Odd One Out Read Online Free PDF

man, Sylvie. A lying, manipulative, cruel man.” “Why would you want to go and visit him? I couldn’t bear it if you did, Sylvie. It’s enough for me to cope with that he took Sebastian from me.” “Of course it’s no surprise he hasn’t sent you a birthday card, Sylvie. When did he ever think of anyone but himself?” Sylvie blinked, dismissing her mother’s voice.
    “Does he?” she said.
    “Not that far from here. I can leave you his phone number if you want it.”
    “Seb, I know what you’re trying to do. It’s too late.”
    “Why? He’s only in his sixties. He can still walk and talk.”
    Sylvie knew that. She’d seen the occasional reference to him in the literary pages of the newspapers, whenever his poems were included in new anthologies. Even so many years on, Fidelma would rage against him if she saw his name or photograph. “Look at him. Like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.”
    “Does he know I’m here?” Sylvie asked.
    “I told him you were coming down, yes.”
    “Then he can get in touch with me if he wants to, can’t he?”
    “I think he’s too nervous.”
    “Nervous?”
    “He doesn’t know what sort of reception he’d get.”
    “Reception? I’m his daughter, not a werewolf.”
    “So go and see him.”
    She didn’t answer for a moment. “What’s he like these days?”
    “He drives a current Mercedes-Benz. He lives in a penthouse. He collects butterflies. He holds a black belt in karate. He speaks fluent Swahili.” Sebastian smiled. “Or perhaps he does none of those things. Find out for yourself.”
    “Do you see him often?”
    “Once a month or so. We usually meet for dinner. He’s got a favorite Malaysian place in Prahran. Or we talk on the phone or by email.”
    “So you’re close?”
    “We agree on some things, disagree on others. I know what’s happening in his life, to a degree. He knows a bit about me.”
    “Do you like him?”
    “Sylvie, Dad is a human being. Not a cartoon villain or however Mum has painted him. He’s likable sometimes, other times he drives me crazy. He’s complicated. Welcome to the world of parents. Do you like Mum?”
    The million-dollar question. Did she? She admired her, enjoyed her company much of the time, found her frustrating, stimulating. “I love her. She’s my mother.”
    “You ignored the question. Skilfully, though, I’ll give you that. You’re off the hook for now.”
    He called for the bill. On the way home to his apartment they called into a bar for a nightcap. He made her laugh with stories about badly behaved actors he’d worked with. They didn’t speak about her father, or her mother, again.
    Sylvie walked out into the hallway of Sebastian’s apartment now and looked at the framed photographs once more.
    One photo to the side caught her eye. It was an old black and white of Mill, pictured sweeping the front verandah of her Newtown flat with a straw broom, squinting into the lens, her hair falling out of its bun as usual. Sebastian had stuck a Post-it note to the bottom of it:
Great-Aunt Mill prepares for her companion Sylvie’s arrival
.
He had stuck another note underneath a photo of Vanessa and Cleo arriving at an opening night in a limousine.
Heckle and Jeckle
alight from their pumpkin and greet the masses
.
    She recognized lots of the photos. Sebastian was famous for raiding cupboards and photo albums on visits home and taking whatever he wanted. He said it was because he was the product of a broken home, that he was psychologically disturbed and in constant need of reassurance and familiar objects around him.
    He amazed her, how matter-of-fact, even jokey, he was about it. She remembered the time of the divorce with only a tight feeling in her chest. She’d known of course that her parents weren’t happy together. There’d been no way of not knowing. Creative people like her parents had found creative ways to abuse and insult each other.
    There were several photos of the two of them, though none