Pictures of Lily (18 page)

‘He’s catching up with a mate.’

‘I haven’t seen him for ages.’

‘No, I know. He did want to come.’

‘Why didn’t he then?’

Whoops, walked right into that one. ‘I thought it’d be nice to spend some time, just the two of us. How are you, by the way?’

‘I’m fine,’ she says breezily, shaking back her shoulder-length, medium-blonde locks.

‘Still cut up about Jeremy?’

She scoffs. ‘Hell, no. His loss.’

‘That’s the spirit, Mum.’

She drags the plastic side-table over and props her feet up. Her legs are still slim and tanned and I notice she’s given herself a pedicure.

‘Any more men on the scene?’

‘Not really.’

‘You don’t sound too sure.’

‘You know what I’m like, Lils.’

‘Yes, Mum, I definitely do. Tell me about him.’

‘Nothing much has happened yet. I will when it does. Don’t want to jinx it.’

I stare off into the distance at the ocean. We can just about see it, squeezed between two tall apartment complexes.

‘Do you still have that box of my things from when we moved here?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.

‘Yes, it’s in the cupboard in your room.’

Bless her, she still calls it my room even though I haven’t lived in it for four years.

The living room is intimate, but light, decorated in neutral cream tones. There are two bedrooms directly off it. I wander into the smaller of the two. It still looks like a spare bedroom; I never did make it my own. I slide open the mirrored door of the built-in wardrobes and peer up at the top shelf. Sure enough, there’s my box. I pull over a chair, climb onto it and drag the box down onto the bed. Making myself comfortable, I peel back the packing tape.

This box hasn’t been opened since we left Adelaide, and it’s the strangest thing how it smells like our home in Piccadilly. I close my eyes for a moment as memories flood back. I still remember packing it after Mum had told Michael they were over. It was a horrible time. He was distraught and Mum just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. Josh came into my bedroom while I was putting my things away and I had to ask him to leave me alone because I was upset. He was twenty-one, almost twenty-two then, but he still lived with his dad. I remember feeling glad that Michael wouldn’t be alone when we walked out of the door. And I still recall the look on his face when I kissed him goodbye. He was heartbroken. Mum could barely even look at him, let alone give him a hug. Oh, it was ghastly. Ghastly. I don’t usually use that word, but it pretty much sums up the proceedings.

I pull out my school books and take a quick flick through, smirking at the teacher’s comments – a reaction I’ve had to master because it’s better than feeling disappointed in myself. I put down the books before regret hits and instantly spy a set of brown spidery legs poking out from under a folded-up poster. I leap off the bed, clutching my hand to my mouth. Were they moving? I don’t think so. I take a tentative step towards the box and peer in. Definitely dead. Phew. The spider must have sneaked in when I packed the box all those years ago.

I grab a tissue and grimace as I reach in and retrieve the deceased squatter. I drop it in the wastepaper basket with a shudder and return to the job at hand. I pull out the poster and unfold it to see it’s of Fence before they split up and their hot lead singer Johnny Jefferson went solo. There’s another of Blur, plus some CDs, books, old pieces of costume jewellery and . . . Oh my God. It’s his shirt. His shirt. The one I nicked and never gave back. I lift it up and breathe in deeply. Somewhere in its depths I can still smell him. Or is it my imagination? I slept with it under my pillow for a year, always living in fear that my mum would find it. I gingerly put it to one side and then – there it is, my camera. And underneath it are stacks and stacks of photographs. I’m not sure I have the strength for this.

For a moment I close my eyes and feel the weight of the camera in my hands. It’s partly smooth and partly ridged, heavy between my fingers. And then I can see the shots that I took, one by one as though clicking through a projector in my head. New Year confetti sparkling in the hot Australian sun; a giant rocking horse; a kangaroo called Roy; Olivia the koala; the lily pond . . . But no Ben. I remember I took no shots of Ben.

But you took one of me, didn’t you? Do you ever look at it? Do you ever wonder what might have been?

‘You didn’t say what you wanted for lunch.’

I jump guiltily at the sound of my mum’s voice.

‘You scared me!’

‘Sorry. What are you doing, sitting there with your eyes closed?’ she asks.

‘Resting.’

‘Resting?’ she scoffs. ‘I thought you stayed in last night?’

‘I did. What is there? For lunch,’ I add, when she looks confused.

‘Oh. A sandwich? Some soup?’

‘A sandwich, please. I have soup every day at work. Do you want me to make it?’

‘No, no, I think I can just about manage it myself,’ she replies with amusement. ‘Cheese? Chicken?’

‘Cheese is good.’

‘I’ll get on with it.’

‘Thanks,’ I murmur, turning back to my camera. I gently place it down on the bed and reach into the box for the photographs. They’re better than I remembered them, which surprises me. There’s no holding back the regret now. Why did I stop taking pictures? Why?

I’m still sitting there, staring into space, when my mum returns.

‘Lunch is ready.’

‘Okay, cool.’ I look down at the opened box. ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’

‘Leave it there. I’ll sort it later. Come and chat to me.’

I reluctantly get up and leave the room, knowing that I’ll return in a while to pack up my things. I don’t want my mum to touch anything, especially my photographs.

We sit at the small round wooden dinner table to eat.

‘Have you seen much of Jeremy since – you know?’ I ask.

‘Nope. Coward used his key to clear out his stuff when I was at work. I haven’t seen him since.’

‘You’re well out of it,’ I tell her.

She shrugs nonchalantly. ‘I know.’

‘Josh is coming over in a couple of weeks.’

‘Is he?’ She tries to sound disinterested.

‘Would you like me to bring him over here to say hi?’

