Page 118 of Still Me
I followed her out, mouthing an apology at Lydia, who shrugged, unconcerned. I suspected that even the faint possibility of Margot’s wardrobe coming her way had softened any natural tendency toward combativeness.
We caught a taxi back in silence. I was annoyed with myself for my lack of diplomacy and simultaneously irritated with Margot for her out-and-out rejection of what I had thought was quite a sensible plan. She refused to look at me during the whole journey. I sat beside her, Dean Martin panting between us, and rehearsed arguments in my head until her silence became unnerving. I glanced sideways and saw an old woman, who had just come out of hospital. I had no right to pressure her into anything.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Margot,” I said, as I helped her out in front of her building. “I just thought it might be a way forward. You know, with the debts and everything. I just don’t want you to lose your home.”
Margot straightened up and adjusted her fur hat with a brittle hand. Her voice was querulous, almost tearful, and I realized she had also been rehearsing an argument in her head for the entire fifty or so blocks. “You don’t understand, Louisa. These are mythings, my babies. They may be old clothes, potential financial assets, to you, but they arepreciousto me. They are my history, beautiful, prized remnants of my life.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I wouldn’t send them to that grubby secondhand shop if I were on myknees. And the thought of seeing a perfect stranger walking toward me on the street in an outfit I’d loved! I would feel utterly wretched. No. I know you were trying to help, but no.”
She turned and waved off my outstretched hand, waiting instead for Ashok to help her to the lift.
—
Despite our occasional misfires, Margot and I were quite content that spring.
In April, as promised, Lily came to New York, accompanied by Mrs. Traynor. They stayed at the Ritz Carlton, a few blocks away, and invited Margot and me for lunch. Having them there together made me feel as if a threaded darning needle was quietly drawing the different parts of my life together.
Mrs. Traynor, with her diplomat’s good manners, was delightful to Margot, and they found common ground over the history of the building and of New York in general. At lunch, I saw another Margot: quick-witted, knowledgeable, enlivened by new company. Mrs. Traynor, it emerged, had come here for her honeymoon in 1978 and they discussed restaurants, galleries, and exhibitions of the time. Mrs. Traynor talked of her time as a magistrate, and Margot discussed the office politics of the 1970s, and they laughed heartily in a way that suggested we younger people couldn’t possibly understand. We ate salad and a small portion of fish wrapped in prosciutto. I noticed that Margot had a tiny forkful of everything, sliding the rest to one side, and despaired quietly of ever getting her to fill any of her clothes again.
Lily, meanwhile, leaned into me and quizzed me about where she could go that didn’t involve either old people or any kind of cultural improvement.
“Granny has packed these four days absolutely full of educational crap. I’ve got to go to the Museum of Modern Art and some botanical gardens and all sorts, which is fine, blah-blah, if you like all that, but I really want to go clubbing and get wrecked and go shopping. I mean, this is New York!”
“I’ve already spoken with Mrs. Traynor. And I’m taking you out tomorrow while she catches up with a cousin of hers.”
“Seriously? Thank God. I’m going backpacking in Vietnam in the long vac. Did I tell you? I want to get some decent cutoff shorts. Something I can wear for weeks and it won’t matter if they don’t get washed. And maybe an old biker jacket. Something good and battered.”
“Who are you going with? A friend?” I raised an eyebrow.
“You sound like Granny.”
“Well?”
“A boyfriend.” And then, as I opened my mouth: “But I don’t want to say anything about him.”
“Why? I’m delighted you have a boyfriend. It’s lovely news.” I lowered my voice. “You know the last person who got cagey like that was my sister. And she was basically hiding the fact that she was about to come out.”
“I am not coming out. I do not want to go rooting about in someone’s lady garden. Bleurgh.”
I tried not to laugh. “Lily, you don’t have to keep everything close to your chest. We all just want you to be happy. It’s okay if people know your business.”
“Granny does know my business, as you so quaintly call it.”
“Then why can’t you tell me? I thought you and I could tell each other anything!”
Lily bore the resigned expression of someone cornered. She sighed theatrically and put down her knife and fork. She looked at me as if braced for a fight. “Because it’s Jake.”
“Jake?”
“Sam’s Jake.”
The restaurant ground to a gentle halt around me. I forced my face into a smile. “Okay!... Wow!”
She scowled. “I knew you’d react like that. Look, it just happened. And it’s not like we talk about you all the time or anything. I just ran into him a couple of times—you know we met at that Letting Go thing for that cringy grief counseling group you used to go to and we got on okay and we liked each other? Well, we sort of get each other’s situations so we’re going backpacking together in the summer. No biggie.”
My brain was spinning. “Has Mrs. Traynor met him?”
