Page 3 of Chase

Izzy 8 years old

Theo

So far, England is shaping up to be worse than the one time the folks and I went camping. We lasted half the evening before packing up and returning home in the middle of a cold and stormy night. Alas, I don’t think we’re going to be giving in that easily, even with me refusing to hold back my extremely poor opinion of this place. It’s freezing, drizzling, and grey outside. A complete contrast to home.

If I was there now, I’d be hanging out with my buddies on the beach, maybe catching a few waves, maybe lounging around the bars scoring a soda or two off the local bartenders. Now I’m stuck in a grey Volvo watching wet field after wet field pass me by. Dad is trying to instill me with fake enthusiasm, Mom is trying her best to look and sound positive, whereas I’m sulking in the back with a barely touched sandwich that tastes as good as the weather looks.

Dad’s only acting over the top excited because we’re going to be living near his older brother, Craig Chase, as well as his ‘sinfully boring wife’, Alex. I say ‘acting’ because in the ten years of my life that I’ve been living with the Chases, they must have mentioned Dad’s brother and his family a handful of times. I’ve met them even less so; once when I was a baby, and then again, a few years ago. They have one irritating daughter called Matilda and another younger daughter, Isobel. I can’t say I remember much about Isobel because she was only four when I saw her last, and she had clung to our grandmother the entire time. Matilda, however, who happens to be the same age as me, was spoiled and extremely loud. There’s also an older brother whom I’ve never met, called Ethan.

The only saving grace is my grandma, who also lives nearby. Again, we don’t get to spend much time with her, but when we do, I’m always pleased to see her. She’s the only sane one in our family and she talks to me like an adult instead of some kid who needs to be handled with safety gloves. Much like me, she’s very quiet, taking everything in without going on about it. I’m usually overlooked by adults because I people-watch instead of getting involved. Everyone sees me as a mild-mannered, polite young boy, which I more than know how to manipulate to ensure I am left alone as much as possible. Except when it comes to Matilda. She had stuck to me like glue; I sincerely hope she’s outgrown that aspect of her personality.

Uncle Craig’s home is pretty big for an English house. It’s still raining outside but you can see the yard is professionally landscaped and the building, though old, is well maintained. Its grandeur isn’t enough to lighten my mood, however, so I slump against the back seat of the car and release a long sigh while Dad gets out to grab a few things from the trunk.

“Come on, sweetie,” Mom says sympathetically, “I’m sure Matilda has grown up a lot since you last saw her. Besides, we’ll be in our own place tonight.” Her words of reassurance are unconvincing, which I more than let her know when I release yet another exaggerated sigh. “Your dad hasn’t seen his brother in years, Theo, and he’s already feeling anxious about it. He needs us, so please cheer up, for his sake?” I put on my best fake smile for her, to which she grins and pinches my cheek. “Thatta boy!”

When Dad gives us the thumbs up from the rainy front door, we give each other one last look, then get out and run over to meet him. Mom offers him a comforting rub on the back before he finally lifts the iron knocker to bang against the wood panel. A rumble of activity ensues from behind the thick door. My parents, once again, look at each other for reassurance, though neither appears particularly convinced by the other. Mom even mouths, ‘Are you ok?’ to my dad, to which he shuts his eyes and nods. I’m about to question them on it, but the door is thrown open, and the shock of it has me forgetting whatever words I had formed inside of my head.

“Hey, brother!” Craig beams, looking like a used car salesman who is about to rip you off. My father pastes on a fake smile, as does Mom. Both look like they’ll be nursing sore cheeks tonight, for their awkward grins are that wide. Craig, who pretends to ignore the discomfort, holds out his hands to invite his brother in for a hug.

“Come in, come in, it’s hideous out there. Frances, how are you?” He kisses my mom awkwardly on the cheek, to which she smiles nervously. “Looking just as lovely as the last time I saw you.”

She blushes and tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else but here.

“I’m good, thank you, Craig. Where’s Alex?” Mom replies, her American accent sounding stark against Craig’s strong English posh dialect. “Oh, there she is, hello, Alex.”

A woman with a short, sharp, dyed blonde bob approaches my mother with a fake smile and a face caked in make-up. I immediately pick up an unfriendly vibe from her, even when she routinely kisses my mother on the cheek. She greets my father in much the same way, almost grimacing over the contact. I remain observing them all with curiosity, hovering to the side in the hopes they might miss me out altogether.

“Theodore! My, my, my, look how you’ve grown!” I cannot help but roll my eyes over the cliché greeting adults give to kids when they haven’t seen them in a while. That and the fact that people like this always insist on calling me by my full name, even though I sign all Christmas and birthday cards with just ‘Theo’.

“Hello, Uncle Craig,” I utter politely, “Aunt Alex.”

“Actually, it’s just Theo,” my mother corrects him. Not that Craig or Alex seem to take any notice, they’re too busy studying me like some sort of weird pet my parents picked up from a hairy guy who breeds reptiles with arachnids.

“My, you’re a handsome one, wait until Tilly clocks eyes on you,” Alex laughs.

“Now, just you watch yourself, son, she’s very impressionable,” Craig tries to tease me, even laughing over his own joke. Yeah, you don’t need to worry about me with Tilly, Uncle Craig, trust me.

Fortunately, this awkward conversation is stopped short when we reach the living room, which has been set up for tea. They’ve put on a pretty good spread of sandwiches that have been cut into minute triangles with a thin layer of filling, cakes with too much icing, random chips and dips, and raw vegetables. Of course, the obligatory tea and coffee question comes up, and I’m asked if I wish to have a glass of elderflower cordial. From past experience, I decide to just stick with water.

It’s only when Uncle Craig leaves that I notice Grandma sitting quietly in the corner of the room, perched in an old armchair like she’s a part of the furniture. My pinched-face aunt practically shouts at her when asking if she would like another cup of tea. Grandma simply smiles and raises her hand to say no more. She catches my eye and grins, prompting me to smile back at her. She gives me a little wave and I instantly want to go to her, however, a girlish whiney voice interrupts my first footfalls.

“But I wanted to show him up to my bedroom first,” the voice says. “Mother, you ruin everything!”

“Now, now, Tilly, he’s here all afternoon and I’m sure he’s very tired and hungry after such a long flight,” Alex says warmly to her spoiled daughter. I look at Grandma with trepidation, but she remains tight-lipped. A mere moment later, she ushers me to her, so without any further encouragement needed, I move as quickly as my legs will carry me, planting a relieved kiss on her wrinkled cheek as soon as I reach her.

“Hi, Grandma,” I say quietly, “I’ve missed you.”

She came over to America two years ago, but the flight was too much for her arthritis and lupus, so it was agreed that it would be her last time. She’s the one thing I’ve looked forward to ever since Dad told us about the move.

“I’ve missed you too, Theo,” she says as she places her frail hand over my arm. “How are things in California? I bet you’re missing it already.”

“Just a bit,” I admit, “but I’ve been looking forward to seeing you. Are you well?”

“I’m hanging in there,” she says with a secret wink for me. “Maybe we can catch up on all the American gossip later; perhaps when there isn’t such a crowded room.”

“Sure, I’d like that,” I reply, just before I’m pulled away to meet the whiny voice from before.

“You remember Tilly, don’t you?” Dad pushes me toward a girl with tight brunette ringlets which have all been pulled back into a ponytail. I can’t help but study all her imperfections; they scream at me to ignore the attempts to beautify herself with her bright pink dress, sparkly tights, and small heels, and to instead, remember how awful she is to everyone. She looks like she’s about to go to a school dance, which only has me feeling all the more uneasy.

---