Pictures of Lily

by Paige Toon

‘He definitely likes you,’ I decide.

  ‘Do you think so?’ she asks hopefully. It’s the brightest I’ve seen her look since she got here.

  ‘Absolutely. If you suspect it, you’re right. A woman’s intuition usually is,’ I add, trying to sound wise.

  ‘I hope so.’ She beams and her whole face lights up.

  I look away so she can’t see me smiling to myself. Puppy love. How cute.

  Wait, she’s fifteen. Fifteen! How can she be fifteen already? I had sex with Dan at fifteen! I glance back at her, shocked. She’s staring wistfully at the gum trees. She’s far too young to be doing anything remotely like that. I must have been much more mature at her age. Surely? But a little trace of doubt is wheedling its way in.

  Puppy love? A crush?

  No. What I felt for Ben was real. It was. I’m sure of it.

  Then suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see a male zookeeper with sandy blond hair come out of a hut by the kangaroo enclosure and go round the corner in the opposite direction. My heart lurches. Ben!

  Of course it isn’t!

  It was him – I know it.

  ‘Just going to nip to the loo,’ I say to the girls, and hurry off before they decide to join me. ‘Back in a tick!’

  I rush through the gates and forget to close them so I have to turn around and swing them shut before looking wildly to left and right. Where did he go?

  It’s not him. It’s not him. I chant this over and over to myself to prepare the way for my impending heartbreak.

  There he is!

  I halt on the spot. He has his back to me. He’s wearing typical keepers’ attire of beige shirt and khaki shorts.

  It’s not him. It’s really not. He looks different. Broader. His hair is shorter. No. It’s not him. My heart sinks and a lump forms in my throat, but still I can’t walk away.

  The sandy-haired keeper turns around, his head down, and then he looks up, straight at me, and my whole head spins and I feel like I’m going to faint.

  Because it is him.

  It’s Ben. I’ve found him.

  He stares at me, stunned. My head is tingling and the ripples spiral all the way down my body to my toes. I can’t look away. I can’t move. I can’t do anything except stare back in total shock.

  He’s twenty feet away from me, and when his lips mouth my name I can’t hear him, but I manage a slight nod of my head and then he’s walking towards me and my heart is pounding and my stomach is cartwheeling over and over and over again, and then he reaches me and I’m gazing up into his deep-blue eyes, unable to say anything.

  ‘Lily?’ He speaks so quietly it’s almost as though he’s scared to say it out loud.

  My voice has hidden out somewhere so all I can do is nod again, dumbstruck to my core. He looks almost the same as he did ten years ago, but more manly somehow – and I didn’t think that was possible.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ he says, his eyes searching mine. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘My sisters . . .’ My voice sounds husky. ‘My sisters are here on holiday.’

  ‘Do you live in Sydney?’

  ‘Yes.’ I have to clear my throat.

  A male keeper with dark hair steps out from an office to Ben’s right. ‘Ready?’ he asks.

  Ben glances at him, startled by the disruption. ‘Be there in a minute.’

  His colleague disappears behind the building.

  ‘I have the day off on Monday,’ Ben says urgently. ‘We could get a coffee – go for lunch?’

  ‘Yes,’ I manage to say.

  He’s still staring at me. Suddenly he seems to come to life. ‘Do you have a card or something? Some way for me to contact you?’

  ‘No. Do you?’

  He produces a wry smile. ‘Me? Business cards? No.’ He digs into his pocket and pulls out a scrap of paper. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got a pen?’

  I rummage around in my bag and luckily can locate one. He leans the paper against his knee and scribbles on it before handing it over.

  ‘Here’s my number. Will you call me to arrange something?’

  I nod and take it. The keeper comes out from behind the building again and stands there, waiting. Ben raises his hand in acknowledgement of him before turning to me.

  ‘I’ve gotta go.’ He sounds reluctant.

  Again, all I can do is nod.

  ‘Please call me. Please,’ he implores, and then he turns away and walks off with his colleague.

  Something happens to my stomach. Or is it my heart? It feels as though someone has cut me open and is ripping out my insides. I want to scream, ‘No! Don’t go! Don’t leave me again!’ Suddenly I feel like I can’t breathe, and I’m gasping for air.

