nothing
can describe the feeling of seeing it
reflected on water.
A beam of light as
beautiful as it is brittle
because it stretches
across skies and oceans
to reach you
and still it evades your touch.
Close but never close enough.
CHAPTER 21 – LUCA
I decided running was a good idea, then changed my mind four minutes later when I reached the noticeboard.
MERRY CHRISTMAS,
LOMBARD!
The only reason I run at all is because doing it with Simo makes it less painful. Without him, I don’t see the point, especially in December, when the roads are slippery and the wind is evil.
I almost turn back, but then I spot something that doesn’t fit the picture. Like every year, Mayor Pickering has decorated a Christmas tree in the middle of the square. This year, he’s gone for a white and green theme, so the single red bauble among the stars and Grinch-coloured sugar canes sticks out like a drag queen at an IT conference.
I know before I even reach the tree that I’m meant tosee this bauble. It’s red hot, the size of a small pumpkin and someone’s glued rhinestones in the shape of an S and an L on the surface. If it wasn’t so creepy, it could be cute. After months of gossip and messages like this one, the only reason I no longer react with panic is that the game has become tired.
I pluck the bauble from the tree and consider dropping it in a bin, but I can’t stomach the idea of our initials being buried beneath used tissues and cigarette butts. I’m also not going to leave it out in the open. I’ve become used to the discomfort of being talked about, but that doesn’t mean that I like it. And I don’t want this to get back to Simo and ruin his time in Granada.
Back home, I hide the bauble at the back of my sock drawer. Then I spend a good half-hour in the shower, not because I broke a sweat, but to drive out the cold. It’s Christmas Eve, but I’ve never felt less festive. Simo is away, which is weird enough, but on top of that, Dad’s unusually irritable. That might have less to do with me than with his parents, who have flown off to spend the winter break in their villa in Mauritius. Yeah, that’s a thing. When Dad found Simo and me on the beach and told us we were leaving, there was a look in his eyes that I’d never seen before. Like an animal cornered. He barely let us say goodbye to Anna and Graham.
I can’t find the energy to be mad at him for being mad about the trust fund. It doesn’t feel real, which might have something to do with the fact that I won’t be able to access it till I’m twenty-five. It’s enough to buy the house we live in twice over. Dad has been working hard for years to payoff that mortgage, and for his parents to hand his son such a ridiculous sum must be a slap in the face.
Lately, I’ve been scared that Dad is lonely. He speaks to Mum on the phone, but with the time difference, her busy schedule and Dad’s aversion to texting, I worry that he doesn’t have anyone to vent to.
I need our routine back: the film nights, and debating the acting skills to hotness ratio of the shirtless male lead on the TV screen. All of it would lead us to the conversations that mattered. I’d check in on him, he’d check in on me. And I really need him to check in on me, because I’m so confused that I can’t focus on anything. Hence the attempt to take up running.
Once I’m dressed, I make my way downstairs, determined to drown my thoughts in chatter and a chai latte. I’m barely through the door when a soft black nose pokes my ankles.
‘Olive!’ I exclaim, and she turns into a furry whirlwind, tail and ears wagging. I quickly pick her up, because I’ve learned from experience that her bladder is sensitive to excitement. I see it as a showing of love and appreciation, but Dad might ban all dogs from the premises if she pees everywhere again.
He’s by the coffee machine, eyeing us suspiciously.
‘What? I’ve just come to help out,’ I say.
Dad grunts. ‘Wash your hands first.’
‘I gave her a bath last night, you know,’ Daniel says. He leans on the coffee bar, an espresso in front of him.
‘It’s true, she smells good,’ I confirm with my nose buried in her soft fur.
‘I don’t care what you say. With those short legs, she’s soclose to the ground, might as well be a hoover.’
