Wild Lily (3 page)

The boys were sitting by the side of the lake beside what was now called grandly the airfield, waiting for Antony to arrive in his aeroplane. Nobody was pretending that they weren’t excited: they were jabbering away and looking at their watches every few minutes.

Lily approached them dubiously. She was emboldened by knowing more than they did, Antony having told her what time to expect him – they were only guessing. Normally, without Antony being there, she would have avoided them. They tended to despise her when Antony wasn’t there, as she did them.

It was a hot afternoon and the boys had been swimming to spin out the time. Lily was supposed to be picking beans in the kitchen garden, but her father had gone off to the farm and she knew he wouldn’t be back till supper time so she was in the clear. She wanted to witness Antony’s arrival as much as the boys. The whole village was waiting, she knew, for it was something of a local scandal, the young lad being
so indulged as to be given an aeroplane for his birthday.

‘What if he crashes?’ Cedric was saying. ‘I can’t believe he’s learned so quickly.’

‘He’s got more brain than you, dolt,’ Simon informed him. ‘It’s not very difficult. Landing is the trickiest, of course, so who knows?’

‘You can save him if it sets on fire,’ John said. ‘Be a hero. Count me out.’

Lily lay down in the grass near them, only half listening to their stupid conversation. Cedric, the farmer’s son, always got dumped on by the others but, an amiable lad, he did not seem to notice. John Simmonds – also at Eton with Antony and Simon – was the vicar’s son, rather hampered by his father’s calling, but quite nice in Lily’s opinion. She didn’t like Simon. He mimicked Squashy and teased his dog till Squashy cried – Lily had had fights with him over it, but of course lost, until rescued by Antony. But sometimes she had given as good as she got by underhand means, scratching and biting, and knowing where to kick. Simon fought fairly, to his disadvantage. He was a gentleman, after all.

The lake lay still in the hot sun. Lily stretched out in the grass, loving a few moments of rest, so rare in her life. She was tall for her years and honed thin with physical work – stringy, the boys said. Her hands were large and capable. She wore old-fashioned flowery dresses left over from her mother’s wardrobe, which she had cut about, made shorter, tighter and more becoming. She had an instinct for what looked right and was a clever seamstress, but she wore her clothes carelessly
and they were often dirty and torn: she did not attempt to make the boys stare. Antony was the only boy she wanted to please and he liked her as she was, her long blonde hair unkempt, her face sunburnt, her bright blue eyes laughing with admiration for him.

‘My little dandelion,’ he said.

‘That’s a weed.’ Lily was not flattered. ‘What about rose?’

‘You’re no rose, save for the thorns. Sunflower, perhaps. Tall and gawky.’

Lily did not take offence. She liked sunflowers.

She lay watching the birds circling over the grotto island where they had their nests in the thick verdancy. There were blackcaps and woodpeckers as well as the sparrows and wrens and tits and blackbirds and thrushes, and at night she could hear the owls hooting. She loved this place, in spite of the horrid house.

Antony’s friends were much intrigued by the beautiful Helena and were trying to get Antony to bring her out so they could talk to her. But Antony only said, ‘When we have our party she will come.’ Nobody was quite sure when or what this party was going to be, but Antony only said, ‘When my father’s away, of course.’ He was planning to get his Etonian friends over and it would last all night. Lily wasn’t sure if she would be invited, but supposed she could be a servant and get in that way. She didn’t really think it would ever happen, but the boys were keen on the idea.

‘Listen!’

The boys suddenly all sat up. Lily pretended not to be
bothered, but she felt a lurch in her stomach, a sudden sick feeling. It amazed her. She hadn’t been at all nervous, perfectly cool, but suddenly she was. She lay still, trying to pretend nonchalance. The boys had got to their feet and were staring excitedly up towards the house, over the hill, from where now distinctly came the sound of an aeroplane engine.

