Chapter 3
A bird was singing loudly in the honeysuckle outside Lily's bedroom window. Coral would probably know what kind of bird, but Lily didn't have a clue. It sounded very cheerful, though. She opened her eyes and saw from the dazzle of light slicing through the gap in the curtains that it was destined to be another hot, sunny day.
It's my birthday. I'm twenty-five!
And so lucky …
She slid out of bed, knowing that when she opened the door, the tray would be outside. It always was; over the years it had been a tradition from which they'd never wavered.
And indeed it was there, on the wine-red landing carpet, the rectangular silver tray bearing a single rosebud in a squat silver vase, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, a sealed envelope and a small flat package wrapped in silver and yellow striped paper and tied with curly silver ribbons.
From her mum.
Lily bent down, picked up the tray and carefully carried it back into her room, laying it on the bedside table so nothing would topple over. Drifting up from downstairs she could hear sounds of movement, the clink of china, the murmur of voices on the radio, doors being opened and closed.
But this, now, was private, to be shared between her and her mother. Just the two of them.
For the very last time.
Lily took a sip of orange juice and opened the envelope. Whereas all the other letters had been written on thick lilac writing paper, this one was on a plain white sheet of A4. But the handwriting was the same, instantly recognisable with its extravagant loops and swirls. She ran the tips of her fingers over the paper, the first person to touch it since her mum had written the words, then lifted it to her nose and inhaled to see if it retained any recognisable scent.
No, it just smelled of paper.
OK, here goes. She took a steadying breath and began to read.
Hello, my dearest darling girl, and happy happy birthday! You're twenty-five and I wish you all the love and happiness in the world. (I'm going to trust you here, and assume you haven't opened your letters early. It's a possibility by now, and it doesn't matter a bit if you have, but I still kind of hope you managed to control your impatience and wait, so I can talk to my twenty-five-year-old daughter. Woman to woman!)
I wonder if you look like me? Is your hair still long and madly curly? It's so hard to imagine what you're like now, but I do know for sure that you are kind, thoughtful, loving and beautiful on the inside and out. I hope your life is as happy as it deserves to be. Have you found a wonderful partner yet? Are you married? Maybe you have a child … wow, that's an incredible thought! I could be a grandma by now! Well if I am, I bet you're a fantastic mother. (And if you don't have children, you're still fantastic anyway.)
A tear was trickling down Lily's cheek. She paused and wiped it away. She could hear her mum's voice so clearly, it was almost as if she were here in the room, saying the words to her.
She continued to read:
I didn't know how long to continue writing to you on your birthday, sweetheart. A part of me wanted to carry on until you were a hundred! But it looks as if the decision has been made for me, as the last few days haven't been great. I'm writing this in the hospital (hence the less than glamorous paper) and it's becoming harder to concentrate. They're upping my morphine so I'm going to be sleeping a lot more from now on. And I don't want to start scribbling gibberish, so this is another reason to make this the last letter.
I have a little present for you too! Is it there? Have you already opened it? If not, let me just explain that it mightn't have cost a lot, but it's my most precious and treasured possession – apart from you, obviously, my beautiful darling girl – which is why I want you to have it now. It was given to me on my nineteenth birthday by Declan Madison. He was my first love and – as it turned out – the only love of my life. How I wish our relationship could have lasted – although if it had, then I never would have got involved with your father and we wouldn't have had you! (Something else I wonder – will you get to know your father at some stage? Are you in touch with each other? Did he turn out to be not so bad after all? So many questions!)
Anyway, I'm passing on to you what Declan gave to me, and I really hope you like it. Has Coral told you about him? She will have done, I'm sure. He really was a lovely boy. We had the best time together – it was just the timing that was wrong. And if it's strange to think of you being twenty-five now, it's equally strange to imagine Declan being forty-eight. That's old!
I hope you're still in touch with Coral and Nick. And Patsy, too! I hope I chose the right people to look after you, my darling. I did the best I could. More than anything I wish I could have stayed with you, but sadly that hasn't been possible.
Thank you for being the light of my life, the very best thing that ever happened to me. I wish you nothing but love, health and happiness.
Happy birthday, beautiful Lily.
All all all my everlasting love, sweetheart.
You and me, always.
Mum xxx
There, done, and the tears were now flowing down Lily's face in earnest. Every letter ended with those same words: You and me, always. She and her mum had said it to each other each night at bedtime; it had been their mantra, their secret promise to each other. Whatever might happen – and it had happened – nothing could break the bond that existed between them.
She would reread the letter over and over in the years ahead, but never again for the first time. This was why she'd always preferred to open the envelopes in private. When it was done and she'd had the chance to compose herself once more, she would go downstairs and begin the rest of her birthday.
Rubbing her eyes and her wet face on the hem of her T-shirt, Lily picked up the wrapped present and carefully untied the silver ribbon bow. Over the past seventeen years, the Sellotape had lost its stickiness and acquired a light brown tinge; when she nudged it, it loosened beneath her touch.
She unfolded the striped wrapping paper, then the nest of tissue beneath it. The bangle was narrow and silver, randomly studded with tiny sparkling stones that were unlikely to be diamonds. But it was pretty, catching the light as she turned it this way and that. And she dimly remembered it too; vague memories from early childhood were beginning to resurface, of exploring bedroom drawers and boxes containing various bits of jewellery, seeing and trying on the bangle, which at the time had been far too big for her. Back then, at the age of five or six, she'd far preferred to hang assorted strings of beads around her neck and shuffle around in her mum's high heels, pretending to be a grown-up.
A few months after that, her mum had fallen ill and the difficult times had begun. Lily knew now how hard it must have been for everyone, attempting to shield her from the worst of it and pretend everything wasn't as bad as it actually was. Her mum had done her best to carry on doing as much as possible with her, between the repeated stays in hospital. Coral and Nick had asked her what colour she'd like her new bedroom to be, and had redecorated accordingly, for when she spent time with them. And Patsy, her babysitter, had spoiled her endlessly, taking her out on day trips, creating treasure hunts and keeping her entertained when – let's face it – most eighteen-year-old girls would far rather be chasing after boys and having fun with friends their own age.
When her mother had finally died, between them they had showered her with so much genuine love that she'd never once had to worry about what would happen to her. It had all been arranged; everything had been taken care of. Coral and Nick had welcomed her into their household, allowing her to grieve but always there for her, patiently helping her settle into her new life with them. Of course she'd missed her mum dreadfully, but she'd been surrounded with warmth and affection, and as time passed, the grief subsided. She might no longer have a birth mother, but Coral had definitely been the next best thing.
She slid the silver bangle on to her left wrist and gazed across at the framed photograph on her bedside table. The photo had been taken here, in the garden of Goldstone House, on her first birthday, when she'd still been a beaming bald baby with only a few teeth to her name. There she was, sitting happily on her mum's lap, with Nick and Coral to one side and Patsy laughing as she made a futile grab for a blurry toddler who was actually Dan racing past with a water pistol in each hand and a small dog in hot pursuit.