  Then, deep inside my mind, the voice of reason speaks. You have his number. You are going to see him again. You know where he works.

  Finally I remember my sisters.

  It’s this last thought that keeps me together and I manage to walk away, tightly clasping the piece of paper in my hand. When I reach the gates to the kangaroo enclosure I stand and look in, feeling a sense of relief as I see the girls feeding the kangaroo. Even Kay is kneeling on the ground. I glance down at the number in my hand and flip over the piece of paper. It’s a supermarket receipt. I scan the contents of Ben’s shop on . . . yes, there it is, 20 April. Bread, butter, milk, Vegemite, frozen pizza, beer . . .

  Wait!

  Was he wearing a wedding ring? I don’t remember seeing one.

  Wouldn’t I have noticed that? Maybe not.

  But this doesn’t sound like a shop for two . . .

  It could be, Lily. It absolutely could be a shop for two.

  What if he’s divorced?

  ‘There you are!’ Kay calls.

  I look up and see my three sisters walking towards me. ‘Sorry to be so long,’ I tell them.

  ‘I need the loo now, too,’ Kay complains.

  ‘And me,’ Isabel pipes up.

  ‘Where is it?’ Kay asks.

  I look around, thankfully spying a sign for the toilets. ‘This way,’ I say, and they all follow me.

  How can I find out if he’s married or not?

  You can ask him when you see him on Monday.

  Monday? Monday? I can’t wait that long!

  And that’s what it’s like for the rest of our outing. I can’t concentrate, my sisters begin to get annoyed with my jitteriness, and all I can do is search everywhere we go for another sighting of Ben. He’s nowhere to be found and it damn near kills me.

  Eventually Isabel starts to whinge about her sore feet, and soon enough Olivia does too.

  ‘We haven’t seen the birds yet,’ I tell them, panicked.

  ‘I don’t want to see the birds,’ Isabel moans. ‘I’ve had enough.’

  I scan their faces for any sign of giving in. Resolute. I drag my feet all the way to the exit.

  The zoo is in North Sydney so we have to catch the ferry back to their flat in the Rocks. The girls want to sit down so I find them a seat and slide away to sneak a look at Ben’s number.

  It’s a mobile number. He hasn’t given me his home number. Perhaps his wife would answer the phone. Or his kids . . .

  God, it hurts.

  A shiver goes through me. I don’t know if it’s anticipation or dread.

  I’ve found him again.

  What about Richard? I quickly crush that thought. I can’t think about him now. I have to concentrate.

  We make it back to the flat to discover that Dad and Lorraine are already there.

  ‘Good day?’ Dad asks.

  ‘My feet are killing me,’ Isabel whines.

  ‘Mine are, too.’ Olivia has to compete with her.

  ‘But did you have a good day?’ Dad tries again.

  ‘Yeah.’ Kay shrugs.

  ‘We fed the kangaroos,’ Isabel says proudly.

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Yes!’ Olivia exclaims.

  ‘Wow! Were they big?’ Dad’s enthusiasm begins to get through to them
and soon I can’t hear myself think for all their chatter.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Lorraine asks quietly from beside me.

  ‘Yes!’ I overcompensate with my reply. ‘Did you find another cozzie?’

  She smiles. ‘I did indeed. Want to see it?’

  ‘Sure.’ But I can’t deal with this. I can’t cope with all this noise. I need to be alone.

  I find the strength to stay and play happy families, and after a while, the commotion around me calms down. Lorraine goes to make tea, Dad flops into the armchair and flips through a magazine, Kay disappears into her bedroom and the girls switch on the telly. I sit on the sofa to the left of them and allow my thoughts to take over. It soon becomes crystal clear that I cannot, I absolutely cannot, wait until Monday.

  I get to my feet, full of determination. ‘I’m just going to give Richard a call,’ I tell Dad. Guilt courses through me in waves, but I walk towards the door, thinking of the hopefully-quiet corridor outside the flat.

  ‘Use our bedroom,’ Dad suggests. I swerve towards it. That makes more sense.

