Read Online One Whole and Perfect Day by Judith Clarke - Free Book Online
Authors: Judith Clarke
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a breath of air. The very same stars! The simple thought of it made her feel close to him, as if she could reach out her hand and touch his. ‘Oh, stop it!’ fumed Lily, stamping her foot on the grass. ‘Stop thinking about him!’
But what did she do, the very minute she got back to her room? Picked up the magazine, of course, still open at page 53, picked it up and kissed the photograph.
Actually kissed it, before she could stop herself.
She could hardly believe she’d done that. ‘I’ve got a crush on Daniel Steadman,’ she whispered miserably, because it was so embarrassing; a crush , like some little girl in Year 7. Ugh. The sort of thing that made your toes curl up inside your shoes. She’d wanted to stop feeling middle-aged, and she’d succeeded. She felt young now, only it was the wrong sort of young – like a very little kid who couldn’t talk properly and kept falling off her bicycle.
‘Daniel Steadman doesn’t even know I exist,’ she said out loud. Bracingly.
Of course he didn’t. And yet it seemed to Lily now that when they passed each other in the corridors and playgrounds there was a tension between them. She couldn’t tell whether the tension was desire or disgust. Or was she imagining the whole thing? Of course she was.
The phone shrilled out in the hall and Lily tossed the magazine down on the bedside table and ran to answer. Oh, it was embarrassing, it was shameful – how when the phone rang she always thought it might be him. How could it be?
She picked up the receiver. ‘Hello,’ she said, and listened tensely.
It was only Nan.
11
A CALL FROM NAN
‘Lily?’
‘Nan?’
‘Yes, it’s me, lovie. Lily, guess what?’
Lily was silent. How could you ever guess? Nan could ring to tell you her snowdrops were out in the bottom of the garden. Or her family of blue wrens had returned, or that her friend Mrs Petrie (a real friend, Mrs Petrie, not an imaginary one) had bought a pair of ducks. ‘Muscovy, dear.’
‘What’s happened?’ Lily asked her.
‘You’ll never believe what your pop’s gone and done!’
Lily felt a tumbling sensation deep down in her stomach. She’d believe almost anything of Pop. Got himself arrested? she thought, though she didn’t say it aloud to Nan. Perhaps there was some poor old lady up there in the hills, living in a shabby old house on valuable property that Pop had thoughtfully burned down so she could live in a brand new unit with all mod cons.
‘What’s he done?’
‘He’s gone and found his mum’s wedding dress!’
‘Pop had a mum ?’ It was something Lily could imagine only with the greatest difficulty, because it meant thinking of Pop as a little boy, and that was really hard to do. All she could manage was a shorter Pop, still red-faced and piggy-eyed, the kind of kid who threw stones at girls and other humans who weren’t exactly like him: quiet boys with good manners, for instance, or little old ladies, or people who weren’t Australian . . .
‘Of course he had a mum!’ Nan said indignantly. Then her voice softened. ‘Lily, that dress – it’s so beautiful!’
‘Oh,’ breathed Lily. Back in primary school she and her best friend Annabel had been obsessed with wedding dresses, and weddings, and brides. They’d waited outside churches on Saturday afternoons, spent whole Sundays cutting out brides and bridesmaids from old magazines Annabel’s mum brought home from her job in the doctor’s surgery. They’d designed their own wedding veils and dresses, chosen bridesmaids and flowers for their bridal bouquets. All that was missing was the groom. ‘Oh, I can’t wait , can you?’ they’d whispered to each other.
But those strange sweet weekends were now very long ago. Annabel and her family had moved away, and Lily was in Year 10 and she could see through all that kind of stuff: commercialism, that’s all it was.
And yet, as Nan went on describing Pop’s wedding dress, Lily couldn’t stop a tiny sigh escaping
But what did she do, the very minute she got back to her room? Picked up the magazine, of course, still open at page 53, picked it up and kissed the photograph.
Actually kissed it, before she could stop herself.
She could hardly believe she’d done that. ‘I’ve got a crush on Daniel Steadman,’ she whispered miserably, because it was so embarrassing; a crush , like some little girl in Year 7. Ugh. The sort of thing that made your toes curl up inside your shoes. She’d wanted to stop feeling middle-aged, and she’d succeeded. She felt young now, only it was the wrong sort of young – like a very little kid who couldn’t talk properly and kept falling off her bicycle.
‘Daniel Steadman doesn’t even know I exist,’ she said out loud. Bracingly.
Of course he didn’t. And yet it seemed to Lily now that when they passed each other in the corridors and playgrounds there was a tension between them. She couldn’t tell whether the tension was desire or disgust. Or was she imagining the whole thing? Of course she was.
The phone shrilled out in the hall and Lily tossed the magazine down on the bedside table and ran to answer. Oh, it was embarrassing, it was shameful – how when the phone rang she always thought it might be him. How could it be?
She picked up the receiver. ‘Hello,’ she said, and listened tensely.
It was only Nan.
11
A CALL FROM NAN
‘Lily?’
‘Nan?’
‘Yes, it’s me, lovie. Lily, guess what?’
Lily was silent. How could you ever guess? Nan could ring to tell you her snowdrops were out in the bottom of the garden. Or her family of blue wrens had returned, or that her friend Mrs Petrie (a real friend, Mrs Petrie, not an imaginary one) had bought a pair of ducks. ‘Muscovy, dear.’
‘What’s happened?’ Lily asked her.
‘You’ll never believe what your pop’s gone and done!’
Lily felt a tumbling sensation deep down in her stomach. She’d believe almost anything of Pop. Got himself arrested? she thought, though she didn’t say it aloud to Nan. Perhaps there was some poor old lady up there in the hills, living in a shabby old house on valuable property that Pop had thoughtfully burned down so she could live in a brand new unit with all mod cons.
‘What’s he done?’
‘He’s gone and found his mum’s wedding dress!’
‘Pop had a mum ?’ It was something Lily could imagine only with the greatest difficulty, because it meant thinking of Pop as a little boy, and that was really hard to do. All she could manage was a shorter Pop, still red-faced and piggy-eyed, the kind of kid who threw stones at girls and other humans who weren’t exactly like him: quiet boys with good manners, for instance, or little old ladies, or people who weren’t Australian . . .
‘Of course he had a mum!’ Nan said indignantly. Then her voice softened. ‘Lily, that dress – it’s so beautiful!’
‘Oh,’ breathed Lily. Back in primary school she and her best friend Annabel had been obsessed with wedding dresses, and weddings, and brides. They’d waited outside churches on Saturday afternoons, spent whole Sundays cutting out brides and bridesmaids from old magazines Annabel’s mum brought home from her job in the doctor’s surgery. They’d designed their own wedding veils and dresses, chosen bridesmaids and flowers for their bridal bouquets. All that was missing was the groom. ‘Oh, I can’t wait , can you?’ they’d whispered to each other.
But those strange sweet weekends were now very long ago. Annabel and her family had moved away, and Lily was in Year 10 and she could see through all that kind of stuff: commercialism, that’s all it was.
And yet, as Nan went on describing Pop’s wedding dress, Lily couldn’t stop a tiny sigh escaping
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