told her. ‘When he rings up at Christmas and stuff. That’s what you’re remembering.’
Lily was sure it wasn’t. The voice in her memory was younger.
Now she went into her mother’s room and took the old shoe box from the top shelf of the wardrobe. A shoe box! Proper families kept their photographs in albums, labelled with names and dates and places.
Lily sorted through them; there weren’t many, no more than a handful, really. A small Lonnie in a party hat at someone else’s party. Lily as a baby in her mother’s arms. And then in Nan’s arms. Two-year-old Lily holding hands with Lonnie. Pop and Nan. School photos. No wedding photos. What kind of family had no wedding photos? Right at the bottom, she found the single photograph their mum had kept of their father.
Oliver DeZoto was standing at the end of a jetty, leaning against a sign that read ‘DANGER!’ And ‘NO FISHING ALLOWED’. He was barefoot and bare-chested, wearing tiny ragged shorts. Lonnie had been right about the long cheeks. And the beard. Apart from that, the rest of their father was – scrawny. He had no hair on his chest. Harmless, you’d think, looking at him. Inoffensive.
Pop hadn’t thought so. ‘I knew he was no good the minute I set eyes on him!’ Pop still loved to say.
‘The only time you saw him,’ Mum would retort.
‘And that was enough. Eyes too close together, I spotted it at once. Shifty.’
Was that true? wondered Lily. Were people with their eyes set close together shifty, never to be trusted? She put the photo back in the box and returned it to the wardrobe. Then she went into her own room, opened the drawer in her bedside table and took out her copy of last year’s school magazine. The pages fell open of their own accord, to page 53, where there was a photograph of the Drama Society, with Daniel Steadman in the middle of the back row.
Lily lay down on her bed and gazed into Daniel’s face. These last two days, since that moment in the kitchen when she’d said to herself ‘I should fall in love’, she’d found herself haunted by the image of Daniel Steadman. It was the stupidest thing, it was – weird. Lily bent her head over the magazine, studying Daniel’s face, trying to make out if his eyes were set too close together. It was hard to be sure, as there were so many kids in the photograph, and his face was so very tiny – all the same, she was almost certain the position of his eyes was normal. And they were such beautiful eyes. Even in such a poor photograph, you could see –
‘Oh!’ she burst out, suddenly angry with herself. How on earth had she got like this? She hadn’t been serious, she hadn’t actually meant to fall in love.
And yet it had happened, despite her, as if a spell had been cast, some spirit conjured. Lily shivered, remembering that tiny corpse-like shape in the corner of the room, the shape she’d imagined looked like Seely, or his ghost.
She threw the magazine aside and crept out to the kitchen. It was strange how the empty house always made her creep, as if she was an intruder in someone else’s home. Once again the Seely-coloured dishcloth wasn’t where it should be, hanging on its hook; this time it lay bundled in the soap dish on the edge of the sink, curled like a tiny creature fast asleep. Lily prodded at it cautiously, but she felt only cold wet cloth, and the dark red splotch on its side that looked like fresh blood was only a stain of tandoori sauce from the chicken they’d had last night. She took a fresh dishcloth from the drawer, thrust the old one into a plastic bag and took it outside to the bin.
It was a clear still night. How long had she spent going through those photos, searching for her father, and then goggling at Daniel Steadman’s face in the school magazine? Above their small back garden the stars blazed down, the same stars Daniel would see if he paused to look out of the window in the middle of his homework, or wandered out into the garden for
Lily was sure it wasn’t. The voice in her memory was younger.
Now she went into her mother’s room and took the old shoe box from the top shelf of the wardrobe. A shoe box! Proper families kept their photographs in albums, labelled with names and dates and places.
Lily sorted through them; there weren’t many, no more than a handful, really. A small Lonnie in a party hat at someone else’s party. Lily as a baby in her mother’s arms. And then in Nan’s arms. Two-year-old Lily holding hands with Lonnie. Pop and Nan. School photos. No wedding photos. What kind of family had no wedding photos? Right at the bottom, she found the single photograph their mum had kept of their father.
Oliver DeZoto was standing at the end of a jetty, leaning against a sign that read ‘DANGER!’ And ‘NO FISHING ALLOWED’. He was barefoot and bare-chested, wearing tiny ragged shorts. Lonnie had been right about the long cheeks. And the beard. Apart from that, the rest of their father was – scrawny. He had no hair on his chest. Harmless, you’d think, looking at him. Inoffensive.
Pop hadn’t thought so. ‘I knew he was no good the minute I set eyes on him!’ Pop still loved to say.
‘The only time you saw him,’ Mum would retort.
‘And that was enough. Eyes too close together, I spotted it at once. Shifty.’
Was that true? wondered Lily. Were people with their eyes set close together shifty, never to be trusted? She put the photo back in the box and returned it to the wardrobe. Then she went into her own room, opened the drawer in her bedside table and took out her copy of last year’s school magazine. The pages fell open of their own accord, to page 53, where there was a photograph of the Drama Society, with Daniel Steadman in the middle of the back row.
Lily lay down on her bed and gazed into Daniel’s face. These last two days, since that moment in the kitchen when she’d said to herself ‘I should fall in love’, she’d found herself haunted by the image of Daniel Steadman. It was the stupidest thing, it was – weird. Lily bent her head over the magazine, studying Daniel’s face, trying to make out if his eyes were set too close together. It was hard to be sure, as there were so many kids in the photograph, and his face was so very tiny – all the same, she was almost certain the position of his eyes was normal. And they were such beautiful eyes. Even in such a poor photograph, you could see –
‘Oh!’ she burst out, suddenly angry with herself. How on earth had she got like this? She hadn’t been serious, she hadn’t actually meant to fall in love.
And yet it had happened, despite her, as if a spell had been cast, some spirit conjured. Lily shivered, remembering that tiny corpse-like shape in the corner of the room, the shape she’d imagined looked like Seely, or his ghost.
She threw the magazine aside and crept out to the kitchen. It was strange how the empty house always made her creep, as if she was an intruder in someone else’s home. Once again the Seely-coloured dishcloth wasn’t where it should be, hanging on its hook; this time it lay bundled in the soap dish on the edge of the sink, curled like a tiny creature fast asleep. Lily prodded at it cautiously, but she felt only cold wet cloth, and the dark red splotch on its side that looked like fresh blood was only a stain of tandoori sauce from the chicken they’d had last night. She took a fresh dishcloth from the drawer, thrust the old one into a plastic bag and took it outside to the bin.
It was a clear still night. How long had she spent going through those photos, searching for her father, and then goggling at Daniel Steadman’s face in the school magazine? Above their small back garden the stars blazed down, the same stars Daniel would see if he paused to look out of the window in the middle of his homework, or wandered out into the garden for
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