Pictures of Lily

by Paige Toon

  Ben returns a moment later from ordering our croissants inside and pulls up a chair. He reaches across and fiddles with the salt-shaker. He hasn’t shaved this morning and there’s sexy sandy-coloured stubble on his jaw. He looks up to catch me staring.

  ‘Who’s looking after the joey today?’ I ask quickly.

  ‘I dropped her into work on the way to you this morning,’ Ben replies, still meeting my gaze with those dark-blue eyes of his. ‘Janine’ll feed her.’

  ‘We really should give her a name.’ I pick up the pepper-shaker and put it down again because I don’t want to look like I’m copying him.

  ‘Yeah, I was thinking that. What do you want to call her?’

  ‘Me? Oh, I think you should do the honours.’

  ‘No, no, you found her – you should.’

  I think aloud. ‘We could name her after one of my sisters?’

  ‘Or you?’ Ben suggests and my heart jumps.

  ‘Lily?’ I choke out.

  He shrugs. ‘Why not?’

  ‘No, no, that would be too embarrassing.’ Although if she were called Lily, he’d think of me every time he attended to her. Hmm . . .

  ‘Kay or Olivia, then?’ he continues. Damn. Too late. ‘Or both?’

  ‘Kalivia?’ I suggest, deadpan.

  He grins. ‘Olikay?’

  ‘Perhaps we’ll flip a coin.’

  He gets one out of his pocket as a waitress arrives with our drinks. He waits until she’s unloaded them from her tray before continuing. ‘Heads for Olivia, tails for Kay?’

  ‘Go for it,’ I say, and he neatly flips the coin and catches it, slamming it down on the back on his left hand. He lifts up his right hand so I can peer under it.

  ‘Heads.’

  ‘Olivia it is,’ he confirms, putting the coin back into his pocket.

  ‘That’s good. So now we have a koala called Cindy and another called Olivia. Two more to go for Kay and me and then all of the Neverley girls are sorted.’

  He chuckles as the waitress returns with our food. We both tuck in. The croissant has been gently warmed and the cheese is just starting to melt. Yum. After a while my eyes are drawn to the tinsel sparkling in the afternoon sun. I get out my camera and Ben leans out of the way so I can take a photo. I so want to tell him to get back into the picture, but I don’t.

  ‘I can’t believe it’s Christmas Day on Saturday.’ I put my camera down on the table. ‘It doesn’t feel like Christmas here.’

  ‘Doesn’t it?’

  ‘No. Christmas should be dark and frosty and full of fairy lights.’

  ‘I guess it’s just what you’re used to. I’ll have you know we do bloody good lights though. You should check out the lights at Lobethal. Maybe I’ll take you there on your next driving lesson.’

  A whole evening with him? I try not to let my excitement show. ‘It’s only three nights before Christmas.’

  ‘What are you up to tomorrow night?’

  I shrug, feigning nonchalance. ‘Nothing much.’

  ‘Tomorrow, then?’

  YAY! ‘Cool.’

  ‘We could go straight after work.’

  ‘In our work clothes?’

  He rolls his eyes. ‘You can get changed in the staffroom if you really can’t bear the shorts.’

  ‘Hey, I’m wearing a skirt today,’ I point out.

  ‘I noticed.’ He smiles across at me and once again I have to look away so he can’t see me blushing.

  ‘I think I should drive so you can fully appreciate the wonder of the spectacle.’

  ‘If you insist.’ I sigh theatrically and reach for another one of the sour peach hearts we picked up at the Hahndorf sweet shop yesterday. Seriously addictive.

  We’ve been driving around for an hour on my second proper lesson. It’s the first time I’ve driven at night so I was nervous to begin with, but I think it’s going pretty well. I’ve finally got a handle on the clutch so I don’t think even Josh could take the mickey too much any more. We didn’t go straight after work in the end, because Ben forgot that the lights wouldn’t be switched on until later, but he came to the house after dinner and has been directing me on a tour around the hills. We’ve just been to see a giant rocking horse in a tiny town called Gumeracha where Ben informed me that South Australia also has a huge lobster and a massive galah (a pink and grey parrot – I had to ask). I am really starting to like this freaky part of the world.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ I exclaim, twenty minutes later when we reach Lobethal.

