Pictures of Lily

bedroom, aimlessly flicking through the pages of a magazine, when there’s a knock at the door. I close my eyes resignedly. I can’t be bothered to talk to Mum right now.
    ‘Come in,’ I call.
    I’m surprised when Michael pokes his head around the door, saying, ‘I’m leaving for work in forty minutes. Do you fancy coming with me?’
    ‘Oh.’ I sit up, surprised.
    ‘No worries if not, there’ll be plenty of other opportunities.’
    ‘No, no, I’d . . . Well . . . is my mum coming too?’
    ‘Nah, she said she’d be happy unpacking and settling in at home.’
    ‘Okay, then. If you’re sure.’
    ‘Sure I’m sure.’
    He turns to leave, but I call him back.
    ‘What should I wear?’
    ‘Anything you like. But it’s going to be hot today so bring a hat and a bottle of sunscreen.’
    I climb off the bed and open the wardrobe. My only two skirts stare out at me, daring me to choose them over the jeans I’m already wearing, but I leave them where they are and even go one further by pulling on a hooded grey sweatshirt over my black T-shirt. I’ll regret my full-body cover-up decision if the temperature rises to the 35 degrees predicted on last night’s news, but I’m not yet ready to expose my pale white limbs to the world. I go to close the wardrobe doors and hesitate. Bending down, I drag a small black camera bag out. Do I want this today? Will I use it?
    My dad gave me a Nikon F60 as an early birthday/leaving present before I left, making me promise to take lots of photos so he wouldn’t miss me too much. A stab of pain shoots through my heart and I carefully push the bag back into the wardrobe.
    Josh is still in bed by the time we set off at seven forty-five. Michael drives a white pick-up truck, three seats wide at the front. He reverses down the gravel driveway and out onto the road. We turn left and drive in the opposite direction to the way Mum and I came in yesterday. Through the window I see white nets hanging loose over a multitude of trees in the neighbouring gardens, making me think of children dressed up as low-budget ghosts for Halloween.
    ‘Are they fruit trees?’ I ask Michael.
    ‘Yep. Cherries, nectarines, peaches . . . The nets keep the birds off. We’ve got an apricot tree in the back garden. Help yourself because the fruit always ends up rotting on the ground when no one eats it.’ He tuts. ‘Such a waste.’
    He takes a left onto a dirt track and the road starts to climb steeply into the hills. My ears begin to pop and I have to keep swallowing. Michael winds down his window and I do the same. A fragrant scent, coupled with the aroma of early morning sunshine burning off the dew on the fern-covered banks immediately assaults my senses.
    ‘What’s that smell?’ I ask.
    ‘Eucalyptus,’ Michael replies, pointing out of the window. ‘From all the gum trees.’
    I breathe in deeply and feel an unexpected burst of happiness. It takes me by surprise.
    ‘Do you usually work on Sundays?’ I ask Michael.
    ‘Sometimes,’ he replies. ‘We all have to work weekends occasionally.’
    ‘What do you do exactly?’
    ‘I’m a senior keeper. I look after the devils and the dingoes, among other things.’
    ‘Cool. Will anyone mind me tagging along today?’
    ‘Course not, sweetheart! Josh used to come all the time before his mum died.’
    I wonder what it was about Josh’s mum dying that made him stop going to the conservation park. I wonder how his mum died at all. I want to ask, but it doesn’t feel right.
    We take a left at the top, back onto the main road, and after a while turn right through some rusted wrought-iron gates into the conservation park. I can just make out a hazy view of the city beyond what I now recognise as eucalyptus trees. Eventually the road opens up into a large car park. Michael turns into the staff parking area and switches off the ignition. We both climb out of the truck and I nervously follow him through the gates. I’m starting to regret my impulsive decision to accompany him today when I could be back at the house with my bedroom door closed and not have to speak to anyone.
    ‘Morning, Jim,’ Michael calls, as a man dressed in identical clothes to him – beige shorts and a matching long-sleeved shirt – approaches us.
    ‘Morning, Mike. Who’s this?’
    ‘Lily!’ Michael booms, then in a quieter aside, ‘Cindy’s daughter.’
    ‘Oh, okay!’ the man called Jim exclaims. ‘You arrived yesterday, right?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘How was your