The sun was so bright it was difficult to focus. A flock of jackdaws flew off the chimneys and a small un-birdlike thing scattered them, skimming alarmingly low over the roof of Lockwood Hall. The boys all screamed out and Lily, forgetting nonchalance, jumped to her feet.

‘He’s too far down for the runway, the idiot!’ Simon shouted.

‘He’ll have to go round!’

‘He’s too low!’

The plane came towards them over the lake, its wheels skimming the trees of the grotto, and the birds flew in a great panic in all directions. The engine gave an anguished roar and the nose of the plane pitched up, the wings wobbling alarmingly.

‘He’s going to stall!’ Simon screamed out.

The plane hung like a shot bird for a moment, then lurched sideways and came slanting down completely out of control, obviously set on crashing into the ground.

Lily screamed, terrified, and the boys were shouting too, and running towards the spot which seemed destined for what looked like Antony’s disastrous arrival. But at the last moment, inches from the ground, the little aeroplane staggered onto an
even keel, and with a great burst of throttle shot off down the lakeside. Its wheels were only inches from the ground and it raced towards a large stand of trees that marked the boundary of the estate as if intent on burying itself in their embrace.

‘Oh, Jesus Christ!’ said John the vicar’s son.

Lily shut her eyes and thought she was going to pass out.

It seemed quite impossible for the plane to clear the boundary, but there was a fine gap in the middle of the stand and the plane made for it and managed to gain enough height to skim over it, its wheels brushing the topmost leaves so that they scattered as if in an autumn gale. Then it wheeled away like an eagle and its engine faded into the distance.

Lily joined the boys now, faint with fright. She saw that they were as stunned as she was, and she was now one of them in their combined concern for Antony.

‘He’ll make it next time,’ Simon said confidently.

‘He’ll come at the right angle, surely? Not sideways.’

‘He must start coming down at the end of the lake, not over the house.’

Lily was thinking bitterly, I could have done it better. She was deeply disappointed by her hero’s performance and feeling quite faint in the aftermath of his near-death. Now she was as one with the boys in their exclamations of dismay and horror.

‘You nearly lost him there, dandelion,’ Simon said with a grin.

‘And you your best friend. I don’t see that it’s anything to smile about. You won’t laugh if he kills himself!’

‘I don’t suppose he’s laughing now,’ John put in. ‘He’s got
to come down, after all. I daresay that scared him more than it did us.’

‘Not more scared than me,’ Cedric said. ‘I don’t want to watch next time.’

The sentiments of them all, Lily thought, but of course their eyes were glued to the sky and their ears alert for the recurring sound of the engine. They stood like pointing greyhounds, faces turned upwards. The birds had all come back and the air was full of the singing of the skylarks. They would sing on, Lily thought, when Antony had crashed to his death right in front of them. She was shaking and felt the bile of fear in her throat.

Far away, they heard the sound again. In a better place this time, coming from the village end of the lake, in the proper place for descending onto the runway. But too fast, or too slow … how many times had he practised it, the clever bit of learning to fly, to land? Apparently any fool could take off. They were silent now, staring into the bright sky.

This time the aeroplane came into view at what looked the right height and in the right place. It seemed to be coming very fast. Did it have brakes? Lily wondered wildly. It seemed to waver about somewhat, its wings tipping one way and then the other (which was surely wrong?), but still high enough to clear the ground. Too high?

Lily cried out.

‘Bloody hell!’ breathed the vicar’s son.

The plane sank suddenly and its wheels hit the ground. Too fast: it bounced up again, seemed to shudder like a
wounded bird, and then dropped for the second time. Not quite so hard, another bounce, then another, and it slewed sideways nearly into the lake and came to an anguished halt half facing the way it had come. The engine stopped and there was a sweet silence, not even birdsong, for the birds had all been scared away.

The spectators let out a collective sigh of relief, and then they were all running towards the skewed plane, laughing and shouting, Lily as well. She wanted to scream to relieve her agony of fear, but she bit her lip and stifled the stupid words that came into her head, not to give herself away. It was just a lark; the boys were all laughing their heads off. Antony wasn’t dead, after all.

