Page 18 of Take Me Away

‘We’ve all seen the headlines’—I have to pause because bile swims up my throat—‘and I haven’t got a clue why she’s obviously decided to come here and not go to some place with friends, but it’s none of my business.’ I nod like it cements the facts, but then add, ‘Surely she’s got people to help her, right?’

Jude is sipping like Dot’s errant cat from a saucer of cream.

‘Well, she doesn’t have friends here. So she can sod off,’ Dad states.

To be fair, I don’t think Dad ever understood that Isla Quinn and I were once more than just summertime mates sharing ice lollies and tide pools. In his black-and-white world, we were the decent family that took her in when her parents couldn’t be arsed. So, in his view, she owed us something. Should’ve come back when it mattered.

But life doesn’t work like that. And I’m tired of pretending it does.

I take a long, deliberate pull of my fresh ale, hoping if I ignore the direction of the conversation hard enough, they’ll drop it.

Of course, Maisie picks that exact moment to reappear like a pint-sized tabloid reporter who’s just sniffed out a scandal.

‘Dad saw her,’ Maisie says. And my peaceful Friday drink is officially dead in the water. ‘We bumped into her when we were walking back from the boat. She was running.’

Two heads swivel towards me like I’ve just confessed to murder.

Perfect.

‘Didn’t mention that,’ Jude says, eyebrows hitting orbit.

‘Nothing to mention.’ I shrug, aiming for breezy and hitting somewhere around guilty teenager. ‘We literally bumped into each other. Said hello. Kept moving.’

‘Dad was really rude,’ Maisie throws in, helpful as always, sliding onto the stool beside my father like she’s delivering a formal report to the committee. ‘She wanted to take a picture with me and he said no. He was so embarrassing, I swear.’

Dad’s jaw tightens. His hand lands on Maisie’s head, ruffling gently. ‘Your dad was right,’ he says, aiming his words squarely at me. ‘Some people are best remembered from a distance.’

I shoot him a look – not in front of her – but he just raises his glass like he’s made a toast.

‘Thanks for that,’ I mutter into my pint. Though who I’m thanking exactly is up for grabs. All of them. None of them. Maybe the beer, for keeping me from saying what I actually want to say, which is, what the hell happened to Isla Quinn? Are the headlines true? Is that why, out on a run when she smacked into me by accident, she looked like she was being chased by ghosts?

Why do I care so much about someone I haven’t seen in so long?

Maisie sighs like she’s eighty-five and worn down by the stubbornness of men. ‘I’m just saying you could’ve been nicer.’ She fixes me with that look – the one that says she’s disappointed in me, which, frankly, cuts deeper than anything Jude or Dad could ever throw. ‘She’s my favourite actress.’

‘Since when?’ I ask, genuinely baffled. ‘Last week your favourite was the woman with the laser eyes and questionable fashion choices. You know, the one in the school for superhero kids.’

Jude snorts into his beer. Bastard.

‘That was ages ago, Dad. Like, a whole month.’ Maisie rolls her eyes, fully channelling preteen exasperation. ‘I’ve seen loads of Isla Quinn films now.’

My eyes flick to Jude, who suddenly becomes deeply invested in the bar nuts.

Thursdays. He has her Thursdays. I knew they weren’t watching cartoons.

‘I thought you two were watching SpongeBob or something?’ I grind my words out at him.

‘We did. After.’ Jude mumbles into his pint.

Maisie’s off again, a whirlwind of trivia and admiration. ‘Did you know she won an Oscar? For playing that lady who climbed a mountain with one arm. It was so cool. She was all muddy and angry and brave. Not pretty at all – just really real.’

‘Fascinating,’ I say, the word dry enough to dehydrate seaweed.

‘And in her new movie, she learned sword fighting. Not fake stuff. Like real fencing. She trained for six months. That’s dedication, Dad.’

Her eyes are glowing, wide and full of that kind of pure, uncomplicated admiration only kids can feel before the world ruins everything.

‘And in interviews? She’s hilarious. Not trying to be. Just funny. Lily’s mum says she’s a great role model because she speaks out about important things.’