  ‘Using the Lord’s name in vain at this time of year?’ Ben tuts jokingly.

  ‘Seriously, this is genius. Genius!’

  When Mum and I lived with Desmond in East Yorkshire, I remember him taking me to see a house in a place called Driffield which was decorated with the most outrageously brilliant Christmas lights, spilling all the way down the garden. But this, I have to say, takes some beating. It seems as if all of the residents in this town have adorned their houses with festive displays, so street upon street is brightly lit by millions of multi-coloured bulbs.

  ‘Look at that one!’ I cry at the sight of a full-size Santa on a rooftop, equipped with sleigh and reindeer to boot.

  ‘Take a photo, then.’

  ‘Hold on, hold on.’ I wind down the window and hold the camera as steadily as I can so the shot doesn’t blur too much.

  ‘Pretty specky, hey?’ I assume he means spectacular.

  ‘I bloody love it!’

  ‘I told you we could do lights well here.’

  ‘Say no more on the matter.’ I wave my hand at him dramatically.

  ‘Speaking of lights, have you seen the view from Mount Lofty yet?’ he asks.

  ‘Mount Lofty, up the hill from where Michael lives?’

  ‘Yes. Up the hill from where you live.’

  I laugh. ‘Yeah, yeah, okay, where I live. No, I haven’t seen the view from Mount Lofty yet.’

  ‘Right, then, that’s the next stop. Do you want to drive?’

  ‘Too bloody right I do.’

  ‘Now you’re starting to sound like an Aussie.’

  It’s nine o’clock by the time we reach Mount Lofty summit. I carefully park the car and we climb out and walk towards the restaurant and gift shop. Ben leads me along the right-hand side of the building and turns back to point down the hill.

  ‘That’s Piccadilly Valley down there,’ he says. There’s a sign next to him and I skimread it to find that the name Piccadilly ‘probably’ came from the Aboriginal word Piccodla. Piccodla made up the eyebrows of Urebilla, the giant whose body formed the mountain ranges.

  ‘That’s interesting,’ I say. ‘And there’s me thinking it was named after Piccadilly in London.’

  Ben chuckles. ‘It probably was. There’s a sign outside a church in Piccadilly saying a Mrs Emma Young named it after Piccadilly in London back in 1853.’

  ‘Oh. I think I prefer this explanation.’

  ‘It’s certainly more romantic. Can you see your house?’

  I follow the line of his finger. ‘Which one is it?’

  ‘Here.’ He puts his arm around me to draw me closer. It’s a perfectly innocent gesture on his part, but it sets my insides on fire. ‘There,’ he says.

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ I reply, actually not seeing the house at all because my head is buzzing too loudly for me to be able to concentrate. He lets me go, but I’m a mess. I know I’ll relive this moment over and over again later.

  Around the front of the summit building there’s a tall white obelisk. It would look striking against the blue sky – I’ll have to come back in the daytime to photograph it. And then I see the view.

  ‘Wow!’ The city of Adelaide is lit up and sprawled out in front of us.

  ‘Check out the moon!’ Ben exclaims.

  I turn around to see an enormous yellow disc rising above the dark hills in the east.

  ‘That’s incredible,’ I breathe as Ben straddles a bench seat. I nervously sit opposite him.

  ‘You c
an see it moving,’ he murmurs.

  ‘So you can,’ I marvel. ‘It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen one like that in England.’ I take out my camera and try to hold it steady as I click off a couple of shots. I know full well that I won’t be able to do this sight justice.

  ‘I love coming here at night,’ Ben says quietly, glancing left towards the city lights, sparkling in the heat haze.

  ‘Is it your second favourite place to go in the city?’ I remember that his favourite place is the lily pond in Adelaide’s Botanic Gardens.

  ‘It’s my first favourite place to go in the hills.’ He smiles at me in the darkness.

  ‘What, even better than the giant rocking horse?’ I attempt to sound mocking.

  ‘I think it even beats the Lobethal lights.’

  ‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’

  He chuckles and brings his foot up onto the bench, wrapping his arms around his knee. ‘So you’re starting to like Australia.’ It almost isn’t a question, but I answer it anyway.

  ‘I am.’ Largely thanks to the present company, I manage to refrain from adding.

  ‘I’m happy for you.’

