Standing in his room, staring out of the window at Bob’s severely pruned iceberg roses, he listened to Rose singing along with Nat King Cole. ‘“Unforgettable, that’s what you are . . .”’ And although to her it meant the laughter of kiddies at the hospital, chow mein, almonds candying on a late winter morning, Phillip’s eternal harping in her ear – to Nathan it was just Lilli. As the high violins floated below the cracked ceiling and the clarinets passed into wardrobes and sock drawers, he imagined Lilli serving coffee to a couple of kidless townies seated on a table outside the Apex. He could see the faulty neon of the Fechner automat blinking pink and bright blue, and Lilli slamming the door in disgust as she went back in. He opened his bag, put it on his bed and started packing: spare socks and pants, T-shirts and a jumper of his mother’s creation. Phil walked in and said, ‘Christ, how long we going for?’ ‘You’ve never been camping before?’ Phil grabbed Nathan’s Bible from his bedside drawer and started flicking through the pages.
