Pictures of Lily

Michael.
    ‘Hmm,’ Michael muses. ‘I might have to speak to Trudy about that.’
    ‘Trudy in the front office? About what?’ I ask.
    ‘If we can get you a little summer job.’
    My heart soars. ‘Really?’
    ‘I don’t see why not. I’ll see what I can do.’
    ‘That would be amazing,’ I enthuse. That would mean I could go there every day. Well, almost every day. ‘Are you back at work tomorrow?’ I ask brightly.
    ‘No, Monday.’ He chuckles when he sees my face. I try to perk up because I don’t want to seem ungrateful. ‘Why don’t you take a trip into the city today?’ he suggests. ‘Go shopping, see the sights. I’m sure your mum would let you borrow her car. Or you could even use the truck, for that matter.’
    ‘What, and drive myself?’
    He claps his hand over his forehead for the second time this morning, saying, ‘I forgot, you can’t drive.’
    I shake my head, wryly.
    ‘When’s your birthday? This coming week, isn’t it?’
    ‘Wednesday.’
    ‘Won’t be long, then.’
    ‘I’ll only be sixteen,’ I remind him.
    ‘That’s right,’ he replies cheerfully.
    ‘But you have to be seventeen to drive.’
    ‘Not in Australia.’
    ‘Seriously?’ Why didn’t somebody tell me this? I’ve been wanting my independence behind the wheel for donkey’s years! This would have made the move Down Under far more palatable.
    ‘You’ll have to do your paper test first, but after that you can climb into the driver’s seat.’
    ‘No way!’
    ‘As for today,’ Michael continues, delighted at my reaction, ‘there’s a bus service which leaves from Crafers that takes you direct into the city. I’ll give you a lift to the bus stop, if you like.’
    ‘Okay!’
    He scratches his head in bemusement. ‘You have got the prettiest face when you smile.’
    And instead of scowling like I usually would at hearing a comment like that, I actually find myself laughing.
    Adelaide is a sprawling city, its suburbs reaching far and wide, but the centre is not that big – certainly not by London standards. I hop off the bus and walk in the direction of East Terrace. Michael explained earlier that the main part of the city is surrounded by four roads: North, East, West and South Terrace, with the streets within laid out as a simple grid system, so it’s easy to find my way around.
    It’s only nine o’clock in the morning and the shops don’t open until nine-thirty, but Michael told me the Botanic Gardens would be the perfect setting to practise my photography. I still have half a roll of film to finish off before I can get my first photographs developed, and apparently there’s a one-hour place in the mall. I’m quietly excited about seeing the results of my efforts.
    The main entrance to the Botanic Gardens is on the corner of East and North Terrace. I pass through the gates and after a little while, turn right along a path lined with trees and shrubs. A short way off there’s a medium-sized pond covered in its entirety by large, lime-green leaves. A dark-grey statue of a cherub clutching onto a swan sits in the middle. I walk across neatly-mown grass towards the pond and take in the sight of a multitude of tall pink flowers bursting upwards away from the foliage. Lilies. Eagerly I unzip the bag and pull out my camera, stepping away from the pond to survey the scene. Then I zoom in and focus on one bright pink flower, clicking off a single shot. I walk around the pond and dither for a moment before fiddling with the settings on the camera and attempting another shot. I don’t have the confidence yet to take lots of photos in one go. Nor do I have the money to waste on film or developing either, for that matter. But I might do if Michael comes good on his promise.
    It’s another hot day, and the morning sun is bright. Not the best light for taking photographs, I muse. Get me, thinking like a photographer already . . . Perhaps I’ll come back later.
    I wander in leisurely fashion through the lush green gardens, over tiny bridges and underneath the tallest of trees with the widest of trunks, until eventually I decide to leave the Botanic Gardens and check out the shops.
    The pavements are crowded with tables spilling out of dozens of cafés and restaurants, and the chink of cappuccino cups against saucers greets my ears as countless people enjoy lazy breakfasts in the sun. I suddenly wish I was sitting at a table gossiping with a girlfriend, and at that thought, I feel a sharp pang. I