  It seems like a slightly strange thing to say.

  ‘Do you reckon your mum is really into Michael?’ he asks after a while.

  ‘Definitely,’ I reply. ‘But she was into all the others, too, so who knows what’s going to happen.’ And I saw her flirting with the butcher the other day.

  ‘I hope for your sake it works out.’

  ‘I only have to get through two years and then I can do what I like anyway.’

  ‘Two years?’

  ‘Yeah. Then I’ll be eighteen.’

  He stares across at me, and even in the dark I can see the seriousness in his expression. ‘You seem so much older than you are.’

  ‘Everyone says that,’ I reply nervously.

  ‘It’s true.’ He sighs. ‘You’ve got your whole life laid out in front of you.’

  ‘So do you, Mr Melodramatic.’ I’m trying to lighten him up because his sombre mood is freaking me out a bit. I want to ask him what’s wrong, what’s really wrong, because something is and I so want him to open up to me. ‘Have you heard from your mum recently?’ I prompt.

  ‘Nope,’ he replies sardonically. ‘If I’m lucky I’ll get a Christmas card in March.’

  ‘Do you miss your nan?’

  ‘All the time.’

  ‘I expect you would, when you’re living in her house. You must see her everywhere.’ He scratches his head. I hope I’m not annoying him. ‘You wouldn’t ever think of selling it?’ I add.

  ‘Definitely not.’ His tone is resolute and I’m almost sorry I asked.

  I change the subject. ‘Are you working on Saturday?’

  ‘Just in the morning. You know I’m coming to your place for Christmas lunch?’

  ‘Are you?’ My voice rises an octave.

  ‘Yeah. Michael asked me the other day.’

  I suppose he doesn’t have any family here. And then it hits me. He clearly doesn’t have a girlfriend, either. I cast my eyes heavenward. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

  He looks down at his watch. ‘I’d better get you home before Michael thinks I’ve kidnapped you.’

  I wish . . .

  Michael himself opens the front door as I pull up. Ben’s car is parked on the road outside the house, but he follows me up the footpath to chat to Michael.

  ‘What time do you want me on Saturday?’ Ben asks.

  ‘One-thirty or thereabouts?’ Michael suggests.

  ‘Cool,’ Ben replies.

  ‘Your mum has saved you some dinner,’ Michael says to me. ‘It’s in the oven. Go and say hi to her, won’t you, love. She’s in the living room.’

  ‘Okay.’ I drag my heels reluctantly. ‘Thanks, Ben. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘No worries,’ he replies, as I turn and walk down the corridor in the direction of the kitchen.

  ‘Thanks for doing that for her, mate,’ I hear Michael say in a quiet voice.

  ‘No problem,’ Ben replies. ‘She’s a good student.’

  Nausea sweeps through me. Are all these driving lessons just a favour for Michael?

  ‘We’ll have to pay you next time.’ I hear Michael chuckle, but don’t wait to hear Ben’s reply before hurrying into the kitchen and closing the door.

  Josh is getting himself a drink out of the fridge. ‘Going out to Stirling tomorrow night. Christmas Eve. Usually pretty lively,’ he remarks casually. ‘Wanna come?’

  ‘Why not,’ I reply, feeling dead inside. I don’t even bother to ask if Lou will be joining us.

  Chapter 7

  I’m still feeling like an idiot when I turn up for work the next morning. Ben isn’t in the staffroom and I don’t go looking for him in the hospital room. Instead I ask Michael if there’s anything I can do to help out with the dingoes.

  The dingo enclosure drops away down a steep hill and there’s a pond at the bottom. Two high wire fences separate the animals from the public, but there’s a locked gate which allows the keepers access. Michael leads me inside and the dingoes get up and stretch their legs before lazily approaching us. Michael pats them like they’re pets. They have rusty red-coloured fur and look like small dogs, but they’re actually a sub-species of wolf. They can’t even bark.

  Michael’s walkie-talkie crackles and the sound of Ben’s voice sends me into a flurry of nerves. He asks where I am.

  ‘I’ve got her here with me. Do you need her?’ Michael replies.

  ‘Dave’s coming in for his weekly check. I thought she’d want to be there when he takes a look at the joey.’

  Michael glances at me, and I nod. ‘She’ll be with you in a sec.’

