Rachel lay in bed, staring at a ceiling she couldn’t see in the darkness. Her brother, Jonathan, was a few feet away; his breathing, regular and deep.
The problem was her father. Or at least it could be, Rachel wasn’t sure. His place was in a cot bed on the other side of the room, next to the door. Trouble was, she was unable to tell if he was asleep or just pretending, trying to catch her out.
The holiday — only a few short days — was over already. In the morning, they’d be heading back to smoggy London, a million miles away from Margate. A million miles from Cameron. She simply had to see Cameron one last time before she left, no matter what her father thought.
Rachel pushed back the covers, put her feet onto the carpeted floor, the thick pile pushing between her toes, and carefully got up. The bed creaked. She froze. Jonathan stirred, rolled over. Nothing from her father. She dressed quietly, pulling on a pair of trousers and slipping a top over her vest. She picked up her shoes; didn’t bother putting them on, she’d do so downstairs.
She crept across the room, avoiding the squeaky floorboard. She almost made it. The door was half open when her father said, “Going somewhere, Rach?”
Over her shoulder she could see him sitting up in bed, silhouetted by the weak light from the landing. He must have been awake all along. “I wanted to watch the waves,” she said.
Her father rose and crossed over to her. His expression was a frown, as was the tone of his voice. “Are you going to see … him?”
“No,” she lied once more, hating to do this to her father, but she had to. Love won over everything, didn’t it? “Please? Just for a little while.”
Her father sighed. Rachel knew then that he’d fold. He’d been easy on her and Jonathan since they’d come back home. After her mother disappeared, leaving Rachel and Jonathan to fend for themselves.
“Come here,” said her father, beckoning.
Rachel went to him, leaving the door open behind her. He enveloped her in his strong arms. She smelt his body odour. It wasn’t strong or off-putting, just a natural smell. He stepped back, put a hand on her shoulder.
“Go back to bed, Rach,” he said.
“What?” Rachel couldn’t believe it. She took a step back, shook his hand off, then another step.
“You’re too young to be meeting a boy at this time of night.”
“I’m sixteen soon. And I love him!”
“You can’t possibly know what love is at your age.”
The derision was obvious in his voice, it cut through her. Tears in her eyes, she turned and ran out the door, pulling it closed behind her, shoes still in her hands.
“Rachel!” shouted her father.
She barrelled down the stairs, one flight after another. His heavy feet were close behind. He couldn’t catch her, not now. When she reached the bottom, the light was on in the hall. Mrs Renishaw, who ran the Sunset guest house, standing in the doorway wearing a dressing gown, her old-fashioned perm in a net.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Rachel didn’t pause to answer, but made a dash for the front door. She twisted the Yale lock and was onto the pavement before her father got outside. She heard Mrs Renishaw ask her question again, louder this time. Rachel sprinted, heading down the hill, past the Winter Gardens.
“Rachel!”
She glanced over her shoulder. Her father was standing on the top step; Mrs Renishaw at his elbow, peering past him. He called once more. Rachel ignored him.
An hour, that was all. An hour with Cameron. It wasn’t long. It would be over before they knew it. When Rachel got back to the guest house she’d apologise and her father would forgive her. Eventually.
But for now, Cameron was her focus. He’d be waiting for her at the harbour, as they’d arranged.
The trouble was, for Rachel, in that hour everything would change.