Free The Sweet Girl by Annabel Lyon

speak. When did you arrive?”
    “Last night.”
    “Perfect timing.” The magistrate claps Daddy’s back again, making him stagger-step. “My eldest girl is getting married day after tomorrow. We’re having an informal supper before the wedding so the women can come, too. You’ll join us, yes? I’ll have you first that way. You’ll offend me if you say no.” He rubs his hands together. “A coup for me! And you’ll bring your lovely, modest daughter? You can meet everyone who matters.”
    Daddy accepts. They exchange compliments, and the man pinches my cheek through my veil before he leaves.
    “That’s excellent,” Daddy says. He seems unsure. He touches his temple with his fingertips, like there’s a pain budding there. I exchange looks with Herpyllis, who’s stepped forward again.
    “Daddy’s tired,” I whisper to Herpyllis. “We should head back.”
    Herpyllis says nothing, but stalks off ahead of us, dragging Nico by the hand. Myrmex glances over, sees us leaving, and waves.
    “Do you have anything to wear for a party?” Daddy asks.
    “Anything to wear ?” I look at him like he’s turned into a cuttlefish.
    “Girls like new clothes for parties.” He says this like it’s a fundamental proposition. All x is y. No a is b. Girls like new clothes for parties . “I’ll send Herpyllis with you tomorrow to choose something.”
    That’ll be fun , I don’t say, reading jealousy in the fierce line of her spine.
    At the isthmus, Daddy tugs my hand, bringing me to a stop. “Notice anything?”
    I look down at the raft, up at the garrison, down at the water. I look again.
    “Good girl,” Daddy says.
    “But it’s backwards. An hour ago it flowed that way”—I point north—“and now it’s running that way.” I point south.
    “A switchback tide.” Daddy looks like Nico with the puppy. “Chalcis is famous for it. The current changes direction at the turn of the tide.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    He hesitates. Then murmurs, “Neither do I.”
    Puts his finger to his lips; winks.

    A thousand lamps send golden tongues licking in all the secret places. The air smells minglingly of meat and flowers and a loosening perfume that makes my thinking vague and my free hand unable to make a fist. The house of Plios is dazzling by twilight, scented and flickering and pretty to the ears, even, with flute girls and a blind drummer and wind chimes made of cockleshells, and the voices of men and women drinking, affectionate, old friends at ease. Daddy holds my other hand tightly, and moves through the room like a ship, parting the company in stately splendour and leaving a froth of whispers in his wake. My famous daddy! My first party! A kindly woman, her hair spangled with hammered gold flowers, hands me a cup and folds my veil back for me so I won’t have to let go of Daddy’s hand. “You’re among friends, dear,” she says, eyes crinkling. She touches a fingertip to her tongue and smoothes my eyebrows, then turns away. I take tiny sips of the sweet drink and watch the women’s jewellery on the plates and shelves of their various bosoms: necklaces of gold flowers and seed pods, insects, shell-shapes, and spiral loopings of gold wire. I sip again—tiny, tiny sips—and smile shyly at Daddy. He is splendid tonight in snow-white wool, hair neatly trimmed, clean-shaven in the Macedonian style, ears and nostrils plucked hairless by Herpyllis.
    She brought me home a dress from the market, thinking todeprive me of the pleasure of choosing it, and dressed me herself. I’m wearing a girdle at my waist, my first, and my breasts are bound, and my hair is up. She yanked my hair hard, mumbling bitterly about the expense of new clothes through a mouthful of pins. But she took care that I should look perfect and expensive, as befitted our house, and kissed me before we left, carefully, because I had powder on my cheeks and the famous kohl on my eyes. I’d done that myself, to surprise her; she’d wiped it off