Something caught in the back of Audrey’s throat and when she coughed it was like glass shattering in her chest. It could just be nerves but in all likelihood wasn’t. The breathlessness and the coughing had escalated in recent weeks, just as her consultant had warned they would. She’d breathe in only to find that her chest cavity seemed to have shrunk, as though her lungs had begun to give up the fight long before Audrey was ready.
She leaned against the dressing-room door, thinking about all she’d done in the past few weeks, all the researching, planning and booking. The idea had come to her as she’d lain in hospital on the night of her collapse, unable to sleep because of the woman snoring in the bed next to her and the whirring of her own memories. But as soon as the thought had nudged its way into her head, Audrey’s only surprise was that it hadn’t occurred to her sooner. It seemed so obvious: the one thing, surely, that neither daughter could refuse. And yet, although decisions had been made, tickets paid for and reservations confirmed, Audrey’s confidence still plummeted every time she imagined telling Lily and Jess what she’d done and asking them to come with her.
A group of female musicians walked along the corridor, carrying instruments and chatting to one another without any sign of nerves. They were all in their late thirties, the same age Jess was now, the same age Zoe would have been. Audrey studied each of them in turn, wondering whether Zoe might have smiled as generously as the violinist or laughed as unselfconsciously as the clarinettist; whether her hands would have moved as expressively as the flautist’s or whether she’d have listened as attentively as the oboist. Perhaps, Audrey thought, Zoe would have been all those things and more. Or perhaps she would have been none. Perhaps she would have been completely different in ways Audrey couldn’t even begin to imagine. And the thought of it – the thought of the impossibility of ever knowing what kind of an adult her little girl might have become – made Audrey reach out and grab the edge of the door to steady herself.
‘Are you OK, Gran? Do you need to sit down?’
Audrey shook her head in spite of the dizziness, as Phoebe looped arms with her. ‘Just a bit of nerves, that’s all. How are you feeling – excited?’
Phoebe nodded with half-hearted commitment.
‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing. I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about stuff recently. I’ve been wondering about you and Grandad … about how you knew that you wanted to be with him for ever?’ A light flush, the colour of Eton mess, dappled Phoebe’s cheeks.
Audrey suppressed a smile. She glanced across the room to where Harry was laughing with some of the other choir members. She’d thought there might be something between them, but things had clearly moved faster than she’d realised. ‘For ever can be an awfully long time, Phoebe. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Don’t feel you have to commit to anything – anyone – until you’re sure you’re ready.’
‘I know that. But you weren’t much older than me when you got married. I just want to understand how you knew that Grandad was the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, especially when his parents didn’t like you very much.’
Audrey swivelled her plain gold wedding band around her finger. ‘There’ll always be someone who disapproves of the choices you make. But as long as you understand the reasons for them, as long as you’re happy with them and no one’s unduly hurt by them, you need to be strong enough – brave enough – to make your own decisions.’
Audrey flinched at the irony of her counsel: she had lost track of the number of times she had failed to follow her own advice.
‘But what if you know your parents are going to disapprove? What if you know your choices will make them unhappy? What do you do then? What if they never forgive you?’
Phoebe’s anxiety made Audrey wonder what on earth could be so dreadful about Harry – who seemed very nice to her – that could possibly cause Phoebe such concern about Lily and Daniel’s reaction. ‘Most parents will forgive their children almost anything. It’s part of the job description: unconditional love. I know Mum can be quite particular about things but I also know that she loves you very much. She only wants you to be happy.’
‘No, Gran, that’s not true, and you know it. What Mum wants is for everyone to think we’re happy. It’s not the same thing. As long as she can convince the rest of the world that we’re a perfect happy family and that she’s some kind of superwoman, she doesn’t actually care what’s really going on. She’s never around long enough to find out anyway.’
There was a fragility beneath Phoebe’s contempt, her words skating on thin ice. She blinked hard and then swallowed, winding a strand of hair from the nape of her neck tightly around her finger.
Audrey took Phoebe’s free hand, stroked the back of it where the skin was softest, wishing she could tell her granddaughter that she’d got it all wrong. But the truth was that Lily had missed so much of Phoebe’s childhood: the school plays, sports days, music recitals, tennis matches. On so many occasions both Lily and Daniel had been too busy with work to attend, so Audrey had deputised for them, parental pride one step removed. And as much as Audrey had loved watching Phoebe run races, sing songs, hit a ball over a net, her enjoyment had always been marred by the guilt that Lily was missing those moments and that Phoebe was having to accept second best. So many times Audrey had wanted to say to Lily: Your children have only one childhood. The years in which they need you – in which they really need you – flash by like a star shooting through the sky. A blink of an eye and they go from babies to toddlers. Another blink and they’re starting school. A third blink and they’re teenagers, stretching their wings and preparing for life without you. And then, one day, when you’re certain it can’t have been more than a few months since you first held them in your arms – bloodied and mucus-coated, their hungry mouths reaching for your breast – they’re gone.
‘No parent gets it right all the time. I know Mum’s got her flaws – we all have – but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you or isn’t interested in you. And it certainly doesn’t mean she’d ever disapprove of you, not really. Most parents can recover from pretty much anything their children throw at them.’
Audrey thought about Lily and Jess, about how, even when your children act in ways that break your heart, you still find it in yourself to forgive them.
‘So what’s your advice? Just do whatever I want and to hell with the parental consequences?’
Audrey allowed herself a wry smile. ‘I’m not sure I’d put it quite like that. But without getting maudlin, you do have only one life and it’s only yours to live. All any parent can do is try to equip you as best they can – dig the foundations and give you the tools to build the kind of life you want to lead. The rest is down to you and your courage. And I think you’ve got bags of courage, Phoebe. I think you’ve got it in spades.’
Phoebe smiled and for the first time Audrey saw a trace of Zoe in her: the verve, the energy and the sheer unassailable chutzpah.
‘Thank you, Gran. Really. You’ve no idea how much that means. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
There was a moment’s hesitation – discomfort at a truth neither wanted to acknowledge – before Audrey put her arms around Phoebe’s shoulders, hoping that her granddaughter would feel able to confide whatever was on her mind while she was still in a position to help her. ‘Now, you’re all set for later, aren’t you? You and Mia have got the timings agreed?’
The thought of what the three of them had planned caused fresh nausea to churn in Audrey’s stomach.
‘Yes, it’s all fine. Don’t worry. We’re doing the right thing. You know we are.’
Audrey nodded even as her head swam with uncertainty. She hadn’t told Mia and Phoebe everything, just enough to elicit their help. Now, as she stood backstage listening to singers warm up their voices, stage managers issue instructions and Tannoy announcements from inside the auditorium, she couldn’t tell whether her agitation related to singing in the concert or to what she had planned for afterwards.
Chapter 36
Lily