“It wasn’t any trouble,” said Marion. “Don’t worry if you’re not hungry. I just thought you might feel tempted to have a little nibble at something.”
Lydia’s tummy was as flat as an unread paperback; she probably watched her weight carefully like her mother. No doubt if Marion had had a daughter, she would have spoilt her rotten, and she’d have ended up fat just like her.
Lydia sat down at the table, one slender white arm sprawled lazily in front of her, the other supporting her head as if that delicate neck couldn’t manage the job by itself.
“Would you like some Coca-Cola? Though I suppose now you are all grown up, you might prefer tea or coffee.”
Lydia yawned, waving a hand across the healthy pink interior of her mouth.
“I’ll just have water, Marion, do you have any bottled fizzy?”
“Oh, I’m so stupid, I should have bought mineral water,” said Marion, then slapped the back of her own hand in punishment.
“Tap water is absolutely fine.” The girl yawned again, then gave Marion a gracious smile. “Don’t worry yourself. I don’t know why you went to all this trouble just for me, but it was really sweet of you all the same.” She spoke like someone thanking a child for a homemade birthday card.
They sat and chatted for a while, Lydia answering Marion’s questions about university with a sleepily polite voice while sipping from a glass of tap water.
Did she have lots of studying to do? Mmm—puts head to one side—Yes, quite a lot. Were the subjects interesting?—shrug, weary smile—Sometimes, it depended on the lecturer. You must go to lots of fun parties?—sigh—They could be quite boring, really—I don’t go to all of them, of course—brushes strands of hair from her eyes—Only if people I know are going. What are you going to do when you leave?—Oh gosh—giggles as though this is ridiculously funny, puts hands over face—I have absolutely no idea—travel for a while maybe, work abroad—laughs—Yes, work abroad, but I don’t know doing what.
While they were talking, Lydia kept fussing with her phone, stroking the glass screen as if it were a beloved pet. Who could she be messaging? wondered Marion, feeling a sour hatred for them. She imagined a group of attractive young people, picnicking in a park or drinking in some trendy pub, begging Lydia to come and join them. “I just can’t,” Lydia would reply, “I’m stuck with this boring old woman who keeps asking me endless questions.”
Now and then Lydia picked a crisp or sweet from one of the bowls and nibbled on it, but Marion felt she was only doing this out of politeness. After a while Marion began to run out of things to say and began to worry that she might have asked the same question more than once and Lydia would think she had dementia. If only Lydia were a little girl again, how easy it was to make her happy with sweets and stories about fairies and elves.
As they sat across the table from each other, making stilted conversation, the truth, sharp as a thorn, pressed into Marion’s heart: the little girl who loved her was gone and this bored young woman was a stranger. Her hopes of remaining part of Lydia’s life as she got older, sharing in the excitement of her wedding, becoming an “auntie” to her children, even visiting at Easter and Christmas, were silly fantasies, just like those about Neil. Of course if Marion had been a blood relative, things might have been different, but without the ties of family, Lydia would drift into the future without her.
Marion heard the front door open, and her chest tightened with anxiety. John normally stayed all afternoon at the pub on Fridays playing chess.
“John, love,” asked Marion, “did you have a nice game with your friends?”
“Those drunken cheats are no friends of mine. None of them appreciates the finer nuances of the game.” He pinched his thumb and forefinger together to emphasize this point. “It’s as much as they can do to make a move without knocking the bloody board over. And that little slut of a waitress shortchanges you every time you buy a damn round. It’s the last time you’ll see me near that fucking dump,” he growled.
What was he thinking to use language like that in front of Lydia? From the smell of him and the color of his cheeks, Marion thought he might have had more than a few whiskeys himself.
“That’s a shame—it does you good to get out of the house now and then.”
“Oh yes, and I’m sure you’re very glad to get me ‘out of the house,’ aren’t you, Marion?” He scowled.
“I didn’t mean that, John. I just thought it was nice for you to have some intellectual stimulation and male company.”
“But I’ve got all the company and stimulation I need right here, haven’t I, love?”
The look he gave her was full of suggestion, and she feared that Lydia might read into it.
Picking up a handful of crisps, John pushed them into his mouth; as he crunched on them his lips were glistening like wet paint. He was standing right behind Lydia’s chair, the zip of his trousers close to her head. He placed a thick hand on Lydia’s small round shoulder.
“Don’t tell me this is the little brat from next door. Who’d have thought she’d grow up into such a lovely young lady! So, how is the big wide world of university?”
“It’s okay,” said Lydia, pulling her hair across her face.
“I bet you have to chase the lads off with a sharp stick?”
Lydia lowered her eyes and forced a smile.
“I don’t know—not really.”
“No boyfriends, then? Or do you like girls better?” John winked. “Is that the modern thing?”
A heat rose from Marion’s chest to her face.
“I should be going now,” said Lydia.
“Don’t let me break up your little tea party,” said John.
“No, I have to work on an essay. It’s due in tomorrow.”
“Yes, you go, love, don’t let us keep you,” said Marion, suddenly desperate for Lydia to be gone.
Marion got up, and Lydia kissed her on the cheek. They went towards the door, but John was blocking the way. “What’s the matter, don’t I get a kiss?” He leered at Lydia.
Then he grabbed the girl by the waist and pulled her towards him. Marion saw him plant a wet salty kiss on Lydia’s mouth. There was a flash of hair fanning into a russet tail and then the front door slammed as Lydia left.
John stumbled his way into the living room, and Marion began throwing all the unwanted sweets and crisps into a big plastic bin liner where they formed a crunchy rainbow of trash. How excited she had been buying those things in the hope that Lydia would enjoy them; it had all been a horrible waste and the poor girl would probably never come back again after what had happened.
She threw the rubbish bag on the floor and, steaming with rage, followed John into the next room, where he was sitting reading the newspaper as calmly as if nothing had happened.
“How dare you touch her like that!” she cried, ripping the newspaper from his hands. “You are nothing but a filthy pervert!”
“You’ll mind your mouth, girl, if you know what’s good for you!”
John rose to his feet and stood a full head taller than his sister.