Desert Fish Read Online Free Page A

thanks.’
    My mother looked doubtfully past Pete and into the room. He’d shifted the sheets out of the top drawer and they sat in a neat pile on the bed.
    â€˜The linen –’ my mother said.
    â€˜Yeah, I hoped you wouldn’t mind. Only I’d like to keep my clothes in the top drawers. I’ll put these down lower. If that’s okay.’
    The top drawer was open and Pete’s shirts were stacked neatly. He leaned down and relocated the sheets just as tidily as she’d have done.
    â€˜Well,’ my mother breathed, ‘I don’t suppose that will be a problem.’ She turned and surveyed the room. ‘But I hadn’t expected to let the room so quickly. I haven’t cleaned under there.’ She pointed down at the sea-grass matting. She was gathering pace and running out of steam at the same time. I could see she was caught between sending Pete away, since my father had gone ahead without her and got him in, and letting him stay, because he clearly impressed her. ‘The dust,’ she continued, ‘it falls down through the straw. I’ll have to lift it up and clean before the room’s properly ready to let.’
    â€˜It’s fine for now,’ Pete said. ‘I’ll do it later.’
    I stood and moved to leave the room. My mother turned and caught my eye. She gave me a little smile. ‘Alright, Gilly?’ Will he do? Will it be okay now?
    â€˜Yes, of course,’ I said.
    She turned back to Pete. ‘Okay, then,’ she said. ‘I’dappreciate that, Pete.’ Her brow was smooth now and she’d let go of her lip. Her annoyance was fading and I felt that she was secretly pleased. That even though my dad had done this without consulting her, the situation might work to her advantage. She was seeing Pete and possibilities were opening up to her.

four
    I’ve never stayed in a motel before. This place is like one from an American film, with numbered doors around the parking area and a small fenced pool with deckchairs. The sign at the entrance says there is a colour television in every room.
    My dress is stuck to me so I get in the shower with it on. I stay in for ages. There’s so much to wash off me, milk and sick and blood and that other smell, soft and sterile and strangely pervasive, of hospital. It’s in my hair too and if I drew my finger along my skin it would probably collect beneath my nails.
    Pete is lying on the bed, his arm hanging over the side. He doesn’t stir as I search for a comb and drag it through the wet ropes of my hair. I’m not tired at all. When I take his hand it is dry and warm in mine, the hairs on the back of it trace a fragile pattern against my cheek. I kneel there for a while and listen to his soft snore, breathe his scent of smoke and sweat and thedisinfectant that over-lies it. His fingers are ruddy from scrubbing the car seat.
    I’m buzzing. It takes all my will to leave him sleeping there.
    Â 
    Outside, I sit at the edge of the pool. The ‘Motel’ sign is high up above the fence. It’s supposed to do a neon flash, ‘ Motel … Motel … Motel … Motel …’ but the sun’s so bright you’d be hard pushed to notice. For a while I watch that sign trying blindly to announce itself to the cars that scud by on the other side of the fence.
    In the still air you can hear everything. Doors opening and closing, traffic going by, the water glugging and slapping against the sides of the pool. I listen for Pete but there’s no sound from our room.
    The water is tepid but if I move my legs about some coolness slips between my toes. I plan what I’ll wear tonight. After my shower, I found everything packed in the blue suitcase I first left home with, all of it exactly where I put it. When I tried to dress, my clothes felt like someone else’s. My jeans wouldn’t go past my thighs. My corduroy skirt didn’t zip up. I had to