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Sketch looks at his watch again. ‘We have another five minutes.’
I shake my head. ‘My pa will have heard us drive in. I’m already pushing my luck.’
‘Okay.’ Sketch nods. ‘Okay.’
I reach for the door handle on my side and the door creaks open sleepily as if pleading with me not to disturb it. Sketch repeats the process on his side of the car.
We come together between the headlights.
‘I had a great day,’ I reiterate.
‘Me too,’ Sketch says.
We stand statue-like with our arms by our sides. I’m desperate to get closer to him, but neither of us are foolish enough to make that mistake outside my house.
‘You’re late,’ Pa’s voice bellows as he throws open the front door.
Sketch’s jaw stiffens and he turns to face my father. ‘Actually, Mr Fagan, we are five minutes early. Annie is a good timekeeper.’
My father’s face sours as if he were sucking on a lemon. ‘Don’t toy with me, boy. We had an agreement. Four thirty is four thirty. I expected you twenty-five minutes ago.’
I want to shout out that Pa is lying. He didn’t even notice we’ve been sitting in the car for ten minutes. Pa knows as well as I do that we are early for his curfew.
‘I believe we agreed on five o’clock,’ Sketch corrects.
Pa lunges out the door and onto the front porch with a speed that defies his age. Sketch takes a single step forward and moves to the side, positioning himself almost completely in front of me.
‘Are you calling me a liar, boy,’ Pa growls.
‘No, sir. I’m just saying my ears heard five o’clock. That’s all.’
‘Well, your ears need a cleaning,’ Pa snorts. ‘It’s all the cow dung you got in there. You can’t hear yourself think.’
Sketch’s head falls to one side, and I hear his teeth grind.
‘What are you wearing, child?’ Pa squints, trying to gain a view of me. ‘Move away from behind that boy and let me look at you.’
I step to the side and hold my breath.
‘Where’d you get that coat?’ Pa grumbles.
‘I gave it to her,’ Sketch says firmly, brushing his shoulder subtly against mine, encouraging me to relax by reminding me he’s here.
It doesn’t work. I’m on a knife’s edge, but I appreciate his efforts nonetheless.
‘Take it off,’ Pa orders. ‘Right now. Take it off.’
I brace myself for the wind chill and slowly begin to drag my arms out of the sleeves.
Pa’s eyes slide from me to Sketch as if they’re slipping on butter. ‘We don’t need your charity, boy.’
‘Sketch. My name is Sketch, sir. I’m not a boy. I’m twenty years old. Twenty-one soon enough.’ Sketch folds his arms across his chest in defiance. ‘It’s cold outside. I thought Annie could use an extra layer.’
‘She’s done just fine without a coat until today.’ Pa’s lips round like he’s puffing out smoke before he continues. ‘Boy.’
‘With all due respect, Mr Fagan, it’s October. Winter is coming. We had snow this time last year. Annie needs a coat.’
‘Hard work will keep her warm.’ Pa’s eyes slip back to me. ‘Hurry up, Annie. Take that damned thing off.’
