Youll be lost without me! You cant do anything! shouted her husband, stuffing his shirts into an oversized holdall on the bedroom floor.
But she managed. She didnt weaken. Perhaps, if shed given herself even a moment to consider how shed survive alone with two children, shed have conjured up endless nightmares, and maybe, just maybe, forgiven his betrayal. But there simply wasnt time for that. She had to get the girls to nursery and dash off to work. Hed only returned home half an hour ago, brimming with the careless confidence of new love.
So, pulling on her coat, Tilly issued brisk, clear commands.
Molly, help Rosie with her coat and make sure she eats her lunch in nursery. The teacher said she refuses her porridge.
And you, Peter, see that you take all your treasures with you. Dont drag it out. And post the flat key back through the letterbox, will you? So long.
Molly had arrived precisely half an hour before Rosie, and so was considered the eldest, though both girls were four. Independent spirits, each with her character. If Molly didnt like the milky porridge, shed swallow it quietly, because thats the rule. But Rosie would protest, There are lumpsIm not eating that.
The nursery was just a short ten-minute walk from their flat, which brought some strange comfort. The girls chatted the whole way, their voices helping Tilly ignore the looming chaos of their new life. And at work, she didnt have a spare second to dwell on the personalher schedule as a GP was carved into tidy blocks, with home visits yet to come. Not until late in the evening, when she noticed the row of empty hangers in the hallwaywhere her husbands coats always hungdid she truly realise she was alone. But she wasnt the sort to collapse and lament; things must carry on, perhaps even improve. Its always a choice: to sit and sink, or to think things through quietly and look for a hint of something positive. For a start, there was dinner to cook.
Whats actually changed? Tilly mused to herself, chopping vegetables for a salad. Hes gone. What did he do that I cant? Ill adjust our daily routine a bit. I can handle it. Things are alright. Theyll be better. I wont spend my life worrying where he is, if hes off with his mistress again. Being on my own is harder, but its peaceful. After reading another chapter of The Adventures of Pinocchio and tucking the sleepy girls into bed, Tilly hurried to the bathroom: the washing machine had finished, and she needed to hang the laundry.
Before sleep, she brewed herself some lemon balm tea, trying to gather her thoughts and sketch out tomorrow. The twins were so alike, like two drops of waterthough having two was perhaps harder than one, Tilly had never thought it so. She always wondered at those who pitied her.
Were absolutely fine, shed reply, no ones wrung out to the last drop. Ive got this. The kettle boiled. She poured her tea, switched on the warm lamp. Rain and sleet rattled the window, but her flat was cosy and calm; only the wall clock ticked.
Then the doorbell chimed. Tilly, surprised, found her neighbour on the doorstepthe elderly Mrs Jennings, always proper, her scarf wrapped tightly. Tilly had never warmed to her; Mrs Jennings walked her ragged, scruffy little dog every morning, greeting Tilly with pursed lips and never a smile. That dog, Tilly recalled, shed seen nosing about by the bins. Perhaps Mrs Jennings had pitied it, taken it in. No one ever visited the old woman; she went to the shops and walked the dog, and that was all.
Im sorry to bother you, she said, tightening her woollen shawl, but I saw your husband taking his things to the car today. Has he left you?
Thats not your concern, Tilly replied curtly.
Your husband isnt my concernof course not. I just thoughtif you ever need a hand, with the girls or anything, you can always ask me.
Come in, Tilly said, a little softened. Whats your name? she asked, pouring two cups of tea, putting out a tin of biscuits. Please, help yourself.
Im Evelyn Jennings. I know youre Tilly. She broke off a bit of biscuit and continued, Im not imposing, dear. Just so you knowId be glad to help, no charge or anything like that. Id enjoy it, actually. Mrs Jennings took a small sip of tea, nodded. Lovely. Lemon balm, is it? I grow herbs at my allotmentloads of them. Do come for a visit in summer. Plenty of room, and the apple trees fruit is delicious…
Tilly peered at Mrs Jennings, suddenly unsure why shed found the old lady so disagreeable. Was it because she never flashed fake smiles or quizzed her about the struggle of twins? She didnt poke into private matters, just passed by in silence. But Tilly had taken it for pride and coldness. Now, Mrs Jennings offered help, didnt pepper her with questions about the ex-husbandnot a grain of salt in the woundjust kindness.
She regarded Mrs Jennings afresh: neat, her hair tied up tight, a lace-collared dress, clean slippers. She smelt faintly, pleasantly of some soft perfume.
Tilly listened as Mrs Jennings rattled on about the allotment, homegrown apples, the tiny, hot garden shed, and an old lake where greedy ducks spent the summer. In the gentle hum of the kitchen, her anxiety ebbed away, leaving behind a slow but certain warmth…
All these years later, Tilly remembers perfectly, though those days are now five years past. She remembers her husbands wordsYoull never make it!but all that now belongs to yesterday.
Mrs Jennings, nimble as ever, slices apples, arranging them in delicate spirals atop the pastry, and slides the tray into the hot oven. Salads glisten on the table, the roast is stewing; today is Mrs Jennings birthday. Its August. Windows are wide open at the cheerful cottage. The scent of apple pie, steaming and luscious, fills the kitchen.
How shes helped me! Tilly thinks, watching Mrs Jennings flushed from the ovens heat.
What would I have done without her? The girls absolutely adore Granny Evelyn. And she couldve simply shut her door that first night. Now the twins are nineschoolgirls. Every summer they spend here, among the lake, friends, and their beloved granny: kind, dear, and true.
Ill grab more apples for a compote, Tilly calls, stepping out with a basket.
Under the apple tree, in the dappled shade, lies Lucy the golden labrador. Who couldve guessed that mangy mutt from the tip would grow into this splendid creature?
Love, thinks Tilly, stroking Lucys velvet head and offering a biscuit, its only love that saves us.
