Page 4 of Whimsical Ink

“Doesn’t mean you have to.” I grab her hand and tug her across the street towards my car. Her bag falls off her shoulder and I snag it, keeping a hold of her hand so she can’t leave and pretend the bus is better than me.

Her hand’s soft.

There’s a sigh of defeat beside me and she mutters, “Fine. But I’m not coming to the bach.”

Sure thing. I’ll just leave you alone on your birthday.

She wishes.

We reach my car and I step around her so I’m closer to it. Don’t need her looking through the window and seeing the bags and groceries cluttering the boot of the car.

I open the passenger door, slip her bag beside her feet and round the car to the driver’s seat.

“Home we go.”

And by home, I mean my family bach to force her on holiday.

She’ll forgive me.

2

MADDY

December 23rd:Daniel’s car.

“Must we listen to Christmas music?”

“Yes. My car, my rules.”

I huff and cross my arms. Of course Daniel listens to Christmas music. Should have caught the bus, but air-con was too tempting to turn down. The sweat dripping down my back is finally cooling, and I hope my perfume covers the smell of sweat.

It annoys me how obsessed everyone is with Christmas. No one’s ever around on my birthday, which I understand, but we don’t have a white Christmas like the songs sing about endlessly. When the music is all about the cold, huddling together with mulled wine, but it’s sunny and humid outside, it’s kinda hard to get into the spirit of Christmas. Didn’t see a point in celebrating this year, no one’s around, so why would I?

“How’s the octopus healing?” I ask. Guess I’ll make conversation while I’m stuck in the car with him. He appeared about a month ago, unannounced, and wanted to add to hisaquatic-themed sleeve. Did I have time to work on him? Nope. Did I make time anyway? Yes. I did. Because I’m an idiot.

“Perfectly. No issues.”

“Good.” I can’t see it from where I’m sitting, but I’ll check it before he leaves. “Turn left here.” I remind him. He’s visited my place a few times and my chest always squeezes to see him in my space, sitting on my couch and eating my food, but it clearly isn’t stuck in his mind like it is in mine because he misses the turn. “It’s fine. Pull in here and I’ll walk.”

He ignores me and keeps driving. The wrong way.

“Daniel, you’re going the wrong way.”

“I know.”

I glance at him and watch his shifty eyes dart from me to the road and back again, never landing on me for long.

My eyes narrow at him. “Where are we going?”

He coughs. “Nowhere.”

My eyes analyse the street. “Is there a reason we’re waiting at the lights for the motorway north?” I say through grit teeth. I know exactly what’s north, and it isn’t my flat or his house.

“To go to the beach.”

“And what beach is that?”

“The beach where a bach and holiday awaits you.” He turns onto the motorway.

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