Odd One Out by Monica McInerney Page B

Sane. Let them be the odd ones out and you can be the odd one in. Now, I must go. George is about to arrive and I promised I’d serve him a Harvey Wallbanger for cocktail hour tonight. Bye for now. Enjoy dinner with your father.”

Chapter Ten
    Sylvie chose simple clothes. A pale-green T-shirt, a dark-green skirt. She put several sparkling clips in her hair, applied more makeup than usual, looked at herself for a long moment, then washed off the makeup and took out the clips. She wasn’t glamorous like Vanessa or Cleo. There was no point in pretending otherwise. If she disappointed him, there was little she could do.
    Sebastian had been concerned about their father getting anxious. Sylvie’s own blood pressure was heading skywards. This wasn’t just a dinner. If she had been worried about life in Melbourne reaching childhood expectations, it had nothing on her expectations about her father.
    She wanted to meet him. She needed to meet him. She was glad Sebastian had forced the issue. Because there was no way she would have dared do it herself. There was too much that could go wrong. She tried to keep perspective. They wouldn’t run into each other’s arms, like the scene in the final chapter of
The Railway Children
, which always brought her to tears. Bobbie on the station platform, seeing her father for the first time in many hard months.
    Sylvie knew the whole scene word for word.
    “
Oh! My Daddy, my Daddy!” That scream went like a knife into the heart of everyone in the train, and people put their heads out of the windows to see a tall pale man with lips set in a thin close line, and a little girl clinging to him with arms and legs, while his arms went tightly round her.”
    Sylvie didn’t know if she and her father would even touch each other. She could feel the young, hurt version of herself nestling deep inside still, the little girl who hadn’t received any birthday cards, or phone calls, for many years. The same girl who had slowly and methodically sealed off the part of her mind that wanted to think about her father, who missed him. Who would like to have talked to him over the years.
    Would they manage any of those conversations tonight? Manage to catch up on even one year of her life, let alone twenty-one? She wanted to, she realized. She looked in the mirror one more time before she left the apartment. “Hello, Laurence,” she said to her reflection. “I’m Sylvie, your daughter.”
    ***
    She easily found the Malaysian restaurant. She had walked past it many times the last fortnight. There were about a dozen tables, half of them full. Before she had a chance to look around, the waitress came over and greeted her.
    “A table for two, please,” Sylvie said.
    “Do you have a booking?”
    “I’m meeting someone.”
    “Name?”
    “Devereaux.”
    The elderly man at the table by the window looked up. He was wearing a jumper that looked like it had seen better days. There was a jug of water in front of him. She looked closer. Curly hair. Enquiring eyes.
    He said her name first. “Sylvie?” He stood up. “It’s Sylvie?”
    “Hello.” She stepped toward him. “Sebastian couldn’t make it. I came in his place.”
    He was looking intently at her. “I’ve seen photographs, of course, but they don’t do you justice. You’re lovely. You’re like your grandmother.”
    She gazed back at him. It was like time-lapse photography. The handsome man in the photos worn down by age, battered by life.
    “Please, sit down,” he said.
    There was so much to say she didn’t know how to start. She watched him fidget with a napkin. All day she had rehearsed conversations in her head with him. Now her mind was blank.
    He looked as uncomfortable as she was feeling. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where to start with chitchat.”
    “I’m not good at chitchat either.”
    He gave a brief smile. “I’ve brought a couple of books. We could sit here and read if you like. Or I’ve got the crossword.”
    It was a