  I pull out the receipt and panic hits me as I see how crumpled it’s become, but thankfully I can still read the number. I dial it into my mobile phone, making two mistakes before I get it right. My hands are shaking intensely as it begins to ring.

  ‘Hello?’ Ben.

  ‘It’s Lily.’

  ‘Hi!’

  Warmth rushes through me at the obvious delight in his voice.

  ‘I couldn’t wait until Monday,’ I tell him.

  ‘Okay . . .’

  ‘I know it’s Saturday night and you’ve probably got other plans . . .’

  ‘I’m free. Are you free?’

  ‘Yes.’ What about your wife? But the words won’t come out. ‘What time?’ I ask instead.

  ‘Seven?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Where do you want to go?’

  I wrack my brain. We can’t go out in Manly, as I might see someone I know. The only thing that comes to mind is one of those terrible places full of suits that Mel likes to hang out in. I suggest a bar called Porters and describe its whereabouts.

  ‘Cool,’ he says. ‘See you later.’

  ‘Bye.’ I try to press the button to end the call, but my fingers are made of stone. Eventually Ben ends the call for me.

  I sit there on the bed, my heart pounding so loud I can hear it in my ears. Then I rise woodenly to my feet and return to the living room.

  ‘How is he?’ Dad asks.

  ‘Who? Oh, Richard. Yes, he’s fine,’ I jabber, feeling that guilt prickling at me again.

  ‘Good. He’s back on Monday, right?’

  ‘Yes.’ I nod.

  ‘Maybe we can come to you on Tuesday night?’ Dad suggests. ‘Save him having to come into the city to meet us?’

  ‘Maybe, yes.’ I return to my position on the sofa. Lorraine has put a cup of tea on a coaster in front of me. ‘Thanks for the tea,’ I say, reaching forward and finding the cup surprisingly heavy as I try to sip from it without spilling any.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ she replies. ‘So what are the plans for dinner tonight?’

  ‘Um . . . I don’t know,’ I say. My heart is still thumping so loudly I fear it’s going to burst my eardrums. ‘I’m feeling quite tired,’ I start. ‘Would you guys mind if I bowed out and I’ll see you in the morning?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Lorraine says.

  My head was all over the place earlier and it didn’t even occur to me what I must have looked like when I met Ben, but now I’m kicking myself for wearing such casual attire. Jeans and trainers and a boring black jumper. I’m not even wearing eye-shadow. Whoopie.

  I don’t have time to go home and change so I smooth down my hair in the mirror in the girls’ bathroom and touch up my makeup with what little I do carry in my handbag: lip-gloss, mascara, compact powder. It’ll have to do. It’s sod’s law that I see him on today of all days and not when I’m dressed in my high heels and swishy skirts.

  I decide to set off early and take my time. My dad sees me out.

  ‘Are you alright?’ he asks as I reach for the door handle.

  ‘Sure! Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘The girls said you seemed a little distracted today.’

  ‘I wasn’t distracted – I’m just tired,’ I add, and give a little yawn when he doesn’t look convinced. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, okay, Dad?’

  ‘Night, night, sweetheart – and thanks for looking after the girls today.’

  A peck on the cheek and I’m out of there, wondering what exactly I have let myself in for, and feeling a mixture of excitement and sheer, utter terror.

  Chapter 22

  I arrive at Porters at six-forty – twenty minutes ahead of schedule – and buy a drink at the bar before hunting out a table. I perch uncomfortably on a low square stool, which has been upholstered in dark red velvet, and lean up against the wall. At least the suits aren’t in the city on Saturday nights, but in some ways this is worse. The people here now appear to be mostly tourists or single girls dolled up to the nines, trying to pick up a rich man. The men seem old – like in their forties and fifties.

  Ben’s thirty-eight now. But that’s not old, is it? No.

  What if he doesn’t turn up?

  Nerves are rattling through me, but at least the pounding in my chest has settled down. A waiter comes along and puts a small bowl of marinated green olives on the table. I eye them, but remember the garlic and leave them where they are.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I call after the waiter, who is dressed in black trousers and a waistcoat with a pristine white shirt.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Could I get another of these, please?’

  ‘I’ll need to take your card, madam.’

