Pictures of Lily

snaps.
    ‘I don’t have to be, no.’
    ‘Good.’
    ‘I just choose to be.’ He glares at me. ‘So can I have a crisp, or what?’ He doesn’t immediately answer so I reach over and grab the packet.
    ‘Help yourself,’ he says gruffly when I’m already chowing down on a Dorito. He reaches for the phone on a side-table. ‘Have you decided what you want?’
    ‘Ham and pineapple,’ I reply.
    ‘Same as me.’
    ‘Shall we get one between us, then?’
    ‘No, I want a whole one.’
    ‘Don’t you like sharing?’
    ‘I’m sharing my house with you, aren’t I?’
    I tense up inside, but try not to let it show. ‘It’s big enough,’ I mumble. He ignores me, dialling the number.
    My new ‘home’ has four bedrooms, two of which have been allocated to Mum and me, although it’s only a matter of time before she moves in with Michael. There’s a reasonable-sized kitchen and a fairly large living room. Michael has an ensuite, but there’s only one other bathroom – which means I have to share with Josh. Great. I don’t care how good-looking he is, if he leaves wet towels on the floor I swear I’ll relocate them to his bed.
    Josh puts down the phone and turns up the sound on the television. We sit there in silence until the doorbell rings half an hour later to announce the arrival of dinner. It’s enough time to give me food for thought. I’m not usually a bitch, I just . . . Oh, I don’t know. I suddenly feel deflated.
    Josh returns with the pizza boxes and dumps them on the coffee table.
    ‘Are you at work tomorrow?’ I ask, as I struggle to detach the strings of mozzarella hanging on for dear life to a piece of pizza. Josh is clearly not a cutlery and crockery type.
    ‘Tomorrow’s Sunday, so no,’ he replies bluntly.
    ‘I’m forgetting what day it is,’ I say quietly. ‘That tends to happen when your whole life is uprooted in such a short time.’
    Josh glances at me and his face softens. ‘This is so unlike my dad,’ he comments.
    ‘This is exactly like my mum,’ I reply, my tone hardening as I pull the cardboard pizza box onto my lap. ‘Another advert break! How many ads do you have on here?’
    Josh mutters something to himself and takes an enormous bite out of his pizza. He eats the rest of his meal in silence.
    ‘So when are you going back to England?’ he asks eventually.
    I sweep my dark hair to one side. ‘As soon as I turn eighteen.’
    He gives me a curious look. ‘How old are you now?’
    ‘Fifteen, nearly sixteen. You?’
    ‘Eighteen.’ Pause. ‘I thought you were older.’
    ‘Damn, you’ve rumbled me. I’m actually thirty-five.’
    ‘Is that right?’ He raises one eyebrow.
    ‘Yeah. Stuck in a fifteen-year-old’s body.’ I discard my half-eaten pizza and put my bare feet up on the coffee table, wishing I’d had the foresight to give myself a pedicure before I came away. Josh’s eyes skim over my legs and up to my breasts where they pause for a few seconds.
    ‘Lucky thirty-five-year-old,’ he murmurs.
    ‘Are you taking the piss?’ I immediately bite back. He snorts with derision as I take my feet down, cross them underneath myself on the sofa and fold my arms. He lazily gets to his feet.
    ‘I’m going out in Stirling tonight with some mates,’ he says, reaching backwards to scratch one of his shoulderblades. I catch a glimpse of his tanned, fit stomach.
    ‘Have fun.’ I look away and pray he doesn’t see me blushing.
    ‘Come if you want,’ he says casually.
    ‘No, thanks.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I’m knackered.’
    ‘Lightweight.’
    ‘Do you know what time it is in England right now?’ I ask hotly, my mind racing as I try to calculate the time difference in my head.
    ‘Suit yourself,’ is his reply as he saunters from the room.
    It takes me about fifteen seconds to work out that it’s nine-thirty in the morning in the UK and, minus my little nap earlier, I’ve effectively stayed up all night. I’m on the verge of shouting this fact down the corridor to Josh, but realise in time that I’ll only sound like a tit. Getting to my feet, I pick up the takeaway boxes, switch off the television and go to the kitchen to get a glass of water. A car horn toots outside. Josh appears in the doorway as I’m filling my glass from the tap.
    ‘I wouldn’t drink that,’ he says. ‘There’s rainwater in the fridge.’
    I glance down at my glass. ‘Oh, okay.’
    ‘That’s my ride,’ he says as the horn sounds again.
    ‘Who is it? Bruce?