‘What would I want you to do that for?’

‘I don’t know, I thought you might miss him.’

She laughs. ‘No way. I’m surprised you two stayed in touch.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, he seemed so – and don’t take this the wrong way – but out of your league.’

‘Thanks very much!’ She laughs, which does nothing to lessen my annoyance. ‘Do you think Richard is out of my league too?’ I continue indignantly.

‘No, no, you’re much more of a catch now.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Oh, you know, Lily, you didn’t make very much of yourself back in those days. I even thought at one stage that you were a lesbian.’

‘Mum!’ She laughs again, clearly enjoying herself. ‘What about Dan? Did you think
he
was out of my league?’

‘Absolutely. Darling, didn’t you? I mean, look how that turned out.’

Now I’m properly stung.

‘Oh honey, don’t be upset. Look at you now – you’re gorgeous. Richard is a very, very lucky young man.’

‘He’s asked me to marry him.’

‘
What
?’

I cringe, inwardly
and
outwardly. I wasn’t planning on telling her, but it just came out.

‘What did you say?’ she asks when I don’t speak.

‘I said yes,’ I tell her.

‘Did you?’ She looks surprised, and not pleasantly so.

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Oh.’ The corners of her mouth turn down and she picks up her sandwich.

‘Is that all you’re going to say?’ Now I’m getting cross again.

‘What do you want me to say?’

‘Congratulations would be nice.’

‘Congratulations, darling.’

‘But you don’t mean it!’

‘You know what I’m like about tying the knot. I didn’t think anybody did that these days.’

‘Well, they do. And I’m going to. Okay?’

‘Of course. It’s your life.’

‘Oh, you are really pissing me off now.’ I throw my sandwich down on my plate in disgust.

‘Don’t be so sensitive,’ she chides, which doesn’t help. Neither of us speaks for a while. I sit there, refusing to eat because I’m fuming. ‘Have you got an engagement ring?’ she asks.

‘Don’t you think I’d be wearing it if I did?’

‘Are you going to get one?’ she goes on, ignoring me.

‘No.’

‘Really? I thought Richard could afford an engagement ring.’

‘He can, Mum, but I don’t want one.’

‘Don’t you? Free diamonds are the only good thing about getting married, as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Well, why didn’t you do it more often, then,’ I say irritably. ‘It’s not like you didn’t have the opportunity to. By the way, I hear Michael’s very happy with Janine.’

‘Good for them,’ she says bluntly.

I set off soon after that, but not before I’ve gone into my bedroom to pack away my things. I take one last inhale of Ben’s shirt and place the photos back in the box, feeling twinge after twinge of painful regret. I pick up the camera, but can’t bring myself to put it down.

Why don’t you take it? Why don’t you take photos again?

It’s too late, that’s why.

It’s never too late.

Stop it, Ben! Get out of my head!

But nothing can prise the camera out of my fingers. I can’t even bear to put it down to pack away the box so I hang it from its strap around my neck and a strange sensation of elation passes through me as the weight of it thuds into my chest. I climb up onto the chair and slide the box back into the top of the cupboard, pausing for a moment as I think of the photos. I could take them too? No, they’re too heavy to carry up the hill to home and I have to catch the bus back to the ferry terminal as it is.

‘Have you still got that old thing?’ My mum nods at the camera when I come out of the room.

‘Yes, I thought I’d take it with me.’

‘Take it to the charity shop, is what you should do. I can’t believe your dad bought you such a clunky contraption.’

‘It wasn’t clunky when he got it for me,’ I state. ‘And anyway, I like it.’

‘Like it so much it sat in a box for years.’

‘It’s seeing the light of day again now.’

‘He should get you a new one, that’s what he should do. It’s not as if he doesn’t have the money.’

‘I don’t need Dad to buy me a new camera, so don’t go on about it, alright?’

‘Okay, okay. When are they coming out here?’

‘In a few weeks. I can’t wait to see the girls again.’

‘I take it Lorraine’s coming?’ My mum hates Lorraine. You can hear it in the tone of her voice.

‘Of course.’

‘I hope they’re using contraception. I can’t believe she had a third baby at her age.’

‘She was only thirty-five!’

Mum pulls a face and I go over to give her a peck on the cheek. ‘Bye, Mum. See you soon, okay?’

‘If you can drag yourself all the way out here again.’

‘You know, you
could
always come and see Richard and me sometime too.’

‘No, you’re too busy. I’m too busy as well. I’m working all manner of shifts at the moment.’

‘Still getting good tips?’

‘The best.’ She smiles smugly and on that note I leave her.

‘Where did you get that?’ Richard asks when he sees my camera later.

‘It’s my old camera. My dad got it for me when I first moved to Australia. I used to take loads of photos.’

‘Did you?’

‘Yeah. I was kind of pretty good,’ I admit.

‘Kind of pretty good?’ he teases. I blush instead of reply and he doesn’t interrogate me further. ‘How was your mum?’

‘Okay, I think. She asked after you.’

‘That’s nice,’ he says half-heartedly.

‘I told her we were getting married.’

‘Did you?’ He looks up, surprised.

‘Yes.’

‘I thought we were going to tell our parents together?’

‘Sorry, it just kind of slipped out.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She was happy for us. Sort of.’

He laughs wryly. ‘I bet. I hope it gave you good practice because we’re going over to Mum and Dad’s for a late lunch tomorrow. Sally and Brenda are going to be there, too.’

Sally and Brenda are Richard’s sisters. They’re a bit full of themselves. Sally is younger than Richard by eighteen months; Brenda is older by three years. Neither has settled down yet, but I did hear through Nathan that Sally has set her sights on one of his employees.