  ‘That’s fine.’ I get out a credit card from my bag and hand it over so he can start up a tab. The waiter looks pointedly at my drink, then at me. His greasy hair is slicked back and his nose is long and pointed.

  ‘White wine,’ I tell him.

  ‘What sort, madam?’

  ‘Any. I don’t mind,’ I add firmly.

  He looks me up and down, giving my trainers a sniffy little glance, before mincing off. What a condescending twat.

  ‘Do you come here often?’

  I look up to see Ben standing there with a twinkle in his eye. He pulls up a stool.

  ‘Hey!’ I immediately sit up straighter.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘The waiter is being a dickhead.’ I indicate our surroundings. ‘I couldn’t think of anywhere else to suggest.’

  He laughs and looks behind him. ‘I might nip to the bar. You okay?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. He’s bringing me a wine.’

  ‘Cool.’ He gets up and walks off. I watch him go, feeling extremely surreal and disjointed from reality.

  He looks gorgeous in faded grey trousers and a short-sleeved dark-grey T-shirt over a long-sleeved black one. It’s the sort of thing Nathan could wear, and Nathan is twenty-five. Ben definitely, definitely doesn’t look old, I decide once and for all. Thank bollocks for that.

  Was he wearing a ring?

  He returns a minute later with a beer. I can’t see his left hand clearly from this position.

  ‘This is weird,’ Ben says, grinning.

  ‘Mmm,’ I murmur.

  ‘So what have you been doing?’ He leans towards me and rests his elbows on his knees. The waiter finally returns with my drink. I wait for him to leave before speaking. And then I see Ben’s hand. No ring. My heart skips a beat. He’s still waiting for my answer to his question.

  ‘This and that.’

  ‘What sort of this and that?’ he persists. ‘Tell me. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’

  ‘Oh, I work as a receptionist in the city.’ He nods. ‘It’s for a publishing firm. I covered for someone on a magazine recently,’ I blurt out. ‘That was good fun. I’m just temping . . .’ My voice trails off.

  ‘No photography?’
<
br />   I shake my head. ‘Sadly, no.’ I feel like a massive failure. He expected so much of me and I’ve delivered nothing. My eyes return to the space on his finger where his wedding ring should be.

  ‘Divorced,’ he says suddenly.

  ‘Pardon?’

  He lifts up his wedding finger. ‘Divorced.’

  Someone is hoovering the inside of my head. My thoughts are befuddled with all the white noise.

  ‘Five years ago,’ he reveals.

  ‘Five years?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Have you been in Sydney for the last five years?’ Out of the blue I feel like crying. If I’d met him five years ago I never would have met Richard. I never would have had to cause him any pain. But I’m getting ahead of myself . . .

  ‘No,’ Ben replies. ‘I stayed in the UK for a while before moving back to Adelaide and then to Perth. I’ve only been in Sydney for a year.’

  ‘A year. Okay.’ I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘Did you go to Perth because of your mum?’

  He smiles. ‘I can’t believe you’d remember that.’ I nod and he continues. ‘I had to get away after a couple of years of it.’ He looks at my left hand. ‘What about you? No ring?’

  ‘Ring? No,’ I say hastily, unable to help misleading him.

  He smiles, meeting my eyes so that my stomach does a somersault. I avert my gaze, guiltily.

  ‘You look different,’ he muses after a while.

  ‘You look the same as I remember you.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure you’d remember me at all.’

  ‘Of course I would,’ I tell him. I remember you every day.

  My nerves haven’t dissipated yet, and every so often I experience a tingling sensation rippling over my face and down my arms. Unwittingly, I shiver.

  ‘You’re not cold, are you?’ he asks.

  ‘No.’ I look around.

  The waiter approaches our table. ‘Can I get you anything else?’ He enquires snootily.

  ‘Do you want to move on?’ Ben asks me.

  ‘Yes,’ I tell him. ‘The bill,’ I say to the waiter before turning back to Ben. ‘Where do you want to go?’

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  I couldn’t eat a thing. ‘A bit,’ I lie.

  ‘I know a little bistro not far from here.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  The waiter returns with the bill and I try not to baulk at the fact that he deliberately chose to give me one of the most expensive wines by the glass.