Chestnut Street (27 page)

“Why will they have to live without me one day?” she asked
him innocently, and he got a sudden intuition that this girl was a dutiful daughter, like someone a hundred years ago. That she would live with them forever and sacrifice any plans of her own. An only child who would spend a lifetime thanking them for the life they had given her, but which would now turn into a very empty life indeed.

She must have been about twenty-three then, the manager thought. He too was an only child, but he would not have given up his life had his parents needed him. He hoped that Lilian would not live to regret it.

And, as the years went on, she did not seem to find this life a burden. They seemed to be warm-hearted people, grateful for her attention, but not surprised at it. They would have done the same. Lilian always said that they had big, generous hearts.

She seemed to have no idea of the size and generosity of her own.

Every year she went away on a package holiday for two weeks, thanks to an organization that provided holiday cover for carers. Kind, responsible women would come in and live in Number 5 for the two weeks, often bringing new ideas with them.

Lilian learned about shops that delivered groceries, about local Boy Scouts who did basic garden jobs, about mail-order catalogs where her mother could order clothes for herself and her husband.

When she was on her vacations, Lilian relaxed in the sun, but she didn’t get involved in any holiday romance. There were offers, invitations, suggestions along the way. She had plenty who admired her hair and ready smile. But she kept them at bay.

Until she met Tim. And he was very persistent.

“Do you have a husband at home?” he asked her under the starry Italian sky.

“Good heavens, no. I live with my parents.”

“A fiancé? A boyfriend? A steady?”

“No, nobody at all—I haven’t time.”

By the end of the two weeks he knew the scene.

“I’d love to come and see you sometime,” Tim offered.

“Please do, Tim, but you might find us a bit dull, my parents and myself. We sit in a lot and look at television, you see.”

“Well, why pay for bricks and mortar if you’re going to be spending money running away from it, I always say.”

Tim had an endearing habit of thrift. Lilian hadn’t been used to that and she found it funny.

He knew that if they got the bus from this place rather than that they would save so many lira, that bread and butter was extra in a lot of the little
ristorantes
so they should always save their breakfast rolls.

He seemed to understand entirely why she lived with her parents. Why run two establishments when one would do? Lilian found this restful after so many people trying to persuade her to get a life of her own.

Tim was very easy to talk to. Very nice indeed. She hoped he would get in touch when the holiday was over. And indeed, he did, so she invited him to supper.

He told Mr. Harris how much he had saved by coming on an off-peak train. He told Mrs. Harris that he had grown the little potted plant he brought her from seed and that’s why it was in a yogurt carton. He said he grew dozens like that; they made acceptable gifts and cost nothing. He told Lilian that he had got a refund from the travel agency because he said they had given a wrong description of the hotel.

“But it was a lovely hotel,” Lilian had protested.

“Yes, but these refunds are available and it’s only sensible to take them,” Tim said, as if it were very obvious.

Her parents liked him and seemed to enjoy his visits. In fact, her mother took to going to bed early and taking her husband with her to give the young people a chance to talk together. And then, on the sixth visit, Tim asked Mr. Harris if he could stay overnight.

“You mean sleep here? With Lilian?” Lilian heard her father say, surprised.

“Not
with
Lilian, Mr. Harris. I really meant if I could sleep on the sofa, it would save me a lot of money. I have arranged a few calls in the area and I would get all my expenses for coming here without having to make the whole journey all over again.” He smiled around triumphantly at his brilliance and they all smiled too. Tim was neat and tidy, and soon he moved to the spare bedroom upstairs and with the passage of time into Lilian’s room, and shortly afterwards he and Lilian went to the registry office and fixed a time and a date.

Tim said that it would be a real waste of money to go on a honeymoon. It would mean paying for carers for the Harris parents; why didn’t they do up the house and paint it nice, bright colors, instead?

Albert, the manager at Lilian’s salon, thought the whole thing was extraordinary. But he knew better than to make any comment.

