Chapters (117)
A buzzing filled her head, more intoxicating than the vodka Matthew had smuggled into her best friend’s birthday party the weekend before Aster and her family had moved. The nerve endings in her skin tingled, the tiny hairs on her arms raised and alert with the promise of the unknown.
The girl stood in the half darkness, dressed only in denim shorts and a pale gray cotton bra. She flicked her gaze to the window opposite.
The shape was still watching.
Reaching behind her back, Aster felt for the hooks and unclasped them, let the flimsy slip of fabric drop to the floor.
She stretched, a purposefully languid movement, arms flung skyward, reveling in the power of being sixteen and the slow-birthing knowledge of her desirability. Of sharing her most secret self with a stranger.
The girl wrapped herself in the heat of the summer evening, enjoying the scent of her own skin, the sense of teetering on the edge of the rest of her life, filled with all the possibilities that lay before her, choices waiting to be picked like plump and shiny fruits.
The shape raised a hand.
Who knows what might have happened next? Aster had flirted with pressing herself against the cool glass of her window, of stepping out of her shorts, of walking boldly across the road and knocking on his door.
But her teenage fantasies were interrupted by a tapping on her bedroom door.
“Aster, it’s Mum.” A pause. “Can I come in?”
Aster crossed one arm across her breasts, fumbling for her T-shirt, embarrassment staining her cheeks.
“Wait a sec.”
Decent but still flustered, she opened the door and spoke to her mother through the crack.
“What is it?”
“You haven’t eaten, love. Come down for a bit. There’s salad.”
When it came to getting rid of her mother or having dinner, Aster considered eating the lesser of two evils.
“I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Aster . . .”
“I will, okay?” She didn’t mean to sound impatient but her mother was so irritating. She waited for her to leave, desperate to see if he was still watching. As soon as she heard footsteps on their way downstairs, Aster flew back to the window.
The curtains were drawn, the shape gone. Disappointment settled on her like ash.
30
30
Now
The first child through the door was blond and uncertain. She clutched her mother’s hand, her body half turned in.
You welcomed her with an understated wave and drew her into the shop with a lollipop from the jar. Her eyes were greedy, gorging on the new toys lining the shelves. With sticky fingers she reached for an expensive doll, and I itched to slap her hand away.
Her mother gave her a gentle push and she chose a place to sit at the front of the shop, cross-legged and patient. “This is Tallie, she’s five.”