He was still sitting in the cockpit, pushing up his goggles. He was as white as a sheet, but pretended nothing was untoward.

‘Sorry if I scared you! Got it a bit wrong first time.’

‘Yeah, and the second time too,’ Simon said unkindly.

‘Not perfect, no. But I will improve. Early days, you wait.’

If they had been scared, Lily could see that Antony, with reason, had been even more so. She wondered if it had put him off.

But he said, ‘Piece of cake next time. You’ll see. I landed properly plenty of times at Brooklands.’

‘Nerves, that’s all,’ said John kindly. ‘Are you going up again now? You know, like getting back on a horse after a fall.’

‘No, why should I? I got it right the second time. Tomorrow I’ll go for a spin, and one of you shall come with me. That’s
what I got it for, for us all to have a bit of fun. Who wants to be first?’

There was a marked silence.

Then Cedric said, ‘Not me.’

John cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘Rather you got a bit more practice in first, old chap.’

‘Simon?’

‘No bloody fear.’

Antony stared at them, mortified. Disappointment and indignation mingled in his features. He pulled off his brand-new flying helmet and flung it down in disgust. Lily thought he looked as if he were going to cry, his triumph short-lived. ‘I thought we were going to be in this together, get about and have a load of fun. I didn’t think you were such a lily-livered bunch of old women. I went into it thinking of all of us, all of us having a lark …’ His voice trailed off.

Lily stepped forward. ‘I’ll come, Antony. Take me. I’m not scared.’

‘Lily!’ They all gaped at her.

Antony’s face broke into a great smile and Lily thought for a glorious moment he was going to hug her. But he rounded triumphantly to the others: ‘You see, a girl! Lily’s not scared! She’s worth ten of you lot. You’re a brick, Lily, I love you!’

If only, Lily thought. She stood, trembling.

Then Antony said, ‘Tomorrow morning, Lily. Meet me here, and you will be my first passenger. I promise you, it will be great. My first real trip, all round Surrey. You will love it!’

The time lapse – tomorrow! – was balm to Lily’s nerves.
She thought she would pass out with relief. All night to get used to the idea, to talk herself into believing in Antony’s skill. Of course she had faith in him, there was nothing to be scared of, only a great treat to look forward to! She looked up and saw the three boys staring at her. Their expressions were hard to make out, but she had an uneasy instinct that pity was uppermost.

She felt her lips quiver, but she said, ‘Fine, Antony, I’ll be here in the morning.’

And walked home.

Lily did not sleep that night. She dozed, and her dreams were all of death. She dreamed of her dead mother. She saw her again, lying exhausted after Squashy’s birth, and later with the life gone out of her, her beautiful blue eyes closed for ever and her cheeks marble white, sunk in disappointment. It was one of the neighbours who inadvertently christened Squashy: ‘That baby’s not right, you can tell – all sort of squashy-looking. The brain will be amiss, you mark my words. Poor little soul.’

But Lily took her baby brother under her wing and from his birth scarcely ever left him, trailing him behind her in a little cart their father made, playing with him, laughing. So Squashy grew up much loved by Lily and his dog Barky, and was happy. Their father was not a loving man, but he made sure the village boys didn’t rag his son, nor the under-gardeners. He worked him very hard, but Squashy thrived on the work and was happy whatever the task.

He wouldn’t be very happy seeing her fly away in Antony’s
aeroplane, Lily knew that, and determined that he would go with his father in the morning, off to market. Then she would be in the clear. She could not convince herself that she had made a good decision, in spite of impressing the boys, but the admiration in Antony’s eyes consoled her. If she hadn’t seen his terrible landings she would have been more excited than terrified, and she tried to convince herself that of course, with her on board, he would take infinite care to get it right. He obviously didn’t want to die either. She concentrated on thinking how amazing it would be up in the sky like a bird, looking down on all the woods and fields.

