Lily hears the echo of a question that had been asked again and again during the final week of term. It was all anyone had talked about at school. All the endless chatter about family get-togethers, parties, presents. Lily had tried to avoid it but when someone had asked her directly, the lie had tripped off her tongue before she’d even known it was inside her head: a story about a parallel fantasy Christmas. A big house in the countryside – the Cotswolds, she’d said, even though she’d never actually been there – with a large extended family who existed only in her imagination.
Lily presses her palms to her head, wondering what people would say if they found out the truth. But she knows the chances of anyone asking about her holidays when she returns to school in January are remote. Over the past term she has managed to distance herself from everyone with whom she used to be friends. It has been easier than she imagined to cut herself off: after the reports in the local newspaper and the rumours on the grapevine, Lily’s friends have been only too glad to steer clear of her, as though her family’s adversities might be a contagious disease they are in danger of catching. Lily has buried herself in her studies, not just because schoolwork is the only activity that allows her to forget, but because she knows that studying is her only route out: away to university and towards the possibility of becoming someone new, someone different, someone better.
Lily turns her head and looks up the stairs. She can’t imagine ever going up there again without the ghost of her father dangling from the rafters, daring her to walk past him. She can’t imagine ever tiptoeing across the landing without remembering what she saw in the bedroom that morning, three months before her father’s suicide: the hummingbirds on the wallpaper, the figures on the bed, the bittersweet smell she has never known before and hopes never to know again. The sound of crying that still rings in her ears if she does not make a conscious effort to block it out.
From the kitchen below Lily hears a muffled cry. She clamps her hands over her ears, knowing she should go downstairs and comfort her mum, but she does not move. She fears that, faced with the intensity of her mum’s grief, she will reveal things she knows must be kept hidden. Instead she sits alone, palms pressed to her head, aware of the huge empty cavern that the events of the summer have left behind, an abyss she fears may never be filled.
Chapter 25
Audrey
‘Are you sure you don’t mind giving me a lift today, Ben? It’s more than enough you driving me home after Wednesday rehearsals. I’m not going to make you late for any plans, am I?’ Audrey watched as Ben shuffled some sheets of music on top of the piano and threw a stack of discarded plastic cups into the bin.
‘Honestly, it’s fine. The student I teach on a Saturday is away this week so I’m totally free. Just let me get this lot cleared up and then we’ll be good to go.’
There was laughter from the far side of the rehearsal room and Audrey turned to see Phoebe chatting with some of the younger choir members she’d befriended over the past month. One of them – Harry – seemed to laugh louder than the others at her jokes, reaching out a hand to touch her arm, training his gaze on her long after she’d finished speaking.
As Audrey caught Phoebe’s eye and returned her granddaughter’s smile, she realised that she looked forward to these choir rehearsals – and her art classes with Mia – more than she had looked forward to anything for years. ‘Ben, it really is a wonderful thing you’re doing here. Not many people would give up their evenings and weekends voluntarily to put something like this together.’
Ben half-smiled and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, I guess we all have to atone for our sins somehow.’ He laughed, but the sound was thin and reedy.
‘I can’t imagine you having any sins to atone for.’
‘Don’t you believe it. We’ve all got skeletons in our closet, haven’t we?’
Audrey turned around and bent down to pick up a discarded chocolate wrapper from the floor, and felt a pain pull across her chest. She breathed deeply against it but it continued to slice between her ribs, a lightning flash of heat every time she inhaled. Clamping her jaw shut, her back teeth grinding, she forced herself upright. As she stood up, her head felt fuzzy and light, as though it might just roll away. She grabbed the lid of the piano, reminding herself that this was to be expected, that there was nothing to be alarmed about, that it would pass as long as she didn’t panic.
She waited a few seconds until her body was vaguely under control, and when she turned back to Ben she saw that he was sorting through folders of music balanced on the piano stool and was relieved he hadn’t noticed. During their car journeys over the past few weeks, Audrey had told Ben many things about her life, but never that she was ill. She hadn’t felt he needed to know, hadn’t wanted to see the look of sympathy, surprise or pity in his eyes when she’d said the words out loud.
Now, looking at him, she realised that Ben had told her next to nothing about himself. Recalling their conversations, she was sure she’d asked about his life outside the choir but, now she came to think of it, she couldn’t remember him ever giving her any answers.
‘So what are you up to tonight, Ben? Anything special?’ Audrey leaned against the piano, her head still woozy.
‘Nothing much. Just a good book and a decent glass of red wine. I’m afraid my Saturday night partying days were over a long time ago.’
He smiled but Audrey caught a flicker of hesitation.
‘Do you not have any family? No Mrs Levine? No children of your own?’
‘I do, actually, yes. Two kids, Zach and Erin.’
A stiffness in Ben’s tone made Audrey glance up. She saw something in his expression she thought she recognised though she couldn’t identify what it was. ‘They’re beautiful names. Do they like living in London or would they rather be in America?’
Ben began shuffling pieces of paper he’d already tidied just a few moments before. ‘Erin’s back home in New York, with my wife. My ex-wife. I’m divorced. I haven’t seen them in a while.’
The shuffling continued, Ben removing song sheets from plastic folders before slipping them back in again.
‘I’m really sorry to hear that. It must be very difficult, for all of you. And what about your son? Is he here with you?’
There was a heavy silence in which Audrey sensed she had asked a question Ben didn’t want to answer.
She watched as Ben’s paper-shuffling stopped and his body came to a standstill. She watched the slow rise and fall of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, the gentle elevation of his ribcage as he breathed in and then out. It was as though the world had paused, neither of them knowing quite what might follow.
‘No, he’s not. Zach, he … Well, he … he died a few years ago.’
Ben turned towards her, deep creases lining his forehead, and Audrey could feel the distress spreading across her face. She was conscious of an echo in her ears, and she readied herself to reply, hoping the right response might emerge before she gave herself away. But instead of the sound of her own voice, Audrey heard only a rush of air around her ears and the dull thud of flesh against wood.
And then everything went black.
Chapter 26
Jess
Jess stood in the middle of a field in the far reaches of west London, watching the director talk to the two lead actors, their heads bent together like children conspiring in a playground.
The crew reset and the director’s assistant called for quiet. The camera turned over and the scene began again.