Read Online Me Without You by Kelly Rimmer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kelly Rimmer
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have everything I need there—there’s no real rush.’
‘The thing that amazed me most about your unit was that it’s a total disaster zone; it actually looks like you’re mid-construction on a house build, but yet there’s not a speck of dust in it.’ Lilah laughed. ‘Don’t look too closely here—you’ll be mortified; I only wash up when I run out of clean plates.’
‘Apparently it’s only the big jobs I can’t get around to finishing. I don’t like mess.’
‘When I was a kid, I went through a brief phase when I thought I’d become a cleaner, which is hilarious now that I can’t even keep this place clean,’ she said. ‘I was probably seven or eight, we were living in New York at the time and the lady Dad was working for had a live-in housekeeper. I used to go with him to work and while he tended the garden I’d sit in that great, big house and watch the housekeeper potter around. She was always dusting… she’d dust from front door to back over the week and then start at it all over again. The house was like a mansion compared to the little bedsits we were living in and it was full of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. I couldn’t ever imagine having enough money to buy those things myself, so I thought… “Well, if I can score myself a domestic job, I can still at least see the beautiful things.”’
‘Your apartment is amazing,’ I said. ‘Do you wish you could travel back in time and bring seven-year-old Lilah here for a visit? She’d surely be impressed.’
‘No fucking way. I’d leave her there.’ Lilah shook her head fiercely. ‘I wouldn’t want seven-year-old Lilah to realise how fragile life is, or how unsatisfying those beautiful things would be, or even how tumultuous the next few decades would be for her. Can you imagine being innocent enough to think that being an underpaid live-in housekeeper would be the most amazing job in the world? Not a chance that I want to lose those moments or the simplicity of those thoughts, not for anything. Those years were some of the best.’
She turned her gaze on me, and it was suddenly probing.
‘Did you dream of being a marketing guru when you were that age?’
‘No,’ I grimaced. ‘You know when you’re a kid, and everyone asks you what you want to do when you grow up? I used to hate that question. I always felt like adults were mocking me when they asked it. I knew I wouldn’t be an astronaut, or a fireman, or a racing car driver. ‘
‘Well, what did you want?’
‘Honestly?’ I looked into the plum depths of the wine, then back to the focus of her blue gaze. ‘It’s a bit embarrassing, but I wanted to be a photographer. Dad worked at the newspaper and I’d visit with him sometimes and the photographers would let me look at their cameras. I thought they were the most mysterious technology—to be able to take a moment, and lock it in time forever.’
‘Jesus, you scared me,’ she grimaced. ‘I thought you were going to say you wanted to be a serial killer or a circus clown. Photography isn’t embarrassing. Why didn’t you do it?’
‘I kind of did. I did a minor in photography and visual arts at uni. I just… it’s not a very practical career, is it? Most people dream of some kind of art, but day-to-day… being an adult is more about paying the bills… making a life for yourself.’
‘Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive,’ Lilah frowned. ‘You can make a life for yourself and skip town every time the electricity bill arrives. And you can pay your bills and miss life altogether. My parents flitted about like they were carefree butterflies most of their marriage but I’ll tell you one thing: they had a bloody fantastic life.’
‘Was it really that fantastic? Surely you all missed the stability of home?’
‘There was no home,’ she laughed and shifted, so that she could lean against me and stretch her legs out on the lounge, her long red hair splayed over my arm and my lap
‘The thing that amazed me most about your unit was that it’s a total disaster zone; it actually looks like you’re mid-construction on a house build, but yet there’s not a speck of dust in it.’ Lilah laughed. ‘Don’t look too closely here—you’ll be mortified; I only wash up when I run out of clean plates.’
‘Apparently it’s only the big jobs I can’t get around to finishing. I don’t like mess.’
‘When I was a kid, I went through a brief phase when I thought I’d become a cleaner, which is hilarious now that I can’t even keep this place clean,’ she said. ‘I was probably seven or eight, we were living in New York at the time and the lady Dad was working for had a live-in housekeeper. I used to go with him to work and while he tended the garden I’d sit in that great, big house and watch the housekeeper potter around. She was always dusting… she’d dust from front door to back over the week and then start at it all over again. The house was like a mansion compared to the little bedsits we were living in and it was full of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. I couldn’t ever imagine having enough money to buy those things myself, so I thought… “Well, if I can score myself a domestic job, I can still at least see the beautiful things.”’
‘Your apartment is amazing,’ I said. ‘Do you wish you could travel back in time and bring seven-year-old Lilah here for a visit? She’d surely be impressed.’
‘No fucking way. I’d leave her there.’ Lilah shook her head fiercely. ‘I wouldn’t want seven-year-old Lilah to realise how fragile life is, or how unsatisfying those beautiful things would be, or even how tumultuous the next few decades would be for her. Can you imagine being innocent enough to think that being an underpaid live-in housekeeper would be the most amazing job in the world? Not a chance that I want to lose those moments or the simplicity of those thoughts, not for anything. Those years were some of the best.’
She turned her gaze on me, and it was suddenly probing.
‘Did you dream of being a marketing guru when you were that age?’
‘No,’ I grimaced. ‘You know when you’re a kid, and everyone asks you what you want to do when you grow up? I used to hate that question. I always felt like adults were mocking me when they asked it. I knew I wouldn’t be an astronaut, or a fireman, or a racing car driver. ‘
‘Well, what did you want?’
‘Honestly?’ I looked into the plum depths of the wine, then back to the focus of her blue gaze. ‘It’s a bit embarrassing, but I wanted to be a photographer. Dad worked at the newspaper and I’d visit with him sometimes and the photographers would let me look at their cameras. I thought they were the most mysterious technology—to be able to take a moment, and lock it in time forever.’
‘Jesus, you scared me,’ she grimaced. ‘I thought you were going to say you wanted to be a serial killer or a circus clown. Photography isn’t embarrassing. Why didn’t you do it?’
‘I kind of did. I did a minor in photography and visual arts at uni. I just… it’s not a very practical career, is it? Most people dream of some kind of art, but day-to-day… being an adult is more about paying the bills… making a life for yourself.’
‘Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive,’ Lilah frowned. ‘You can make a life for yourself and skip town every time the electricity bill arrives. And you can pay your bills and miss life altogether. My parents flitted about like they were carefree butterflies most of their marriage but I’ll tell you one thing: they had a bloody fantastic life.’
‘Was it really that fantastic? Surely you all missed the stability of home?’
‘There was no home,’ she laughed and shifted, so that she could lean against me and stretch her legs out on the lounge, her long red hair splayed over my arm and my lap
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