Free No Wings to Fly by Jess Foley Page B

until quite late in the evenings. On a few occasions, with Dora for company, Lily had gone off on various errands, but for the most part she had no recourse but to remain around the house, helping her stepmother with the chores. So she spent time cleaning, doing laundry, washing dishes, mending the family’s clothes and lending a hand in the garden. It was what was expected of her. She was disappointed too, to find that her relationship with her stepmother had not improved in any way. Mrs Clair had not mellowed with the passing of time. If anything, Lily found, she seemed even more prickly, humourless and disagreeable with her stepchildren. Lily tried on several occasions to bridge the gap that was ever there between them, but with no success. Her attempts at initiating a friendly conversation were invariably met with coldness and a certain disdain. As she had done a hundred times in the past, Lily could only urge herself to accept the situation, and acknowledge that it would never be mended.
    At least, though, she was able to spend a little time with her brother, during those few hours between his getting in from the farm and going off to his bed. After supper on the Saturday, her last evening, the two of them walked down the garden to the little orchard. It was past Tom’s usual bed-time, but he would be up and out of the house the next morning before Lily had risen.
    ‘You hardly get a day off,’ Lily observed. ‘Going into the farm even on Sunday.’
    ‘I want to,’ he said, ‘and they need me. Work don’t stop just because it’s Sunday. The livestock don’t know a Sunday from a Sat’day. The cows still ’ave to be milked, the sheep still ’ave to be fed, the stables still ’as to be cleaned out.’ He gave a sigh. ‘Oh, Lil, it’s been grand havin’ you back for a while, and I’m sorry you’re goin’. I just wish I was goin’ too.’ There was the shadow of sadness in his face. They had come to a stop beneath an apple tree. Up above their heads bats dipped and soared in the fading light.
    ‘Oh, believe me,’ Lily said, ‘I’m not going back to anything special. Far from it, and I hope it won’t be that much longer before I’m doing something different.’
    ‘Have you given up all thoughts of teaching?’ Tom asked.
    ‘I’m afraid I’ve had to,’ she said. Then added, brightening a little, ‘But there’ll be something else. I live in hopes.’
    ‘Of course you do,’ he said. ‘Anyway, maybe you’ll meet some nice fella and get married.’
    ‘Yes,’ she said dryly, ‘and pigs might fly.’
    He laughed. ‘Still, summat good’ll ’appen, you’ll see. Your time’ll come. Mine too. One day I shall get away as well.’
    Soon after breakfast the next morning, Lily and her father prepared to set out for the station. As Mr Clair came into the kitchen carrying Lily’s bag, Mrs Clair said, ‘Lord almighty, you’d think the girl’s a child, I swear. She’s eighteen years old. Ain’t she capable of getting to the station on her own?’
    ‘It’s not light, her bag,’ he said. ‘And it’s a longish walk to the omnibus.’
    ‘You mollycoddle ’em, that’s what you do,’ Mrs Clair said.
    Mr Clair said nothing to this, but put on his hat. ‘Come on, then,’ he said to Lily. ‘Let’s go, or you’ll miss your train.’
    He carried her bag along the lane, while Lily walked at his side holding her reticule. At the corner they waited for an omnibus, and so eventually got to the station.
    On the platform, in good time for the train, they sat on a bench for a minute or two in silence as other travellers came and went. Lily was conscious of her father’s nearness, of their being alone together, and glad of the situation. Throughout the days of her holiday there had rarely been such periods.
    ‘Well,’ he said after a while, ‘it’s back to Mr and Mrs Haskin for you now.’
    ‘Yes. You know, Father, I’ve been there almost three years now.’
    ‘Is it that long?’
    ‘Three