Our Father Who Are Out There...Somewhere Read Online Free
Author: AJ Taft
Tags: Contemporary Fiction
put up there when they first moved in, when Lily was just a baby. Lily reaches for the nearest suitcase and flicks open the catches.
Inside are clothes, men’s clothes. She pulls out the first item, a brown shirt with thin white stripes, ironed and neatly folded on the top of the pile. The buttons are done up. She holds it to her face and smells mustiness, mixed with a hint of pine aftershave. Lily holds up the shirt in front of her and as the folds drop out so do the arms, falling onto her lap, each neatly cut off at the shoulder. She pulls out a pair of trousers, with creases like tramlines, and a hole where the crotch should be. Lily doesn’t know what makes her feel saddest; the thought of her mother neatly ironing and folding her husband’s clothes after she’s hacked them to pieces, or the fact that her father obviously never returned to notice.
She reaches for one of the wooden packing crates. Inside are books. Her mum was never much of a reader, unless you count Mills and Boon, which Lily didn’t. She picks up the top one; it has a picture of a fat frog and a pink flower on the cover, You only live twice, Ian Fleming is written on the front. Lily’s seen the film. She holds the book up to her face and smells the paper as she flicks through the pages. Then, with her hands trembling, she turns to the front page, hope making her hold her breath. But if a name was written there, and it probably was, it has been cut out; a small, neat rectangle of paper missing in the top right hand corner. Lily turns to the back page and realises it’s missing.
Lily swears under her breath and reaches for the second box. It contains a record collection: The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, a seven inch copy of Leader of the Pack by the Shangri-Las, and I Got You, Babe by Sonny and Cher. The box is full. Lily had always thought the theme tune to Coronation Street was the closest her mum had ever come to music. Simon and Garfunkel, The Kinks, Dusty Springfield. Lily bites her lip as she slides Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band out. It comes out of its sleeve in three separate pieces.
Lily notices through the cracks in the airbricks that it’s getting light. The bottle of vodka she brought with her is empty, and the heap of clothes feels slightly damp. She stands up too quickly, hitting her head against a low beam and falls to her knees, momentarily stunned. When her head stops hurting, she goes downstairs. She rummages through her pockets and finds, scribbled on a piece of paper, in old lady handwriting, Aunt Edie’s telephone number.
As she listens to the ringing phone, she has a flash of memory of Aunt Edie’s funeral. Her mother, already gigantic, in a black tent of a dress, hurrying her out of the churchyard as an elderly couple had approached them. The man had a gold ring on his finger with a red jewel that had sparkled in the sunlight. Lily had wondered whether he was the Pope. She had opened her mouth to ask, but her mother had pushed her out of the gate so hard she had almost fallen over.
“Hello?” A tremulous voice answers the phone.
“Aunt Edie? It’s me, Lily.”
“Heavens child, what time is it?”
Lily glances across at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. It takes her a moment to work out that it’s half past five. “Shit, I mean sorry, I didn’t realise,” Lily takes a breath. “I need to see you.”
Chapter 4
Aunt Edie’s house smells of vinegar, perfectly preserved, it’s exactly how it was the last time Lily visited. Memories assault her from all angles. The china dogs that she’d pretended to feed and take for walks are still on the hearth; the ashtray with a black cat in the centre, that Lily’s mother had painted when she was a child, is still on the windowsill.
Aunt Edie is bustling around in her kitchen, wearing her floral pinny, delighted to have company. She hands Lily an American Cream Soda. The glass is the same glass Lily drank out of twelve years ago, with
Inside are clothes, men’s clothes. She pulls out the first item, a brown shirt with thin white stripes, ironed and neatly folded on the top of the pile. The buttons are done up. She holds it to her face and smells mustiness, mixed with a hint of pine aftershave. Lily holds up the shirt in front of her and as the folds drop out so do the arms, falling onto her lap, each neatly cut off at the shoulder. She pulls out a pair of trousers, with creases like tramlines, and a hole where the crotch should be. Lily doesn’t know what makes her feel saddest; the thought of her mother neatly ironing and folding her husband’s clothes after she’s hacked them to pieces, or the fact that her father obviously never returned to notice.
She reaches for one of the wooden packing crates. Inside are books. Her mum was never much of a reader, unless you count Mills and Boon, which Lily didn’t. She picks up the top one; it has a picture of a fat frog and a pink flower on the cover, You only live twice, Ian Fleming is written on the front. Lily’s seen the film. She holds the book up to her face and smells the paper as she flicks through the pages. Then, with her hands trembling, she turns to the front page, hope making her hold her breath. But if a name was written there, and it probably was, it has been cut out; a small, neat rectangle of paper missing in the top right hand corner. Lily turns to the back page and realises it’s missing.
Lily swears under her breath and reaches for the second box. It contains a record collection: The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, a seven inch copy of Leader of the Pack by the Shangri-Las, and I Got You, Babe by Sonny and Cher. The box is full. Lily had always thought the theme tune to Coronation Street was the closest her mum had ever come to music. Simon and Garfunkel, The Kinks, Dusty Springfield. Lily bites her lip as she slides Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band out. It comes out of its sleeve in three separate pieces.
Lily notices through the cracks in the airbricks that it’s getting light. The bottle of vodka she brought with her is empty, and the heap of clothes feels slightly damp. She stands up too quickly, hitting her head against a low beam and falls to her knees, momentarily stunned. When her head stops hurting, she goes downstairs. She rummages through her pockets and finds, scribbled on a piece of paper, in old lady handwriting, Aunt Edie’s telephone number.
As she listens to the ringing phone, she has a flash of memory of Aunt Edie’s funeral. Her mother, already gigantic, in a black tent of a dress, hurrying her out of the churchyard as an elderly couple had approached them. The man had a gold ring on his finger with a red jewel that had sparkled in the sunlight. Lily had wondered whether he was the Pope. She had opened her mouth to ask, but her mother had pushed her out of the gate so hard she had almost fallen over.
“Hello?” A tremulous voice answers the phone.
“Aunt Edie? It’s me, Lily.”
“Heavens child, what time is it?”
Lily glances across at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. It takes her a moment to work out that it’s half past five. “Shit, I mean sorry, I didn’t realise,” Lily takes a breath. “I need to see you.”
Chapter 4
Aunt Edie’s house smells of vinegar, perfectly preserved, it’s exactly how it was the last time Lily visited. Memories assault her from all angles. The china dogs that she’d pretended to feed and take for walks are still on the hearth; the ashtray with a black cat in the centre, that Lily’s mother had painted when she was a child, is still on the windowsill.
Aunt Edie is bustling around in her kitchen, wearing her floral pinny, delighted to have company. She hands Lily an American Cream Soda. The glass is the same glass Lily drank out of twelve years ago, with
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