But it seemed a very long night, full of the sad cries of the owls and the lament of a distant cow with its calf lost and then the infinite silence with a half moon lying on its side in a sky full of stars where her mother’s soul dwelt and all the souls of everyone who had gone before … how could one count the numbers? What matter if she and Antony were to join them? Who would miss them? Only Squashy and her father, and Mr Claude Sylvester, she thought. No wonder she could not sleep with such portentous rubbish floating around in her head.

In the morning her father departed with Squashy and Barky and she went down to the lake with her heart pounding. The awful fear had faded and now it was excitement that filled her. The worst imaginings always surfaced in the hours of the night, but with daylight and sunshine came optimism and hope. The water reflected the clear blue of the sky and the birds were all singing again. She made her way down to where the aeroplane stood, straightened out now and facing back the
way it had come. It was a biplane, quite small and stumpy, with two seats one behind the other, a cocky little thing, Lily thought, and the right sort for Antony. Not too serious.

Quite soon Antony appeared on his bicycle, making round the head of the lake. He was wearing a long leather flying coat and a leather flying helmet, with goggles slung round his neck, and looked every inch the proficient pilot. The other boys were arriving too, agog, Lily thought, to see a bit of excitement.

Ghouls, she thought … they want to see us crash! But Antony won’t crash – she willed it, a prayer to God. How she wished she could believe in God! It was so hard, after what he did to her mother. It would be a big help now.

‘I thought you might have changed your mind,’ Antony said when he arrived.

‘No, why should I?’ Very nonchalant.

‘Lots of good reasons,’ Simon said.

‘Honestly, you haven’t got to,’ Antony said, rather unexpectedly.

‘No, I want to come.’ Big lie.

‘Good. You’re a brick.’

Her seat behind him had its own door, and the boys opened it and bunked her in.

‘Do up the straps,’ Antony called.

‘Why? You’re not going to loop the loop?’ A flare of panic.

Simon laughed.

‘Coward!’ Lily hissed at him.

‘A live coward though!’

‘It gets a bit bumpy up there sometimes, that’s all.’

Lily could not conceive of air being bumpy, but conversation was cut off by the sudden roar of the engine as John swung the propeller to Antony’s instructions. The noise was terrifying and the birds all left the grotto again in a great cloud of confusion, swirling high into the sky. And me too, Lily thought: here I go, and the little plane started to move off down the side of the lake, very sedate, like a car.

But instead of taking off, the plane stopped outside her cottage and Antony throttled down the engine and shouted, ‘Go in and get a coat or something, and a hat – you’ll freeze up there without.’

Lily struggled out of her straps and jumped out and ran indoors. Whatever did she have for such a trip? No smart leather coat and helmet like Antony’s; she had seen pictures in smart magazines in the houses she sometimes cleaned of ladies in motor cars, or leaning on aeroplanes, with the most elegant suitable coats and hats. But as it was, after a quick scour in her mother’s old wardrobe, she came out in a fur coat made of rabbits and moles, which her mother had once stitched from the gamekeeper’s gifts, and a hat used for Squashy’s christening, tied down with an old towel out of the kitchen. By then the boys had caught up with them and, after laughing themselves stupid at her get-up, they bunked her back in the plane and did up the straps again. Lily had a suspicion that their derision was a counter to the humiliation they were feeling at her having outdone them in courage. If it wasn’t, it should have been.

She didn’t show it, but her courage was fading fast as Antony turned the plane back on course down the side of the lake and revved up the engine. The terrible roar obliterated the boys’ rude shouts of farewell. Perhaps I shall never see them again! Lily thought.

Antony turned, grinning, and gave her a thumbs-up, then the little plane went hurtling down the grass towards the far stand of trees that barred the open sky.

I am going to die! Lily thought. She knew she wasn’t brave at all, only an idiot trying to gain Antony’s admiration.

