Getaway

Chapter 6

Heading down to the sun-beds the next day Kyle seemed to be doing whatever he could to remind Dad of Fletcher’s existence. There were times when I really, really hated my brother and this was one of them.

We set our things down on the beds and I sat down quickly, I appeared to have no energy. And that was not a good thing; I really needed to put some sun-tan lotion on.

“So who even is this boy?” Dad asked, apparently Kyle’s efforts had been successful.

“His name is Fletcher, he’s Australian and we’re just hanging out,” I said.

“How old is he? He looks older than you.”

When Dad asked me that it occurred to me that I had no idea how old Fletcher actually was. It hadn’t seemed that important and I still wasn’t entirely sure that it was. As long as he wasn’t some thirty year old creep, I didn’t see his age being a problem. Especially as we were just hanging out.

“I don’t know, maybe a year older than me. Why does it even matter?” I asked, because I was seriously sick of being asked questions this holiday.

“It matters because I am not entirely convinced that yesterday was not a date,” Dad said.

“It wasn’t a date! It was two acquaintances going for a drink, nothing more,” I repeated what I had told Dad the day before – more or less.

“If that’s what you say Nell,” Dad trailed off and I could tell that he still was not convinced.

“It is what I say because it’s frickin’ true!” I wanted to shout but at the same time I really did not want to attract attention.

“Language Nell,” Dad scolded.

“I said frickin’.”

I had never really gotten into swearing, with Kyle around I felt guilty and so most normal swearwords had been replaced with less offensive counterparts. Shit turned to sugar, fuck to frick and bugger to flubber. It was weird, but it worked.

“Look Nell, I’m sorry. I’m sure you two are just friends. I just worry about you, and we both know that I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m sure if your mother was here she’d be handling the situation a lot better.”

Dad’s face fell as he said the last little bit and something inside of me snapped. Thinking of her was not what I wanted to be doing today.

“I don’t want to talk about Mum,” I told him, “Look, I’m going to play volleyball again.”

I didn’t wait for Dad to tell me that was okay, I just left. It wasn’t so much that I was angry at my Dad, I was just angry in general. I was angry that he was still brining Mum up when she had been gone for eight months.

Dad didn’t call after me anyway, he didn’t ask me to come back to talk about it and I wasn’t surprised. It seemed like he was still learning how to be a parent (despite the fact that he had been one for seventeen years) or maybe he had finally just realised that I would prefer it if he just left me more or less to my own devices.

I was surprised when I bumped into Fletch after just a few moments of aimless wandering. The volleyball wasn’t due to start for another half hour and I needed to find something to do to fill the void.

“Eleanor!” he shouted (evidently Fletcher – unlike me – was not bothered about attracting unwanted attention).

“Hey Fletcher, where are you heading?” I asked.

“Nowhere really. I’ve been lying on a sun-bed for the past hour and I felt a need to stretch my legs. Want to walk with me?”

I nodded and the two of us began to head in the general direction of the beach, and despite Fletcher’s ‘slow’ pace I struggled to keep up with his long strides. I was taller than most of the people in my year, but Fletcher still had a few inches on me.