Lily has always been a Lil Lily. Shes petite, with a waist that could slip through a thimble, bright green eyes, and a laugh that catches everyones attention. Men of all ages are drawn to tiny women; they want to protect, pamper, and cradle them like little ponies. As the saying goes, a small horse is always a colt.
Lily also has a giftshe can sing stunningly. Her voice is a true mezzosoprano, and she sings whenever and wherever she can. By day she works as a lab technician at the steel plant in Sheffield, but her soul belongs to song. She joins every choir she can find, slowly moving from hesitant appearances on stage to bolder performances. Art is the air she breathes.
She shows no hurry to marry, and children never cross her mind. Lily believes she is perfectly selfsufficient. A husband, kidsthose are chores that steal time from singing and enjoying life. She voices these thoughts in the company of her married friends, who nod sympathetically while they head off on maternity leave, some for the first time, others for the second or third.
Lily plans to devote herself entirely to music, yet life writes its own script. On the factory floor she meets the shopfloor manager, Alan Spencer, to whom she regularly delivers lab reports. The receptionist, Zoe Hart, guards Alans office jealously. Whenever Lily steps into the hallway, Zoe snatches the reports, thanks her, and says, Youre all set, miss. Ill hand these to Alan. No need to worry. Thus Lily never meets Alan in personuntil one day Zoe falls ill.
With the office door ajar, Lily knocks gently and peeks inside. At the far end of a long table sits Alan himself.
Come in, love. What have you got? he asks.
Just the sample reports, Lily stammers.
Youre new here, arent you? Alan presses.
No, Ive been here over five years, Lily replies.
He smiles, I hadnt noticed. Shame.
They chat, share a laugh, and Lily returns to her bench. From then on she places the reports directly on Alans desk. Zoe, recovered, watches Lily with a thin smile, turning away to water the potted ferns on the windowsill, deliberately ignoring Lily.
Lily is twentyseven. A brief office romance sparks; its brief because Alan is a proper gentleman. He doesnt want gossip columns to paint him as a rogue. He promptly proposes marriage. Lily laughs it off at firstwhy add more responsibilities? Shes happy with a carefree relationship.
Alan, surprised by her refusal, expects any other woman to swoon over him. He pauses the courtship, giving Lily time to think. Meanwhile, Lilys circle of female colleagues hounds her: A man like him is courting you! Dont turn him down! Youll be alone forever! Eventually, Lily gives in.
The wedding is a grand affair. In a bridal gown, veil, and childsize shoes, Lily looks like a delicate doll. Alan beams with pride. Lily, though, reserves her energy for singing, showing little affection toward her husband and saving her passion for the stage.
After a harmonious honeymoon, Lily prepares for regional toursconcerts in holiday homes, health resorts, and schools. Alan lets her go, only asking, Lily, could you make something to eat and iron my shirt, please? Lily snaps, Tom, Im in a hurry! and darts off.
Alan kisses her nose, Sorry love, Im just being a pest. Go sing! He repeats this a few times. Meanwhile, he learns to buy readymade meals, to wash his shirts, to fry eggs, and to wash dishesanything to keep Lilys focus on music.
Time passes. Lily quits the plant and pursues her singing career, touring the county. Alan, accustomed to a creative wife, assumes household chores are irrelevant. One day, while Alan sits in his office, he asks his secretary for a coffee. Zoe promptly delivers a tray and says, Mr. Spencer, may I offer you some scones? I baked them myself. He smiles, Thanks, Zoe. I love the ones with cherries.
Zoe then offers, Shall I sew a button onto your jacket? Its about to come off. Alan sighs, Zoe, my wife has her hands full with rehearsals. She cant spare a moment for me. Zoe mutters under her breath, Right, the wife sings while the husband howls. She stitches the button firmly and eats the scones.
Zoe begins feeding Alan throughout the daycold soups in a thermos, a steaming bowl of stew, a fresh pastry. She bakes cherry pies exclusively for him. Alan never notices hes falling under Zoes gentle care, but he respects his marriage and remains faithful to Lily.
Zoe, quietly devoted, believes love will eventually reveal who matters most. She waits, never rushing fate.
Alans attention slowly shifts toward Zoe. He compares Lily and Zoe in his mind, and Zoe often scores higher in patience and charm, even though she isnt a knockout. Lily remains oblivious, lost in her artistic ambitions.
Four years into their marriage, Lily and Alan are still just the two of them. Lily never talks about children. Then, one day, Lily feels her body change, gains a little weight, and asks Alan to stock up on pickled cucumbers and jampreserved applessigns, in her mind, that a stork might soon arrive.
Alan cant contain his joyan unborn child! Lily, however, feels uneasy. She visits a doctor, hoping to avoid pregnancy, but the doctor says its too late and wishes her a healthy baby. Alan remains unaware.
