Three Wishes(57)

Natasha jumped on the satin coverlet and stated a question to which she expected only one answer, “Isn’t this a great room?”

Laura said quietly, “Are you supposed to be jumping on the bed, my darling?”

“Oh, Mummy doesn’t mind,” Natasha answered, still jumping. “Or at least she’s given up telling Fazire and I to quit.”

Laura’s startled eyes turned to Nate at the very idea of the big, round man jumping on a bed. Nate found himself biting back laughter at his daughter’s easily announced incongruity and his mother’s startled gaze.

Unlike Lily, who seemed to have worn down over the years, losing her dazzling joie de vivre, Natasha was flourishing. She was bubbly and sparkling and obviously very, very happy.

Nate was, quite frankly, awed by all that Lily had created. His daughter, the welcoming house where all its occupants had their own space that was exactly like they wanted it, brimming with their personality (considering Fazire’s room, however, Nate had his doubts about Fazire’s personality). It was overwhelming that his thin, delicate Lily could have made something so wonderful against such odds.

Interrupting his thoughts, Natasha threw her legs out and expertly, clearly having much practice, landed on her bottom then bounced off the bed.

“Now! Mummy’s room!” she announced, grabbing Nate’s hand and forging out the door.

“I don’t think –” Laura started, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of intruding on Lily’s privacy but Natasha wasn’t listening.

“I don’t like Mummy’s room much. Mummy says she’ll get to it though, ee… ven… chu… ah… lee,” she sing-songed the word she obviously heard often as she walked to the back of the house.

Natasha threw open another door and dragged him inside and it was almost as if he’d entered another home altogether and not a very nice one.

The room was tidy and the bed was made. Other than that, there was nothing good about it.

The walls had been stripped of wallpaper but never re-plastered or painted, some of the old paper left in places. The bed was old, the mattress lumpy and all the furniture scarred, mismatched and in disrepair. The wardrobe door hung open drunkenly, exposing the clothes shoved inside the small space, shoes lined up underneath it that didn’t fit in the closet. There were books piled on the bedside tables and on the floor which was old, unfinished planks without even a throw rug to cover them.

There were no pictures on the walls or any ornamentation or decoration in the room. The only thing Nate could see was a big picture frame on the battered dresser, in it the Lily he knew from eight years ago was hugging a dark-haired man while a woman with white-blond hair hugged Lily from behind, her head on Lily’s shoulder.

The cat strolled in, jumped agilely up on Lily’s bed, sauntered to her pillow and curled up again for another nap.

The room was devoid of personality, not a room you’d want to spend any time in and, somehow, utterly sad.

“Now do you want tea?” Natasha asked, blissfully ignorant of all the room said about her mother’s sacrifice, again tilting her head with her question and then, without waiting for an answer, she grabbed Nate’s hand again and tugged him out of the room.

As he passed his parents, Nate could see his own stricken thoughts at the sight of Lily’s room openly expressed on their faces.

“Nathaniel –” Victor said in a low voice as Natasha pulled him passed.

He was saved from answering when Natasha turned her head to look over her shoulder at her father.

“Nathaniel,” she said to him, “I’m named after you.” She continued to tug him down the stairs. “Mummy said ‘Nathaniel’ is the name of a gentleman, a good name, a strong name. She really likes your name,” she finished when they’d walked into the lounge.

“Tash, what are you filling their heads with?” Lily asked her daughter softly as they entered, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

The lounge was again painted in a soft beige, this with bright yellow tinge. The furniture was nice but obviously inexpensive and bought for comfort and with a view to lasting. Lily stood by the fireplace looking out of place even in her casual clothes. The likes of Lily didn’t worry about her furniture’s durability. The likes of Lily stood comfortably in opulent throne rooms.

Next to her was Fazire who had his feet planted apart but now his arms were crossed on his chest and resting on his protruding stomach. He still looked madder than a bull and had his head tilted back at an unseemly angle so he could stare down his nose at them even though he was barely an inch taller than the petite Laura.

Everyone stared at each other and no one said a word.

“Tea!” Lily said loudly, sounding desperate and jumping for a tray on a low table in front of a sofa.

Nate noted, distractedly, the teapot was chipped.

He also noted that she had not made him tea, which he did not drink, but automatically, and without a word or a glance in his direction, handed him a mug of black coffee.

This he did drink.

The significance of this gesture, of his daughter telling him stories about her mother speaking of his smile and his name, hit Nate with the strength of a train.

Lily wasn’t lost to him as he feared, nor was she shattered like she looked.

She was simply broken.

And broken he could fix.