  I head back up the hill and out of the enclosure.

  ‘There you are!’ Ben exclaims when I appear in the hospital room. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘I thought I’d see if Michael needed any help with the dingoes today.’

  ‘Oh, right. Had enough of me, have you?’ He sounds reasonably jovial, but do I detect a hint of hurt in his voice?

  ‘I don’t want to outstay my welcome,’ I murmur.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Knock, knock, can I come in?’

  We both jump as Dave, the vet, interrupts from the doorway. Ben immediately reverts to his normal self. ‘Sure, sure, mate, come on in.’

  ‘How’s she going?’ Dave asks. ‘She looks like she’s put on weight. That’s good. Let’s get the scales out.’

  ‘Lily?’ Ben points to the cupboard. I take out the scales and place them on the worktop, turning around to see Ben gently lifting Olivia. I can’t help it; my heart melts. He glances up to meet my eyes and I find I can’t look away.

  ‘That’s right, pop her in there,’ Dave prompts, and our eyes dart away from each other simultaneously. I avoid looking at Ben again for the rest of the meeting.

  I take my lunch outside that day, even though it’s 36 degrees and the staffroom is beautifully cool. Wandering down the slope from the café, I sit on the grass under the shade of an enormous eucalyptus. I stare up at the sun through the leaves. The brightness pierces my eyes painfully and I have to look away. Grey, lifeless bark peels off the tree trunk in front of me in strips. It looks as if someone has taken a cheese grater to it and it’s eerily beautiful, almost ghostly. I don’t feel like eating; I haven’t felt like eating for days. My stomach hasn’t stopped churning. I hug my knees to my chest and try to find some comfort in the gesture.

  He’s too old for you.

  He would never let himself fall in love with you.

  Ever.

  A pair of red and blue rosellas fly up and land in the branches of the tree. They distract me from the sound of Ben’s footsteps.

  ‘Are you avoiding me?’ he asks, as I almost leap out of my skin at the sight of him. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.’ He smiles and collapses on the ground beside me. He leans back on the slope, the crispy, brown gum leaves
crunching underneath his elbows as he props himself up.

  ‘Well – are you?’ He glances across at me, a twinkle in the depth of his blue eyes.

  ‘Am I what?’ I manage to ask; it feels as if the temperature has soared way past forty and is still climbing.

  ‘Avoiding me,’ he repeats.

  ‘Why would I be avoiding you?’

  ‘Now you’re avoiding the question.’

  ‘That’s the only thing I’m avoiding.’

  ‘Okay,’ he replies bluntly. ‘Glad we got that sorted.’

  We both fall silent and he stares ahead, as do I.

  ‘Where’s your lunch?’ I ask after a while, because the quietness is killing me.

  ‘I ate it at eleven o’clock.’ At least someone’s still got their appetite. ‘You should take a photo of that.’ He gestures at the tree bark. ‘It looks like something you’d take a photo of.’

  ‘Maybe I already have,’ I reply childishly.

  ‘Have you?’ He raises one eyebrow at me.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you want me to go and get your camera for you?’

  My lips twitch at the corners. ‘Would you? In this heat?’

  ‘Sure.’ He starts to get to his feet.

  ‘No, no.’ I instinctively reach for his wrist to pull him back down. ‘I’m joking,’ I add weakly. ‘I’ll take a photo another time.’

  ‘Okay.’ He leans back on his elbows again. I feel like the electrical charge between us has been turned up a notch, but I don’t edge away. All of my nerve-endings are bolt upright.

  ‘Why are you angry with me?’ he asks gently.

  ‘I’m not angry with you.’ But there’s no conviction to my voice.

  ‘Yes, you are.’ Pause. ‘I can take it,’ he adds.

  I sigh loudly. ‘Did Michael ask you to take me for some driving lessons?’

  ‘No!’ His reply is indignant.

  ‘Did he ask you to show me around?’

  ‘No! Is that what this is about?’

  I shrug, feeling more and more foolish with every word that comes out of my mouth. ‘I don’t know,’ I mutter.

  He sits up and leans his elbows on his knees. ‘Lily, I like you.’ What? ‘You’re a mate.’ Oh. ‘I’m not being nice to you as some favour to a colleague.’

  ‘Okay,’ I reply lamely.