Page 18 of Second Act at Appleton Green
‘Morning.’ Lily heard and saw Gran coming down the stairs, one at a time, using her stick. Lily rushed over and set the frame up for her to use once she came to the bottom.’
Violet tapped the frame with her stick. ‘This is silly, I tell you.’
‘This will keep you at home longer,’ said Lily firmly.
Gran turned her nose up at both the frame and Lily and walked to the kitchen table.
‘Close the door – it’s freezing,’ she complained.
‘Sorry, I was listening to the garden,’ Lily said. Gran nodded. It was something they had always done when she was small. ‘A few dragonflies out this morning,’ she said.
‘Might have been damselflies,’ said Gran.
‘Hmm not sure,’ she admitted.
‘Damselflies are smaller; they symbolise protection. The dragonflies are bigger; they carry change with them,’ she said to Lily.
Lily thought for a moment. ‘Dragonflies, definitely.’
‘Speaking of change,’ said Gran as Lily poured hot water into the teapot, ‘what will you do about the audition? Which song will you sing? I still have all the old sheet music in the piano stool for you to use.’
Lily shook her head. ‘I don’t think I should,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to waste their time if I’m not staying.’
Gran sniffed at her. ‘But you think Nick is handsome enough – perhaps that’s enough of a reason to go.’
Lily pulled on her earlobe for a moment. ‘Is he? I didn’t really notice.’
‘Liar, liar, pants on fire. Your tongue was as long as a telephone wire!’ Gran sang.
‘You’re a ninety-seven-year-old child,’ she said.
‘You have two tells when you lie, and you just showed one of them,’ Gran said.
‘What are they?’ Lily frowned, trying to think what she had done.
‘I will take that to my grave,’ said Gran. ‘Now hurry up and get me some toast and tell me what song you’re singing and what you’re wearing. I want Sheila Trotter to be impressed by you.’
Lily sighed. She wasn’t going to win against Gran today.
*
That evening Lily paced in her bedroom, trying to warm up her voice, but nothing was coming out, just a weird noise escaping from her throat that sounded like the last of the bathwater draining away.
She closed her eyes and saw a flashback of hiding in the costumes in London after the failed audition, and her eyes stung with unshed tears. What was wrong with her? The shrill sound of the doorbell made her jump.
‘Nick’s here,’ she heard Gran call from downstairs as the doorbell rang.
This is a stupid idea, she thought as she went down to answer the door.
She was dressed in a plum-coloured dress with a scoop neck that showed off her creamy skin and her hair was down, a cascade of glossy brunette curls. She had put on a little makeup and simple silver earrings.
‘Hi,’ she said as she opened the door to Nick. He was in jeans and a navy jumper and looked even more handsome out of his nursing clothes. His hair was messy and he gave her a wide smile.
‘All ready?’ he asked.
‘Come in,’ she said and stepped away from the door for him to enter the cottage.
‘Hello, Mrs Baxter, how are you feeling?’ he said.
