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My cheeks flush, and I look at my mother.Did Sketch intend for me to bring a mop or some wash cloths?
‘A coat perhaps?’ Sketch says, throwing his chin over his shoulder and directing me to follow his gaze to outside where some dark rain clouds are sprinkled across the sky like scattered coals.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I dismiss, not wanting to admit I don’t own a coat.
I do have a sack that I throw over my head sometimes when the rain is unforgiving and I need to bring in logs, but I won’t fetch that and embarrasses myself or Sketch.
‘Shall we get going?’ I say.
‘Yes. Absolutely,’ Sketch says, stepping aside to allow me to pass by and make my way down the porch steps.
‘Goodbye, Mr Fagan.’ Sketch extends his hand and shakes with my father whose eyes are stuck on me like angry insects. ‘Mrs Fagan.’ Sketch acknowledges my mother with a gentle nod. ‘I’ll have Annie back here at five this evening, don’t you worry.’
Sketch races down the steps and around to the passenger side of the car to open the door for me.
‘Thank you,’ I say with a smile, getting in.
Sketch closes the door and hurries around to his side of the car and starts the engine while I’m distracted waving goodbye to my mother.
‘What job would you like me to do first?’ I ask, as Sketch reverses up the long narrow pathway back onto the main road. He doesn’t answer me or turn his head my way until we’ve turned around, out of my father’s view, and the nose of the car is pointing towards town.
‘Annie, why didn’t you bring a coat?’ Sketch says, finally.
I shift uncomfortably, and the leather seat squeaks beneath me. ‘I told you. I don’t think it’s going to rain.’
‘Really?’ Sketch taps his finger gently against the window. ‘Annie, do you own a coat?’ Sketch whispers so gently his words seem to wrap around me like a soft hug.
I glance out the window at the heaving rain clouds that will most likely spit down on us at any moment.
‘Aren’t you cold?’ Sketch asks.
I shake my head.
It’s surprisingly mild for autumn. The odd rain shower aside, it’s a couple of degrees warmer than this time last year, and I didn’t have a coat then either.
‘Good,’ Sketch saying, smiling. ‘Because I want to take you somewhere, and I don’t want you to be chilly.’
‘Take me somewhere?’ I fidget nervously.
‘Yes, but it’s a surprise. Is that okay?’
My bottom lip drops. ‘I thought we were going to your father’s farmhouse. Don’t you need me to get started on dinner? A roast chicken will take a couple of hours to cook at least. And that’s without stuffing. You do want stuffing, don’t you?’
‘Don’t worry, Annie. I know you need to be home at five o’clock. I won’t have you late; I gave my word.’
‘So you don’t need me in the kitchen?’
‘Not today.’
‘Then what, Sketch? I… I… don’t understand.’
‘You will soon. I promise.’
Sketch turns off the main road down a bumpy side lane littered with potholes. The car bangs and clatters, and we shake about inside like bacon crackling on a greasy pan.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask as silence falls over us.
‘Do you trust me?’ Sketch says, his eyes focused on the road ahead.