He roams the highstreet, checking prices for the best pram and the comfiest cot. Lily grudgingly accepts the diagnosis. Alan shares the news with Zoe, still calling her his dear aide. Zoe sighs and, halfjoking, writes a resignation letter.
Zoe, whats happening? Youre leaving? Alan asks.
My cherries are gone, Zoe. No more pies, she replies dryly.
The factory appoints a new secretary, Margaret Finch, a seasoned woman who knows everyones business. She scolds Alan, Oh, Alan! Youve lost a good one! Zoe loved you like no one else! Alan cuts her off, Back to work, Margaret. No distractions.
Months later Lily gives birth to a baby girl. The midwife asks, What will you name her? Lily snaps, Nothing! Alan rushes in with a bouquet, but Lily stays on the cot, sobbing.
The other mothers in the ward try to console her. Why are you crying? they ask. Lily declares, I dont want this child! The room fills with varied stories: one woman jokes about a lovers child, another laments being 36 with no husband, a third talks about a stolen market cash and names her son Toby, and so on. Lily turns away, hearing the chatter, thinking, If I listen, maybe Ill be the happiest of all.
A nurse hands Lily a bouquet from Alan, but Lily doesnt touch it. The nurse places it on the bedside table.
The next day Alan is sent on a twoweek work trip to launch a new production line. He returns home, racing from the station, eager to see his wife and daughter. He imagines a little girl with Lilys features, maybe even two beauties.
When he opens the door, only Lily is there, flipping through music sheets and humming.
Lily, wheres our daughter? he asks, bewildered.
Alan, sit down. I signed an abandonment form, Lily says without meeting his eyes.
Abandonment? Youre mad! Thats our child! How could you? Alan shouts, his anger rising.
He grabs the sheet music, tears it apart, crumples it, and hurls the pieces at Lily. Here are your notes, you idiot!
Lily, never having seen Alan so feral, fears for her life. Alan, now numb, grabs a suitcase, tosses his belongings in, slams the door, and walks out into the rainsoaked streets of Sheffield. He cries out, People! Where has love gone? Someonehelp! Passersby hurry by, lost in their own concerns.
After a night at a friends flat, Alan returns to the factory and asks the new secretary, Margaret, I need Zoes phone number for a matter. She hands him a slip, thinking, Probably an argument about the wife.
Alan locks himself in his office, aware of the secretarys curiosity.
When Lily finally calms from Alans outburst, she doesnt chase after him. She decides to dive deeper into her music, traveling to a holiday resort where a concert is arranged for her. She restores the torn sheets, sings, and the audience erupts in applause, demanding encores and showering the stage with flowers. She tours the countryside, performing night after night.
Years pass. Lily eventually stops touring and opens a vocal studio. She never studied formal music education, but her experience is enough to teach youngsters. One day a colleague asks, Lily, a girls been brought inshe seems talented. Can you audition her? Lily agrees.
Soon a boy and two girls walk in. The younger, about ten, is named Molly; the older, twelve, is called Emily. Alan points to a chair, Sit, Molly. He steps closer to Emily and, for a moment, recognises his former wife.
What on earth, why have I run into you among all these teachers? Alan mutters, stunned.
Calm down, Tom, Lily says, blushing. Lets hear your daughter sing.
Alan escorts Molly down the corridor. Lily begins the audition. The girls voice mirrors Lilys own childhoodtiny, bright, with that same mischievous laugh. After the song, Lily asks, How old are you, sweetheart?
Thirteen, Im Emily, the girl answers proudly.
Youre wonderful! Invite your dad to the next class, Lily suggests.
Alan steps in. Tom, you have a talented daughter. I could recommend a good tutor if Im not the right fit. Youre married, arent you? Hows life? Lily probes.
Yes, Im married and happy. My wife is Zoe, my former secretary. We raise my daughter Emily together with Zoes daughter, Molly, Alan says with a hint of pride.
Your daughter Emily? The one I gave birth to? Lily reacts, stunned.
You only gave her birth, Alan says flatly and walks away. Goodbye, teacher!
From the hallway comes a chorus of children shouting, Lets run to meet mum! Lily sits, her mind a swirl of voicesher own daughter, her former husband, the girls she just heard.
Thirteen years later Lily, feeling empty after a long day, returns home. Before she can step inside, her beloved cat, Melody, darts at her feet, purring. The cat knows Lily always brings a treat. Lily shooes Melody away, Not now! The cat pads to its bowl, demanding food.
She sighs, What do I have? A cat that wont speak, no husband, no children, a cold flat, a lonely bed. Ive played the wrong notes in my life. She wishes she could turn back time, but summer only comes once a year.
Lily runs through the melody of her life, note by note, and sees a sad, wistful talenothing but airfilled castles and a past that never quite fulfilled. Sitting in her armchair, wrapped in a familiar blanket, she reflects on an old fable about a grasshopper: All you ever sang? Thats the point
