When we were kids we whispered that Aunt Lily was a fairy. Small and round, she always sauntered down the lane with her white poodle, Button, on a leash, pulling out treats from a bright, glittering bag. If more people like her walked the world, the sun itself would seem to smile, because they are the sun in human form.
We spent endless afternoons in the sandpit, playing cops and robbers, sending paper boats skittering across puddles, humming the old tune about roving pirates and daring seafarers. In the memory of childhood the courtyard is forever drenched in sunlightblocks, toy cars, stuffed bears. We were one for all and all for one. Back then the newspapers never blared headlines like Teenagers gouge a kittens eye or Dog burned alive. Kindness hung in the air like perfume. Perhaps a nasty soul existed somewhere, but everyonepeers and grownups alikeraised him and shamed him for his deeds.
And then there was Aunt Lily. She was barely taller than a child, with a cascade of fluffy hair and dresses that always burst with flowers. She adored multicoloured beads and would step out into the yard with Buttons curl of white fur. When we tossed our cars, paper aeroplanes and plush bears aside, we rushed to her. Aunt Lily was the gentle spirit of our twostorey Victorian terrace. Young parents left their tots with her while they went to work; she fetched us from nursery, weaving stories as she went. She knitted like a master, and we pranced about in the rainbowstreaked caps, scarves and socks she handed outwhat wed now call her signature line.
She wasnt bloodrelated, but we called her aunt. Her cousins lived far away in the misty hills of Scotland and sent her parcels of sweets, the kind of abundance that today would be bought with a few pounds in a supermarket, whereas back then such treats were scarce.
Aunt Lily gave everything away. Shed sit beside us and wed timidly extend our hands for the oddshaped wrappers, the taste of exotic candy, the exquisite, delicate flavours. Nowadays strangers rarely hand children sweetspeople worry about strangers motives. But Aunt Lily was never a stranger; she was ours.
Youre handing them out? the sharplipped neighbour from the second block snapped. Their parents can buy them. You can barely keep yourself fed; your husbands ill and needs medicine. Hide those sweets! Theyll never thank you; theyll grow up and forget. She hissed, Dont give the children candy, Lily! We caught the words with our friend Oona, understood little, but the sting lingered.
Aunt Lily answered, Zoe, youre talking nonsense. These are children, little ones. In these hard times, where will their mums and dads get sweets? My relatives dont forget me; they send them so the kids know what a good candy tastes like. Why should I hoard them? Share! See their eyes sparkle, feel the happiness radiating from themlike sea breeze, fresh milk, summer watermelons. God, theyre so precious! Its a pity weve no grandchildren of our own; at least here theyre my kin. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.
The neighbour retorted, Youre foolish, feeding them. Ill give them nothing! Theyre not mine! She turned away, shaking her head.
We emerged from the hedges where wed been hiding. Oona! Ellie! Come here, what are you doing? Come, childrenlook, Ive got an apple! Aunt Lily thrust a red apple toward us.
What do fool and silly mean? Oona blurted.
For a flicker a shadow crossed the neighbours face, then she smiled again. You heard little girls. Pretend you didnt. And remember: if anyone says something hurtful, dont let it sit in your heart. Blow it away with a clap of your hands. People are different, but good people outnumber the bad. I love you all dearly! She pressed us close.
One morning Aunt Lily didnt appear in the yard for two days. The first day we asked the mothers, Wheres Aunt Lily? They said, Maybe shes resting or a little ill. Dont worry. On the second day we gatheredfour girls and four boysand set off as a little delegation to her flat. We brought gifts: Kesh drew a sun and sky, Sam took his favourite marker, Yvonne and Tom moulded a clay bun, Oona carried a potted flower, twins Mia and Harry brought jam, and I carried the pancakes my mum had flipped with such flair that they seemed to dance in the air before landing back on the skillet. Take these to Aunt Lily, Mum tugged my braid. She feeds you, now feed her.
We knocked on the halfopened door of the narrow hallway, pressed our palms to the wood. Aunt Lily opened slowly, wearing a cotton nightgown, hair tied in a loose bun, pale but brightening at our sight. Oh, my dears! From where have you come? All my little ones are here! she cooed, pulling us into the cosy room.
The flat was modest: two beds, curtains in every colour, a wobbling table, an old wooden cupboard, a vintage television, and knickknacks of crocheted blankets everywhere. A silvereyed, greyhaired man rose from the bed, smiling shyly, trying to keep his balance. This is my husband, little onesVince. Hes ill, stays at home. Ive caught a cold too. Come, Ill treat you to sweets! she chirped.