They made a collection for her but they wouldn’t be coming to the wedding. Tim thought it was also a waste of money to throw a lavish event that nobody would really enjoy. His mother and sister would come and two of his friends from work. Miss Mack, the blind lady from Number 3, would come—she had known Lilian since she was a baby—and Mrs. Ryan from Number 14, who had always been so helpful in the past.

Tim came in two days before the wedding and found a busy scene in the kitchen. Mrs. Harris, Miss Mack and Mrs. Ryan were
all having their hair permed. Lilian was moving from one to the other, testing a curl here, putting on a neutralizer there, winding and unwinding, drying with towels and a hand-dryer, serving tea and biscuits. Tim looked on with interest.

“Would you be able to do that for my mother and sister?” he asked.

Lilian was delighted.

“Would they not prefer to go to their own salon for a big event like a wedding?” asked Miss Mack.

“They would never go to a salon,” Tim said firmly. “It is much too expensive. How much would these perms cost if you had to pay for them?”

Miss Mack pursed her lips. Mrs. Ryan looked vague. Lilian’s mother told him.

He was astounded. “You could have made all that money in one evening at home!” he said.

“No, I’m only saying what a salon would charge—you know, with overheads and a posh place and lots of staff. This is very haphazard.” Lilian didn’t like him making the ladies feel she was being overgenerous.

“And it’s a gift from Lilian,” Mrs. Ryan said.

“We are
so
lucky,” Miss Mack added. “The salon comes to us.”

“And Lilian loves to do it—it’s second nature to her,” said Lilian’s mother.

Tim was sitting down with a calculator. If she were to do just seven perms a week … imagine! And how much did a salon charge for color? No! Impossible! Could Lilian do that as well?

All they would have to do was to alter the sitting room slightly, put in a basin, a mirror, a couple of chairs, get half a dozen towels.

“But maybe Lilian wouldn’t really like to leave the fun of the salon just yet,” Miss Mack began tentatively. It was as if she were striving to give Lilian some bit of life for herself outside the door of Number 5.

“Oh, who said anything about leaving the salon?” Tim cried “Couldn’t she do this as well?”

Next day, Lilian permed the thin hair of her future mother-in-law, and put a deep henna tint in the mouse-colored hair of her future sister-in-law.

Both women said they were delighted with the results and that they would come regularly.

“You’ll have to pay then, of course.” Tim laughed and they laughed with him.

“But Lilian will charge less than a proper salon,
and
we can have our tea here, so we’ll be winning,” his sister said happily.

Lilian watched them affectionately. They got such huge pleasure from a bargain, from the concept of getting value. She had never been that way. You saved for something, certainly, but then you spent it. Tim and his family just wanted to save for the sake of it. Still, it made them happy, and wasn’t it a better little habit to have than, say, heavy drinking or gambling?

Lilian washed out the towels and took out her dress and Tim’s shirt to iron. He had said it was a waste getting something new when she looked so lovely in that gray dress.

Together they went over the food and plans for the following day, the chicken casserole and rice followed by a chocolate mousse and a very small wedding cake. Mrs. Ryan from Number 14 would have a camera and so would the best man, who worked with Tim as a salesperson.

The telephone rang. It was Miss Mack. She did apologize about the hour but she wanted to discuss a wedding present with Lilian—could Lilian possibly call up to Number 3 for just ten or fifteen minutes? Lilian said she was on her way.

“Try to get her to give us a present in money or a token if you possibly can,” Tim advised.

Miss Mack moved expertly around her house, touching surfaces gently so that she disturbed nothing, and was more graceful
in her blindness than many with full sight. She opened a bottle of port and poured them a tiny glass each.

“Here’s to your hen night, Lilian Harris,” she said with a mocking laugh.

“Thank you, Miss Mack.” Lilian sipped the drink.

“Don’t marry him, Lilian,” Miss Mack implored.

“I love him,” Lilian said simply.

“No, you don’t. You love the fact that he’s not going to make you decide between him and your parents!”

“Truly, we get on very well and yes, of course it’s helpful that he gets on well with my folks, but that’s not what it’s about.”

“Of course it’s what it’s about, Lilian, a roof over his head, an inheritance after their time, a wife who is not only going out to work but who will now work at home too. No wedding, no honeymoon, no life, Lilian. Don’t do it. I beg you.”

