clock. I don’t know what to think!’
Lisa’s elation vanished in the moment and she sat down suddenly on a nearby chair. She took her glasses from her bag and put them on the kitchen table, and sat hunched over, thinking. Then she took the lipstick from her bag, and opened the case. It was an expensive kind, in a heavy gold metal container; the colour was called ‘Angel’s Kiss’. She painted her lips, and then she held out the lipstick.
‘Magda gave me this,’ she said. ‘Would you like to try it? It tastes nice, too.’
She pressed her lips together.
‘She gave me this, too,’ she added, pulling at her belt. ‘Do you like it?’
Her mother stared at her, speechless.
‘I’m sorry I was late, Mum,’ Lisa continued, ‘but we went for a walk, and it took longer than I thought it would. We looked at all the houses, and Magda talked about Slovenia. That’s where she comes from. And then I had to walk up to Spit Road, and the tram didn’t come for ages. I’m sorry, honestly.’
‘I don’t know what to think, Lesley,’ said her mother. ‘I’ve never seen you like this before. I don’t know what to think.’
‘There’s nothing to think,’ said Lisa. ‘But Mum, I wish you’d call me Lisa, too. That’s what they all call me at Goode’s. I told them that was my name. It’s on the form and everything.’
‘It’s what!’ exclaimed Mrs Miles. ‘It’s what! What do you mean? Your name is Lesley!’
‘But I don’t like it,’ said the girl. ‘I want to be Lisa. And I will be. And I am!’
And she burst into tears at the same moment as her horrified and overwrought mother began to weep. The two women cried separately for a minute, and then Lisa looked up. Mrs Miles was wiping her eyes on her apron.
‘Lisa,’ she said, ‘Lisa. How do you think it feels to have your own child telling you she wants a different name? You’ve always been Lesley to me, you always will be. What’s wrong with Lesley? It’s a lovely name. Lisa. It’s like a slap in the face. Perfect strangers—’
‘Magda’s not a perfect stranger, she’s my friend,’ said Lisa.
‘Some friend!’ cried Mrs Miles. ‘I don’t even know her!’
‘Well, that’s not my fault,’ said Lisa. ‘She’s still my friend, and so is Stefan.’
‘Who’s Stefan?’ asked Mrs Miles, alarmed.
‘Only Magda’s husband,’ said Lisa.
She thought she had better not mention Rudi just now.
‘He’s very nice. We talked about books. And I’m going to their New Year’s Eve party too, if you’ll let me. Magda said I had to ask your permission.’
‘I should think so!’ said Mrs Miles.
She looked down at the linoleum; secretly she was somewhat mollified by this piece of Slovenian politesse.
‘I’ll see,’ she said. ‘But Lisa! Lisa! How could you do such a thing? To change your name like that, and not a word to me. It’s so sly.’
‘Oh Mum,’ said Lisa. ‘I didn’t mean to be sly, I didn’t. I just wanted—I wanted a real girl’s name. Lesley is a boy’s name.’
‘It’s a girl’s name too,’ said her mother. ‘It’s spelt differently for a boy.’
‘But it sounds the same,’ said Lisa, ‘that’s what counts. I wanted a proper girl’s name, for when I grew up. I’ve been a child for so long now; I want to be grown up.’
‘Oh Lesley—’ said her mother, ‘Lisa. If you only knew what being grown up can be like, you wouldn’t want to do it any faster than you have to.’
‘Oh Mum,’ said Lisa, suddenly appalled, and she got up and went over to her mother and they put their arms around each other.
Mrs Miles’s eyes had filled again with tears which began to slide down her cheeks.
‘Please don’t cry, Mum,’ said Lisa.
‘Oh dear, I don’t know what to think,’ sobbed Mrs Miles. ‘I suppose I always knew I’d lose you one day, I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon!’
And she wept more loudly.
‘Mum, Mum, please don’t cry,’ said Lisa, on the verge herself of fresh tears. ‘You haven’t lost me, you aren’t losing me: you’ll never lose me. You’re my mother, how could you lose me? I’ll stay with you always.’
‘Now, Lesley, Lisa, you know you can’t say that,’ said her mother, wiping her eyes again. ‘You’ll marry, or you’ll go away, even go abroad—all the girls do that now. You can’t stay with me always, can you? It wouldn’t be right. I’m just being selfish, I suppose.’
‘No, you’re not,’ said Lisa. ‘But even if I marry or go away, you’ll still be my mother, and I’ll always see you, often.’
‘I hope so,’ said Mrs Miles.
They glimpsed the long prospect before them and turned their eyes away from its impossibly mysterious and even tragic vistas.
‘Just try to be a good girl, Lesley,’ said her mother. ‘That’s what matters.’
‘Of course I will,’ said Lisa. ‘You can go on calling me Lesley if you like,’ she added.
Her mother now at last smiled.
‘I’ll see,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to see what I think. I might manage to call you Lisa sometimes, if you’re very good. It depends.’
They both laughed and let go of each other.
‘But right now I’d better get on with my potatoes,’ said Mrs Miles, turning back to the sink.
As she did so, she looked at Lisa from the corner of her eye. The girl was leaning over the kitchen table, retrieving her glasses and the lipstick and her handbag, and Mrs Miles was struck by the feminine grace of her form, set off by the wide leather belt.
‘You know, that belt looks really nice,’ she said. ‘It must be a very good one. Magda was very kind to give it to you, it must have been very expensive. I hope you thanked her for it properly.’
Lisa smiled brilliantly.
‘Of course I did,’ she said. ‘And for the lipstick. Do you want to try it now?’
‘I will later,’ said her mother. ‘It’s a very nice colour, it looks very nice on you. I must say you do look very nice: Magda must like you, to go to so much trouble.’
‘Well, I suppose so,’ said Lisa, uncertainly.
‘But I can’t think why,’ said Mrs Miles.
‘No, me neither,’ said Lisa, ‘a horrible girl like me.’
‘Well, you’re still growing up,’ said her mother. ‘You’ve got a bit of time. You might be quite nice in a few years. We’ll have to see. Right now I want you to sit down and shell those peas for me.’
‘So can I go to the party?’ asked Lisa.
‘I’ll see,’ said Mrs Miles. ‘Just shell the peas first, and I’ll think about it.’
There was silence for a time, and then she was heard to say, half to herself, ‘Lisa. I never.’