We can help! Shall we fetch groceries? We know the shop. Or we could dust the carpets, take out the rubbishanything! declared the most eager among us, Kesh, puffing his chest.
Sit, sit on my bed, she urged. Yvonne, ever concise, laid her clay bun on the table. The others followed suit. We recited poems, sang songs, munched candy, and watched the pallor lift from Aunt Lilys cheeks and her husbands face. They laughed, and Aunt Lily even tried to lead us in a clumsy round dance.
Later she whispered to me, Ask Mum for the pancake recipethese are the best Ive ever tasted. I cant cook much; they burn. She later scribbled the recipe on a scrap of paper, joking that even then theyd never be perfect.
My mum started inviting Aunt Lily over. Shed wash her hands, marvel at Lilys fluffy slippers, squint as she slipped them on, then settle on the kitchen settee. It was touchingher legs never quite reached the floor, and she would swing them while nibbling pancakes with condensed milk, sometimes licking the sticky sweet from her fingers, then blushing and asking for a towel.
She told us her husband had been sick for years, unable to walk, and that caring for him and us gave her purpose. Aunt Lily also loved all creatures. Each morning and evening she carried a bucket of porridge or pasta to feed stray dogs shed found, before animal shelters existed. The streetdwelling pups would wag their tails when she shared a bite.
My golden woman, my dad would say, she gives herself to everyone! My mum would laugh, Gold isnt just a colour on a Christmas baubleshes goldenhearted. She pressed me close, explaining that a golden person means someone truly good.
I recall the day Aunt Lily walked home with her bucket, her path blocked by two grouchy women. You, dear, stop feeding your ragged dogs. And stop calling children to you. Were fed up with their shouting, their candybribing. Youre poor, playing at being rich. Well ruin your life! they shrieked. One hissed, Dont touch my son, Vova! and the other warned, Youll get nothing from us! Lily, trembling, clutched her bucket and whispered, A living soul must be cared for, even if theyre small and noisy.
A third woman shouted, Your crippled husband will never be well. We wont give you a penny! The crowd roared, but Lilys voice rose above, Leave Vova alone!
I felt a surge of panic and shouted, Dont speak to Aunt Lily like that! I lunged forward, shielding her. You nasty girl! Well give you a good slap! a neighbour snapped, grabbing my wrist and pulling me away. Lily tried to intervene, but a whistle cut through the air as Kesh and the others sprinted in, their hands unclenching, freeing me. We formed a circle around Lily and chanted, Never hurt her, never speak ill! Otherwise youll answer to us! The women hissed, Youre just children! and fled.
Aunt Lily embraced us, her eyes bright. We were not mischiefmakers; we were one for all and all for one. In our child hearts we sensed the pain wed caused her, just as many gentle souls today are hurtthose who feed birds, give spare change to the homeless, share the last loaf because they have nothing left. Theyre called odd or crazy, yet their kindness is priceless. Today power, brashness, and rudeness are prized; the meek are ignored, their tears unnoticed, their suffering turned into cruel jokes. The world sighs silently, the planet weeps as balance is broken. We should live together in harmony.
A year later Aunt Lily left the town; her husband passed, and her Scottish relatives took her in. We wept in the courtyard. Before she went, she handed out wafers, kissed us, and gave a large box of wrappers. She taught us to make secret treasures wed bury a coloured foil, a little flower, a shard of bottle glass, then dig them up later with a delighted gasp. She gave us a group photograph to keep rotating. Ill be back in a year to check, she waved, dragging a suitcase larger than herself, with Button trotting behind.
She never returned. We guarded the secret treasures, but there was no one left to show them to. No more sweets, no more my dears. We grew, went to school, laughed, sometimes paused and felt tears well up when we remembered Aunt Lily.
We promised to meet again a year later in the old yard. By then Imogen had become a bank manager, Oliver a translator, and the rest had scattered, the old terrace demolished for a sleek new block of flats. In that pricey suit, under curious glances, Kesh knelt in the garden, digging. What are you after? Oona asked, smiling. The secret treasures, Lilys, he replied. It hurts the chest, not knowing if shes alive. I see her sometimes in meetings, hands out a candy, my wife brings sweets from abroad and I cant eat them. I just want that one childhood candy, the best one. He sighed, holding up the photograph. She always said we should keep a childs wonder inside us, otherwise the elves get angry and life turns dull, Oona whispered. I added, She was kind, even if shes gone.
And so the women who once shouted at us, the ones who called Aunt Lily a fool, were wrong. We grew up, but we remember her. Whenever the world feels heavy and our souls scratch like cats, I hear her voice: Dont be sad, dear. Have a candy. Everything will be alright.