Now Lilian was hurt.

“It
is
a proper wedding, Miss Mack. There’s lovely food and wine and we don’t want a honeymoon—we want to be here doing the place up. And it would be sensible to work from home, as it happens, and make more money.”

There were tears in her voice. But Miss Mack was like steel.

“Make more money for what, Lilian? You haven’t even bought new shoes or a new handbag for your wedding day. You are on the brink of doing a very terrible thing, marrying a mean man. And I am the only one with the courage to tell you so.”

“Being mean isn’t all that bad a thing to be,” Lilian said slowly.

“It is, Lilian—believe me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I almost married a mean man. I changed my mind six weeks before the wedding, when he said he only wanted gift cards.”

Lilian giggled.

“I suppose Tim said that he would like gift cards too.”

“Well, he did,” Lilian admitted. “But that doesn’t make him a serial killer, Miss Mack.”

“It does make him a very mean man, and you’ll grow to hate him.”

“Did you grow to hate the man you said goodbye to?”

“I grew to fear I’d hate him. You see, generous people can’t live with mean people; it doesn’t work.”

“That’s only nonsense,” Lilian said with spirit. “It’s like horoscopes: Gemini is good with Libra but not with Taurus sort of thing! There’s no truth in it. Remember years ago they said you shouldn’t marry someone of a different religion or race or class, even—that’s all gone now.”

“You can’t marry an ungenerous man; there’s no joy in his soul.”

“It’s harmless, Miss Mack, honestly. It’s like a child being pleased with blowing the top off a dandelion the way he gets pleased with a bargain.”

“No, child, it’s different.”

“Maybe your case was different, but as for Tim, he doesn’t even know he’s doing it—you couldn’t explain it or try to change him.”

Miss Mack nodded gravely. “That’s just it—they can’t change,” she said quietly.

“So did your friend know what you were talking about when you refused to marry him?”

“Not even remotely. He thought I was hysterical and mad.”

“And was it long ago?”

“Yes, decades ago. Long before I went blind. But I never regretted it, Lilian.”

“Did he marry anyone else?”

“Yes, quite soon afterwards. And yes, they stayed together, and I believe they’re happy. Possibly she was a mean person too. Someone told me she used to pick up old newspapers in trains and parks instead of buying them. And always hung round supermarkets
in case people hadn’t brought back their trolley and she could get their refund.”

“But it’s not a crime, Miss Mack?”

“It’s no way to live.” The older woman was very definite.

“People live with others who snore or pick their teeth. They marry people who vote differently, who don’t want children, who won’t wash their feet. They marry people who are in secret societies or drug deals or pornography exchanges. Surely marrying a man who is just a little careful about money isn’t really so very bad in the whole scheme of things?”

There was passion in Lilian’s voice. Miss Mack was very still.

“Go on, Miss Mack, you started this—tell me what you think.”

“I think that I’d like to give you and Tim some cash for your wedding present. It always comes in handy,” Miss Mack said.

“Please don’t be cold and dismissive to me like that. I’ve had so little fuss made of me, as you said yourself. Please don’t insult me with money.”

“
No
, Lilian, that’s not true, that’s not what I’m trying to do.
I’m
in awe of you and your generous spirit, your willingness to live with difference, to accept that we are not all the same. If only I had been able to do that I would have been a much happier person.”

“You’re being kind now, patting me down.”

“No, that’s not true. If I had married that man I wouldn’t be alone, relying on neighbors. He would have stayed with me when I lost my sight, maybe we would have had children together, a boy and girl who had loved their blind mother.”

“You are so strong, so independent.”

“I put that on as an act,” Miss Mack said.

“Please stay being my friend, Miss Mack. I need you.”

“And I need you, but I am sure I have lost you by this intrusion.”

“No, no, I need you because there is something I don’t want. I don’t really want to take in clients at home. I’ll be too tired at the
end of the day and I don’t want to take business away from Albert, who has been so kind to me … but I don’t know how to organize it. You see, I don’t want to upset Tim.”