Page 4 of Open Water

I almost fold in on myself with the self-inflicted embarrassment of even thinking back to that moment in drama class. Not that anyone notices me here, sitting on the plastic chair in the corner of the cafeteria where I usually hide out when I don’t have to be in class.

At least I haven’t had a panic attack today. I feel surprisingly calm about the whole idea of Dad coming in and all my failings being laid out on the table. In a way, it will be good. I don’t have to carry around all these secrets on my own if Dad knows everything. Then, they won’t be secrets anymore. And to be honest, Lukas, my mentor, is pretty cool. He might even have some kind of idea how I can get away with it. How I can do something. Not to fix it, because I have learnt that I can’t fix anything. But maybe there is something that will help. A plan we can adopt to make life a little easier. Which my Dad will no doubt overthink and turn it into something massive and we will end up screaming at each other in front of Lukas. Yeah, that will probably happen no matter what. Today will not end well.

* * *

Dad’s standing outside the school entrance right on time, his winter coat tightly wrapped around himself and an almost burnt out cigarette butt hanging between his lips.

“You need to stop smoking,” I hiss at him in greeting. As we do. All casual as he takes the butt out of his mouth and hands it to me, so I can take the last dying drag out of the damn thing. Another thing we do. He’s a crap Dad. We have smoked together since the day he caught me stealing one of his cigarettes after a particularly bad day. Neither of us had the energy to fight anymore, so instead of giving me shit about not smoking and bad habits and my health, he just lit one for me and we sat in silence watching the fading light over the trees behind the house. It’s the only time we don’t hate each other. When we are killing ourselves with nicotine and tar.

He takes the steps up to the second floor in wide strides, two steps at a time, as I hang back hoping to become invisible as soon as we step through the door to the classroom. The classroom where Lukas has already put four desks together to form a little table where we can sit and have our ‘informal chat’ as he prefers to call it. Instead of calling it the ‘final warning of failure’ which is more likely. We know the drill here, since we did this whole charade at my last senior school. The sighs and disappointments and realisation that there was no way I would graduate. That there was no way I would even finish Year 2, after what I had done. Or hadn’t. I was basically fucked. As I am now.

“Hi! I’m Lukas, Max’s Mentor...” Lukas starts, standing up and reaching out his hand to shake Dad’s.

Yet Dad seems to be frozen in place. And Lukas stands there staring at Dad like he has seen a fucking ghost.

TOM

“Dad!” Max pants from behind, his footfall sharp and loud against the pavement.

Tom is half running down Karlavägen with his coat open like a cape behind him. Like some escaping Batmanesque lunatic running away from his son’s teacher. Like he isn’t a complete coward. Because he is. He is behaving like he is eighteen all over again. It has just taken that, a few steps inside that damn building and all the shit he has spent his entire adult life trying to forget has come crashing back in an instant. Fucking fucking fucking shit on a twit stick.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was your teacher?” He half shouts, not even turning around to check that Max is still behind him. “You could have fucking told me. Given me some warning.”

Tom’s voice is hard. Stressed. And he stops dead on the pavement to get the packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. Not only are his hands shaking so hard he can’t even get the damn cellophane off the packet, but he freaking drops his lighter. He can’t stand still and he doesn’t know where to even look.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know? Do you know him from before, or something? You have never mentioned anyone called fucking Lukas, so how was I supposed to know to tell you? The fuck, Dad? Don’t make everything my fault.” Max rips the cigarette lid off and throws a Marlboro Gold between his teeth. He does it so effortlessly, that it makes Tom almost green with jealousy in the coolness of it all. Because Tom is old and fucking useless and can barely make his fingers function from the rage running through his body right now.

Fucking Lukas Myrtengren. Of all the fucking people in the fucking world.

He takes a long satisfying drag on the cigarette. Closes his eyes for a second as Max just stares at him. Stands there with that look on his face. Like he is trying to find just the right cutting remark to stab him in the chest with.

At the same time, he actually looks. Well. Amused?

“So how do you know Lukas Myrtengren?” Max asks. And God damn if there isn’t a smirk on his fucking face.

“I need a drink,” is all Tom can come up with as he turns on his heels and starts walking back up the road, hoping that Max will follow. He needs a drink. And a couple of packets of cigarettes. And some Valium. And get his head examined.

“Dad!”

Yes. Tom is almost running, taking the doorway with a swift swing of his hip as he swans into the Londoner Pub, stopping only to stomp out his cigarette on the ground by the doorway. Like some entitled plonker.

He’s a little bit ashamed of himself as Max bends down and picks up the butt, so he can place it in the designated metal urn by the door, where normal people plonk their fucking cigarette ends. Normal people who talk to their kids and don’t freak out over some damn teacher. Not that they even got to have their ‘informal chat’ since Tom has just stormed out the door dragging Max with him by the sleeve of his jacket.

“Two large strong beers,” Tom says to the bartender, waving his phone over the Apple pay reader, rubbing his forehead with his knuckles.

“Dad,” Max tries, but Tom just waves his hand to dismiss him.

Okay.

Whatever.

They find a table and Tom sits down taking a large gulp of the beer before even hitting the seat.

“Did he shag your girlfriend or something?” Max asks.

“Fuck off,” Tom mutters.

“I’m not old enough to drink, Dad. Legally you have just totally broken the law.”

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