Pictures of Lily

draw a line under the whole thing and move on to have a perfectly content life with Richard. And Richard would have been none the wiser, but a hell of a lot happier. Sometimes honesty isn’t the best policy.’
    ‘But the way things have turned out – it’s all such a mess. Anyway, enough about me. Fill me in on the latest with Mr Horn.’
    She puts her hand on my arm and gives me a sympathetic smile before she allows me to change the subject. ‘It’ll be okay,’ she promises. ‘It will all work out for the best.’
    My mum is there when I get back to her place that evening and despite our often-volatile relationship, I’m glad not to be walking into a dark flat again.
    ‘Hello,’ she greets me, coming through from the kitchen.
    ‘Hi,’ I reply. ‘I wasn’t sure if you were working tonight.’
    ‘I did the lunchtime shift,’ she replies. ‘And then rushed back here to cook you dinner.’
    ‘Seriously? What are we having?’
    She beams. ‘Chicken in a cream and white wine sauce with new potatoes and veggies.’
    ‘That sounds amazing.’ It seems I have my appetite back.
    ‘I thought you’d like it.’
    ‘Thanks, Mum.’ She checks her watch as I slump onto the sofa.
    ‘What do you want to drink? I’ve opened up a bottle of white.’
    I smile gratefully. ‘That would be nice.’
    ‘Back in a tick.’
    I slip out of my heels and put my feet up on the coffee table, closing my eyes for a moment. They sting from stress and lack of sleep. Mum comes through a minute later with two wine glasses and passes one over.
    ‘Feet on the table,’ she tuts.
    ‘Sorry.’ I take them down again. She never used to mind.
    ‘How was your dad’s visit?’ she asks, perching on the second, smaller sofa to my right.
    ‘Fine. It was good. The girls have grown so much.’
    ‘I bet they have. And Lorraine, how is she?’ Her voice naturally becomes more forced when she asks after my dad’s wife.
    ‘She’s fine. She’s still the same.’
    ‘Well, that’s good,’ she says abruptly. ‘And what about you? Are you okay?’
    I shake my head slightly. ‘Not really, no, Mum.’
    ‘Are you going to tell me what this is all about?’
    I sigh and lean forward to put my glass on the table. I haven’t taken a sip yet. ‘I needed some time alone,’ I reply eventually.
    ‘From Richard? Why?’
    ‘I’m not sure I want to get married to him,’ I say with difficulty.
    ‘Really?’ she gasps, putting her hand over her mouth. ‘Why not? Has he done something to hurt you?’
    ‘No, of course not, Mum. It’s me. I . . . have feelings for someone else.’
    ‘Oh, Lily,’ she replies with disappointment. ‘How could you let that happen?’
    ‘How could I let that happen?’ I ask with incredulity. ‘I didn’t mean to fall in love with two men!’
    ‘No, okay,’ she placates me, ‘of course you didn’t. So who is he? How did you meet him?’
    ‘I met him years ago.’ I avoid the first question. ‘Sorry, I don’t really feel like talking about this now.’
    She stares at me for a moment before checking her watch again and going back through to the kitchen. There’s a knock at the door. Mum rushes through from the kitchen. ‘He’s early.’
    ‘Who’s early?’ I sit up in my seat as she wavers between coming my way or going to the door.
    ‘I wanted you to meet someone.’ I recognise this look in her eye. Pleading . . .
    ‘What?’ I sit up straighter.
    ‘Please, Lily, it’s someone who’s been on the cards for some time.’
    ‘Tell me you’re joking,’ I say deadpan. ‘I come here for some . . . solace . . . and you expect me to socialise with the latest shag in your life?’
    The jaunty little knock comes again, albeit this time more insistently.
    ‘He’s important,’ she hisses desperately as she turns towards the door.
    ‘They’re ALL important!’ I get to my feet angrily. ‘I can’t believe you can be so selfish.’
    ‘Please,’ she begs. ‘He’ll hear you.’
    She swings open the door to reveal a middle-aged, heavy-set, olive-skinned man beaming widely in the doorway.
    ‘Come in, come in,’ Mum urges, plastering her happy smile all over her face. ‘This is my daughter, Lily.’
    I don’t know how, but I manage not to storm out of the room into my bedroom and slam the door like a teenager.
    ‘Hello.’ I don’t manage a smile, however.
    ‘Aah, this is your daughter.’ He has an Italian accent, I notice, as he bursts into the room and gives me a huge smackeroonie on