Page 21 of Fire Fight

A hassle but better than waking in the middle of the night to see Drake’s face looming above me.

When I take the chair away, there’s a tiny graze on the hardwood floor but it disappears when I rub my sock over it.

If I’m going to do it every night, I’ll find something to go underneath; perhaps a few coasters from the bar in the dining room will work. If not, I can probably use a wad of tissues as protectors.

After splashing cold water on my face, I head downstairs to join my mother, smiling as I hear her tuneless voice outside, singing along to a song on the radio.

My heart still beats in a wary rhythm, but I will turn the other cheek and hope, in time, Drake will do the same. Until then, I’ll trust my makeshift lock to keep me safe.

The restof Sunday passes without incident and I get the strong sense that Drake avoids me as much as I avoid him.

Mum and I borrow Drake’s car to spend the afternoon window shopping, and the moment we return home, he says a few desultory pleasantries before disappearing into his room. The only time I see him after is when he pops his head into the lounge to tell Arnold he’s organised a meal out with friends, and he’ll be late home.

It's probably bollocks, but it feels like I manifested a considerate Drake just by refusing to let the situation get me down.

Either way, I wake on Monday morning with a resurgence of hope.

The hope that this will last. That this will make a difference. That not everything is set in stone and just because life’s been hard for Mum and me, doesn’t mean it always has to be that way.

“Is Drake not here?” I ask when I walk into the kitchen to find his chair empty.

“He went for an early-morning swim,” Mum says, leaning over to give me a one-armed hug.

Arnold places the pill organiser in front of her plate, and she obediently takes them with a sip of tea, looking for his smile of approval once she’s done.

I’m relieved Arnold has taken that responsibility from me, and mouth, “thank you,” at him, tears prickling with renewed joy.

“Could you fetch him?” Arnold asks. “Just a wave from the top of the path should do.” His eyes cut to the wall clock. “Otherwise, you’ll be cutting it fine to get to class.”

“Sure.” I jump to my feet, not relishing the task but happy to repay his continuing generosity.

Outside, it’s shaping up to be a beautifully sunny day. The sort of day that makes me want to skip school altogether, although new girl jitters might also play a part.

From the top of the path, I stare as Drake cuts smoothly through the water. He’s so streamlined, I can’t detect when he takes a breath as he swims to the platform, resting his palm on the side for stability as he pauses there.

I give a vigorous two-armed wave like I’m trying to land a plane, and he raises a hand to let me know he’s seen me. A pair of fantail flirt with each other in the kowhai trees beside the path and I follow their gravity defying swoops along to the first bend, watching as Drake makes the swim back to land.

“Did you forget your towel?” I ask as he reaches me, seawater streaming down his body.

Aside from a deep frown, he doesn’t answer, waving me to walk ahead of him.

“Do you always go for a swim in the mornings?”

I expect him to ignore me again, then he answers in a gruff voice, “I enjoy swimming when there’s no one else about.”

A statement that feels like a dig, but I try again. Needing to connect, to stop that prickle of imminent disaster I felt when I first saw him. “It must’ve been weird to find out your dad’s bonkers rich. Didn’t your mum ever say anything about him?”

“Don’t talk about my mother,” he snaps.

Pain underpins his anger, and I immediately feel guilty. “Sorry.” Then I stop, moving to the cliff side of the path to leave room for him to walk alongside me. “You know, I didn’t really mean what I said that day. I hate myself for saying it.”

His eyes blaze as they meet mine and I curse myself for starting this conversation. As he draws level, I step even further to the side, the loose shale at the edge of the path giving way underfoot.

In an instant, my arms pinwheel for balance, my foot now inches below where it should be, my other foot sliding.

I look down.

The large rocks at the edge of the beach are ten metres below. There’s nothing between to cushion my fall.

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