Read Online Odd One Out by Monica McInerney - Free Book Online Page B

clothes were stolen from the side of the Harold Holt pool while she was swimming laps one winter afternoon. She’d had to catch the tram home wearing only her bathers.
    “That’s why it’s good to hang around me,” Leila had said. “I attract everybody else’s share of bad luck as well as my own. Do you think I could hire myself out? As a kind of reverse good-luck charm?”
    Still smiling at the memory, Sylvie carried a fourth glass of water into Sebastian’s office. The computer rippled into life.
After one or two vodka-fueled spelling mistakes, she found the website for George’s Gorgeous Gardens. It was professional, with photographs, a detailed profile of George himself, a long list of his qualifications. There were more than a dozen testimonials from happy clients. Good. It looked like Mill and her garden were in safe hands. Safe green thumbs, even.
    In bed soon after, trying to get to sleep and ignoring her spinning head, Sylvie remembered something else Leila had said that day. Something that didn’t make her smile.
    They’d been in the third bar of the day, playing their fourth game of pool, drinking their third or possibly fourth vodka and tonic. Sylvie had told Leila about the treasure hunt Sebastian had left, the clues leading to the bookshop and the list of dares. Pressed for more details, she’d told her about the situation with her mother and sisters in Sydney, and all that had happened the night of Vanessa’s wedding.
    “I wish I had a big brother who cared about me like that,” Leila said. “My three little brothers are demons. Heavy metal music-lovers. Motorbike-addicts. If there’s ever an earthquake in Victoria, the epicenter will be our house.” She expertly potted three balls, then looked across the green table.
    “Where’s your father, Sylvie? You haven’t mentioned him.”
    “Here. In Melbourne.”
    “They’re divorced?”
    Sylvie nodded.
    “What happened?”
    “Irreconcilable differences. Is that the legal term for screaming at each other all the time? He left when I was eight. Sebastian went with him.”
    “Have you seen your dad since you’ve been down here?”
    “I haven’t seen him since I was eight.”
    Leila stopped lining up her shot. “Twenty years?”
    “Twenty-one.”
    “Why not?”
    “Mum didn’t want me to when I was younger. It would upset her too much if I suggested it. And since then . . .” She shrugged.
    “Aren’t you curious? Even to have a look at him?”
    What she felt wasn’t curiosity. It was hurt, wrapped up in years of no phone calls or birthday cards. “It’s too late now. And I still wouldn’t like to upset Mum.” It sounded feeble even to her own ears.
    “But you’re an adult female. Your role in life as a daughter is to upset your mother. Didn’t you know that? I drive my mother bananas.”
    “It’s more complicated than that.”
    “You must be curious, though?”
    Sylvie wanted to drop this topic. “Of course. But he’s always known where I was as well. It takes two.”
    “I disagree. It takes one. One of you to make the first move.” They played two shots each before Leila spoke again. “Can I ask you a blunt question?”
    In Sylvie’s experience, the best answer to an inquiry like that was usually no. “Go ahead.”
    “Have you ever thought about taking charge of your own life?”
    “Pardon?”
    Leila chalked the end of her cue, looking seriously over at Sylvie. “I’m sorry if this comes out wrong, but the way you’ve told it, you’ve spent the past few years doing whatever your mother and sisters told you to do. Now you’re down here doing what Sebastian wants you to do. Not just coming to Melbourne and minding his house, but this whole treasure hunt thing.”
    “It’s only a bit of fun.”
    “I know. And I told you, I’d love a big brother who did something like this for me. But you’re nearly thirty. When are you going to start making your own decisions? About life. About seeing your father.