‘I’m going to frame it,’ said Lilly, who was sitting at the table, still in her nightgown, tracing the photo with the lightest touch, hoping it could materialise into her Theo.
Beth turned the paper around and read the advertisement for the Women’s Peace Army, then she got the scissors from the drawer and cut out the photo of Theo and handed it to Lilly and when Lilly was busy filling their bowls with porridge, she cut out the advertisement for the Women’s Peace Army, folded it twice and tucked it in her pocket.
When Lilly sat down Beth got up and walked around the table and wrapped Lilly in her arms.
‘I’m leaving,’ she said quietly. ‘This isn’t my life, this isn’t where I need to be.’
‘When did you decide that?’ asked Lilly.
‘Just now,’ said Beth, as surprised as Lilly. ‘I just decided right now.’
‘When are you leaving?’ asked Lilly.
‘Today — now.’
‘Is there anything I can say to stop you?’ Lilly gently held the photo of Theo as if holding his soul in her hands.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Beth.
‘Why don’t we have a cuppa and some more porridge and think about it?’
Beth saw Lilly wipe the tears from her eyes. Beth had to be strong, so she shook her head. She had to do it now or she might change her mind. Lilly put the photo down and she touched Theo’s newsprint cheek one more time. She stood up and hugged her.
‘You can come back any time. You know that — any time.’
Beth nodded, holding back her tears.
‘People are always leaving me,’ Lilly whispered but Beth didn’t hear her as she was already walking to her room. She dragged her suitcase from under the bed, the same brown suitcase, still tattered at the corners, still with someone else’s name embossed in the worn leather, that she had carried all those years ago when she had trotted along behind Nurse Drake to start work at the Cottingham’s. The case screeched as the studs on the corners dragged along the floorboards. Beth put it on top of her bed and opened it. Lilly stood in the doorway and watched her. Beth knew Lilly was trying not to cry and she could feel her own tears threatening to spill out. She would miss Lilly, but she couldn’t stay here with Theo’s ghost and all the things that hadn’t happened. She hadn’t ever really been Theo’s love, she hadn’t really been married or really been a wife. She hadn’t really been a part of the Cottingham family and she wasn’t really Lilly’s daughter and this wasn’t really her home. She had thought it could be, but she knew now it wasn’t.
Beth folded her three dresses and stacked them on top of each other in the leather case. She put in her winter coat, gloves and scarf. She put in her two nightdresses and thought how all these clothes, the dresses and the nightdresses, had been made for her by Lilly. She put in her stockings, camisoles and her hairbrush. Then finally Beth got her tins of money from where they were stacked inside her wardrobe. In 1910 the currency had changed and Paul had paid her a pound a week instead of a sovereign. She had changed all her saved half sovereigns for shillings at the State Bank of Victoria, ten shillings for each half sovereign. Then each week when Paul gave her the new pound she had it changed into twenty shillings and gave ten to Dottie and kept the other ten in her tin. When she had collected too many shillings she changed them into pound notes because they were easier to store. She had purchased little things here and there over the years, gifts or underwear and stockings, preserving jars, but she never needed much. All her meals had been provided by the Cottinghams and then by Lilly, all her dresses had been Edie’s and then Lilly had sewn clothes for her. So in all that time she had saved and her savings now amounted to two hundred and thirty-five pounds rolled into cigarettes and bound with a string bow. She counted it every Sunday night. It was enough for board, food, clothes, everything she could need for a year at least, longer if she lived frugally. Then she looked at Lilly standing in the doorway, trying to hold in her loss so it didn’t undo her. She was a mother with no children and Beth thought there was nothing sadder or more desolate in the world than a childless mother.
Beth wondered if she was doing the right thing. How could she leave Lilly? How could she be so cruel? She started to take the clothes out of the case but Lilly said, ‘Go on, love, you can always come back and visit. It’s only a train ride.’
‘You’re right,’ said Beth, ‘you’re right. It’s only a train ride,’ and she put the clothes back in the case.
Beth held a roll of pound notes out to Lilly but Lilly tucked her hands tightly under her arms.
‘No, love, I don’t need your money. You won’t be getting a wage from the Cottinghams any more.’
So why am I leaving? Beth wondered. Because she was twenty-five years old and maybe it was time she looked after herself.
‘Go on — take it. I can get compensation,’ said Beth, ‘for being a war widow. Seventy-eight pounds a year until I remarry.’
But still Lilly held her hands tight under her arms and clamped her mouth shut and shook her head.
‘I don’t need your money. I had a very prudent husband, he was much older