Then she remembered that taking off was easy; it was the landing she had to worry about. And it was true. They rose into the air so effortlessly that Lily did not feel the ground leaving them; only her eyes registered with amazement the grass receding, the lake opening out below, and what seemed the whole of Surrey gradually laid out like a map below, its beautiful trees and commons and tiny villages all spread about in summer abandon. It was so beautiful, the look of it, the feel of it, that Lily felt tears of pure delight springing into her eyes. (Or was it the lack of goggles?) Whatever, she laughed out loud, and vowed that even if she were to die, it would be worth it, this euphoria, never before experienced, at one with the birds, with the stars had it been night time, with God even: she thought she would burst with it.

And then higher and higher, and Antony was turning round and jabbing with his finger, pointing, and when she looked she saw what could only be the sea. Lily had never seen it before – a pale slender fingernail across the horizon, faintly
curved, empty, the edge of the world. She screamed with delight, because no one could hear her, and she wanted to shout and sing and dance, it was so wonderful. If he killed her now, it would be worth it. What a blessing she sat behind him so that he could not witness her performance – lucky there were straps to hold her down.

Perhaps conscious of her excitement, Antony flew south towards the sea and she saw it properly, with steamers heading down the Channel, and a smattering of tiny sails, and the towns fronting themselves along its edge, close-roofed and tidy, and the yellow sand spotted with tiny tiny people, like ants.

How wonderful that she had volunteered for this wonderful outing out of pure bravado, not even guessing what she might see! Only the fear of dying had possessed her, and now even that, as the time for landing edged nearer, had faded into a mere unease. The flying had been so effortless, so easy, no wobbles, no bumps, that her faith in Antony had increased. As he turned and came lower over the more familiar boundaries of her home ground she settled in her seat and started to pray to the useless god that she didn’t believe in.

‘Please, God, I will believe in you if you get me down safely. I thank you for this wonderful flight.’ She knew that God liked thanks and praise; he got fed up with only being asked for stuff.

The aeroplane came down lower and lower. Lily could almost feel Antony’s concentration flowing out of his tense body into her face. She prayed for him. He was looking over
the side to see how far up he was, and she could see the beginning of the lake over his shoulder. Someone on the lane below looked up and then ducked, so that Lily thought they were too close. She shut her eyes and felt a bile of fear rise in her throat. The engine was making stuttering noises. Oh no God –
Please!
She cried out; the aeroplane wobbled and bumped down, rose and bumped again, but not nearly as alarmingly as the day before, and then ran fast down beside the lake and it was as if they were in a car, driving fast round Brooklands.

They were down, but how did it stop, this flying bird? There were no brakes, but something held it because although they passed the grotto by quite a distance they came to a halt just where Lily’s father had got tired of mowing the grass, marking the edge of the airfield. Antony then taxied it in a big circle and came back to the grotto where he turned the engine off. Lily saw his body slump with relief. He half turned to her, smiling, and the boys who had been waiting by the grotto came running up, all laughs and shouting.

‘Great stuff, Ant! You didn’t kill her, after all!’

‘Very smooth! Brilliant!’

‘Really good,’ from Cedric, his red farmer’s face shining with congratulation.

They both climbed out. Antony jumped down and then looked back into his cockpit and dragged out what looked a large canvas parcel. ‘I’d forgotten this. It came with the plane – a parachute.’

‘Only one for you? What about Lily?’

‘It would be great, wouldn’t it, jumping out and drifting down? I wouldn’t half like to try it,’ Antony said.

‘You can’t, idiot, if you’re the pilot. You’d lose the plane.’

‘No, but great to try it, eh? See if it works.’

‘Not much fun if it doesn’t.’

‘Oh, it’s in perfect order. They said so. You can trust it perfectly. Now you’ve seen how good I am at landing, one of you could try this. I only wish it could be me.’ He offered it like a prize, a distinction, a present for the best boy.

No one offered.

‘We’re not stupid, Ant.’

Simon said, ‘You’ll have to ask Lily. She’s daft enough.’

‘Brave enough. You all make me puke.’

He didn’t ask then, but Lily knew he would, later. She didn’t want to know.