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Despite the awkward realisation it probably was a date, once Skye reached the gallery with Brent, it was like seeing the exhibition with a friendly, almost-stranger. He was genuinely interested in the pictures on display, animated as he talked about them and about his own work. Skye loved the illustrations and forgot about being self-conscious most of the time. When he dropped her off at home afterwards, although he seemed to stare at her with a focused attention similar to when he’d viewed the work at the exhibition, his farewell was a not too awkward “See you tomorrow” as she climbed out of the car.
She felt relieved once she was inside the house. If that was dating, it wasn’t too terrible. Kind of like hanging out with a friend, but intense. Happy Dad was there when she looked into the study.
“How’d it go?” he smiled.
“The work was amazing. Brent wants to do that sort of art. He knew a lot about it all. I was hoping there’d be some old illustrations, but it was new work. Great though.”
“I know a couple of the illustrators exhibiting. Maybe I could introduce you some time, if you’re thinking about that kind of art yourself?”
“Wow. For sure!”
“I’ll get dinner started now if you’re hungry. Salad and chops? Or did Brent persuade you to dine with him?” he teased as he stood and headed for the kitchen.
“No Dad. Yes, still hungry. Sheesh!” she followed him.
“Smart man, pacing himself. That’ll be the next date,” he mused too innocently, and Skye blushed.
A next date? It was hard to picture Brent in a romantic role. If her thoughts ever drifted towards romantic possibilities, there was always an imaginary presence that hovered somewhere in her mind, but no one she’d ever met fit the shape. If she ever met the right guy, would she know it? She felt uncomfortable and changed the subject, helping her dad line up ingredients on the counter. He opened a fresh bottle of spirits and poured himself a small measure. “You’re dreadful at cooking, oh Helpful One, but you make an excellent assistant,” he grinned.
“What can I say? It’s a gift,” she nudged the fridge closed with her elbow and then set the table.
Dad’s mood remained good throughout the meal. Heartened, while they cleaned up the dishes, Skye suggested watching a movie together afterwards. He agreed at once.
“You choose it,” she ordered, “and I’ll take over here. The assistant’s speciality...” she took a bag of microwave popcorn from the cupboard and waved it enticingly.
“Roger that,” he saluted, collecting his glass and bottle before heading into the lounge. It only took minutes to pop the bag and tip it into a bowl, but when she joined him, he was topping up his drink again. She recognised the signs of his changing mood but was hopeful it would still be a good evening as they settled in to watch the movie. The story soon absorbed her, and she was only vaguely aware of the occasional movement from her father topping up his drink or sharing the popcorn.
When she noticed he wasn’t looking at the screen anymore, she realised he had dozed off. She smiled tolerantly, lowering the volume a little. But when he jolted awake, she saw a glistening trail of tears on his cheek.
He stood slowly, cautiously finding his balance, and walked to the television and turned it off. Then he left the room, silent and unsteady, oblivious to her presence. His tread sounded heavily on the stairs. Her lungs felt punched. He had forgotten she was there. She swiped at a trail working its way down her own cheek.
Had he been dreaming of her mother? They never talked about her, about his beloved Ellie. But everything seemed to be coming up Mum lately. Her own dreams, her nightmares – they were the same ones she used to have when her mother had drowned.
Something was drawing closer.
Determinedly, she switched the movie back on, hopeful of tiring herself out and avoid more bad dreams. When sleep closed in, she dragged herself off the sofa and turned off the TV, climbing upstairs to bed, praying that nothing other than oblivion waited.
*
SKYE LOOKED AT THE sand, black beneath her pale feet. Icy water pooled around them and rose, its chill hurting her skin. She looked up at a glistening black wall rolling, roaring towards her. She tried to raise her arms to fend it off, but water pinned her, pulling her down into darkness. Then, through the dark water, an angel loomed into view.
Skye’s eyes flew open, her heart thudding as she stared at the dim ceiling above her, seeing not the patterned plaster but the shadowy water-blurred boy from her dream. This was new. The angel. Who was he? Someone with answers? What was it they said about dreams – if you die in them, you die in real life? Maybe if the angel had answers in her dreams, she would have answers in real life. If she knew what the questions were.
