Page 52 of Autumn at the Willow River Guesthouse
‘I’m surviving.’
Pete winked. ‘Did you can him?’
‘I haven’t seen him yet, but I’m going to meet him later.’
‘Oh, well. Look, you do what’s best for you, and your mother and me will support you every step of the way.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘Right, I’ll be out in the garage.’
She tried to concentrate on the TV, but her mind was wandering all over the place, and when a woman in an evening dress slapped a man with slicked hair across the cheek, she couldn’t for the life of her remember why. Switching the TV off, she went out into the garden and knocked on the door to the garage.
Pete was inside, already in his overalls, gluing bits of glass to a plywood sheet. He smiled as she came in and sat down on a stood by the door to watch him work.
‘So, Dad, is that like, a metaphor for self-consciousness, or an expression of confusion?’
Pete looked at her and frowned. ‘Ah, no. It’s a giraffe. I haven’t done the head yet, which is probably why you’re confused. This is a draft for the wall of the new enclosure at Exeter Zoo.’
‘I didn’t know Exeter had a zoo.’
‘It doesn’t … yet. It’s opening next year. Big secret. I got a commission to do three of these. The real thing will be about ten foot high.’
‘That’s great.’
Pete shrugged. ‘It is what it is.’
‘You must feel proud, though, to see your stuff displayed for everyone to see.’
‘That’s the best part.’
‘I wish I could do something artistic.’
‘Why don’t you?’
Lily shrugged. ‘I don’t know what I can do. All I’ve ever been good at is making small numbers into bigger numbers.’
‘Ah, but art doesn’t just mean painting or sticking bits of glass on a wall. It can come in all forms. Ask Jimmy up at the farm shop how he feels putting his fruit and veg on display, stuff he’s grown himself. I know exactly how he’ll feel. Proud.’
‘So you think I should grow something?’
‘I think you need to find your place in the world. That’s all. But you’re still young. There’s no hurry. Why don’t you go overseas for a bit, do some travelling?’
‘Are you trying to get rid of me?’
‘Of course not. But sometimes you need to step outside the box in order to see what you like about the box.’
‘I’m not sure that makes sense.’
Pete chuckled. ‘Me neither.’
The time was creeping away, so Lily left Pete to his mural and went to meet Steve. As she walked down the hill and across the bridge, she felt like a teenager on the way to some schoolyard confrontation. Picking a leaf out of the hedgerow, she pulled off small bits at a time, repeating, ‘Dump him, forgive him, dump him, forgive him,’ over and over. When she ran out of leaf, she picked another, and continued, expanding her options a little:
‘Dump him, forgive him, slap him, set fire to him, bury him, steal money from him, hide from him, steal a car and run away with him—’
‘Excuse me? I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to find Willow River Guesthouse.’
Lily looked up and blinked. A young man stood in front of her, a rucksack slung over his shoulder a little out of place against the smart-casual suit jacket he wore over jeans. He had a hint of beard and wore glasses. His hair was neatly cut, his smile warm, brown eyes the colour of hot chocolate brimming with intelligence as he watched her, his head slightly cocked.
