‘Not bloody likely, Mum. She would never. I saw Mrs Douglas in the village and she said she thinks Gran has been struggling for a while, but there is no way she’ll leave here.’
‘She might not have a choice,’ Denise said. Lily knew she was right but she wouldn’t be the one to broach that with her right now.
‘I’m going to stay here for a while and see how she is, just be her little lady’s maid for a month or so,’ Lily said casually, as though it wasn’t a big deal when in fact it was a very big one.
‘What aboutLes Mis?’ asked Denise.
‘I didn’t get it,’ Lily lied. ‘Which was just as well. I need to be here.’
‘That’s a shame, darling,’ said Denise, sounding disappointed. ‘There’s always the next audition I suppose. What about the flat?’
‘Rented it out already. Nigel’s not back for ages, but he already paid his rent, so I have the rent covered plus a bit extra for living expenses. Mr Mistoffelees is here with me.’
Denise paused for a moment. ‘Seems you have it all sorted. But you don’t want to be away from London for too long. You might miss a big opportunity.’
No one wanted West End fame for Lily more than Denise. She believed in Lily’s talent to the point that it was stifling and, more and more, Lily wasn’t telling her mother about the auditions she went to and didn’t get.
Lily shifted in the bed, her free hand tightly clutching the duvet. Her mother’s expectations felt smothering in the small room.
‘Yeah, next audition,’ she said, trying to feign enthusiasm.
‘I saw there were auditions forIn the Heightson the Backstage website; perhaps you could audition for that?’
‘Mum, I’m not Latina.’
‘That doesn’t matter, does it?’ Denise hadn’t grasped the concept of cultural casting yet.
‘Yes it matters. If you read the ad, they have asked for Latin or similar. I’m whiter than white bread.’
‘Well, you won’t find many in London,’ Denise sniffed.
‘Pretty sure there are some Spanish and Portuguese actors,’ Lily sighed as she spoke.
‘Don’t sigh at me,’ Denise snapped. ‘I’m aware that—’
Lily cut in, ‘Mum,’ her voice strained. ‘Could we not discuss this right now? I want to concentrate on Gran; and I am exhausted.’
Down the phone line, Denise was silent. Lily could practically hear her mother’s disappointment crackling over the phone.
‘Of course, you concentrate on looking out for Gran. Focus on her and if I see any good auditions I’ll let you know. You might want to think about getting a new agent soon. Paul doesn’t seem to be doing much for you.’
She squeezed her eyes closed. ‘It’s not like it’s that easy, Mum,’ she said and then regretted it. It was a constant battle to try and ger her mother to understand the machinations of the entertainment industry, and Denise’s deepest faith in her daughter and pride in her talent meant she assumed Lily would be the lead in every role on the West End forever and ever.
‘Anyway, thanks, Mum,’ she said very differently. ‘I’ll let you know about Gran and how’s she going. Love to Dad.’ And before Denise could say anything else, she ended the call.
Lily gazed at the ceiling after hanging up, tears pricking at her eyes. The familiar glow-in-the-dark stars she had set up there when she was seven, now faded but occasionally capturing a little glow, appeared to mock her. She had fantasised once about being a star. She couldn’t even tell her own mother the truth about what had happened.
Outside, an owl hooted with a clear, forceful night call. Lily wished for its assurance and confidence, its capacity to instantly become heard in the night, to go after what it wanted; but Lily didn’t know what she wanted for her future, and without her voice, she didn’t know what that future looked like.
She turned over and sunk her face into the pillow. Perhaps tomorrow she would find her voice. But Lily had the feeling there was something bigger she needed to admit to herself and she was too terrified to acknowledge the existence of the unspoken truth deep in the pit of her stomach.
7
The next morning, Lily was up before Violet. Mr Mistoffelees was outside exploring the small garden, and as Violet came carefully downstairs, Lily met her at the bottom of the stairs with her walker. The curtains were opened and Lily had straightened up the little living space, turned on the heater, and had opened a window to let a little fresh air in. As Lily pushed the walker towards her, the light hit the hard set of her grandmother’s jaw as it poured through the window.
Violet huffed, her chin up fiercely, saying, ‘I don’t need that contraption.’
‘That’s not what the physiotherapist says in the report that Dad left from the hospital,’ she said firmly tapping the papers on the kitchen table.
