That gets a real, honest-to-goodness laugh. I feel my chest rise with pride. For giving her a tiny moment of joy. I remember something Lily said to me. I think maybe it might help her too. “Don’t apologize for being unique.”
“I didn’t. Apologize.”
“No, you’re right. You didn’t.” I’m afraid I’m losing her. “Do you have a place to sleep?”
No answer.
“Are you considering harming yourself or...” I can’t even say the words. Azalea told us to ask about suicide. But she didn’t say when to ask. Have I rushed things? Is that what I do? I did it with Oliver. Jumped right into loving him. Did it with Lily too. Latched on to her and haven’t let go.
“No. I swear.” Her voice chokes up a little. “Not even after my mum died. I want to be here. I just want here to be somewhere different, yeah?”
“Yeah.” I try to erase any judgment from my voice. Speak from pure empathy. “I’m sorry about your mother. How did she...” Stupid question. I don’t finish asking it. Why would she want to relive something so awful?
“Officially, cancer. Unofficially, murder.” She huffs angrily. “Every doctor who saw her told her she just needed to change her diet. Said she was having stomachaches because she ate rich foods and didn’t get enough sleep. By the time someone took her seriously, it had spread all over her body.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah.” I think she’s crying. “You didn’t kill her though, yeah?”
“Yeah.” I think this is the right time to ask: “What’s your name?”
A long pause. “Maud. No last name. Don’t want that man’s name.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t use my father’s last name either.” All the pain of being his son comes rushing back to me.
“I’m sorry too.”
“You live with him?”
“Not any longer. Only reason I didn’t leave sooner is for her. Mum wasn’t strong like I am. She let other people walk all over her. I’ll never be like that.”
I want to reach through the receiver. Give her a hug. Tell her I understand. At least I think I do. “Are you in London? You could come by the house. Brixton is full of all kinds of lesbians. The Rebel Dykes are just down the street. You’ll see.”
“Not sure I’m a rebel dyke.” She chortles again. A half laugh that charms me. “They sound cool though.”
“You don’t have to be anything or anyone. Except yourself. Will you remember the address? It’s on Chaucer Street.” I give her the address. “Flee from the crowd, and dwell with truthfulness.”
“Sorry?”
“No, I’m sorry. That was from a Chaucer poem.”
“I don’t do poetry. I’m educationally subnormal, remember?” She giggles. She sounds like the kid she probably is. “But if I were in a proper classroom, I’d say it sounds like what Chaucer was saying there isfuck what other people think and be yourself.”
“Exactly.” I can hear Lily dancing on the second story. Her steps like a drumbeat. I can faintly hear the song she plays. Louisa Marks. “6 Sixth Street.”Tell me, tell me, tell me, baby, tell me why?“Maud, are you all right tonight?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“You’re not alone?” Azalea told us these were three very important words. But she told us to say it as a statement of fact. I just posed it as a question. I’m afraid I messed up. I say it again. Withcomplete sincerity. With utter belief that these three words will always be true: “We’re not alone.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll come by. Maybe.”
“You can also call again. Between the hours of five and seven every weekday evening.”
“I know. I’m holding your leaflet right now.”
“Maud, you’re—”
She hangs up before I can tell her she’s not alone again.
