The Art of Not Breathing(36)

“Sure. Without the sandwiches, though. I don’t much like sand in my sandwiches.”

“Dillon, you’re not fat, you know,” I whisper.

The sand cracks and falls away as he rises from his cocoon. “Let’s go home,” he replies.





17



DILLON AND I GET HOME JUST AS DAD IS LEAVING. He carries the last box to the car, and Mum stands at the gate with mascara all over her face.

“I don’t deserve this, Colin,” she says between muffled sobs.

He sees me and Dillon standing in the road.

“Look after the kids, okay?” he shouts to Mum.

He slams the boot and moves to the driver’s door.

Dillon runs to him. “Don’t go, Dad,” he says.

“It’s not forever,” my father says. “Your mum and I just need a bit of space. I’ll be back. All right, pal?”

Dad hugs Dillon for a really long time. I hope he notices that Dillon is just skin and bone.

I go to Mum and put my arm around her. She’s holding Dad’s atlas.

“You’re better off without him,” I say, and she leans into me.

I wonder if part of me wants her to go through this so someone understands how I feel—so someone else knows what it’s like to be deserted by the person you trusted most. But, actually, we’re all better off without him. Dillon and Mum will realize this one day.

When he’s gone, Dillon storms past us into the house, knocking the atlas from Mum’s arms so it falls into the weeds.

“You drove him away,” he snarls. “You should be the one to go.”

I’ve never seen him this furious. My father always manages to ruin the few good days Dillon and I have together.





EDDIE: What did the seaweed say when it got stuck at the bottom of the sea?

ELSIE: I don’t know.

EDDIE: Kelp! Kelp!

ELSIE: That’s funny, Eddie. Your best one.





1



DAD’S BEEN GONE A WEEK, AND DILLON SPENDS MOST OF HIS time in the bathroom with the shower running hot to create a steam room. He won’t even talk to me, because if I hadn’t dragged him to the beach, he might have been able to stop Dad from leaving. I haven’t seen Tay for eight days. I’ve taken three exams and probably failed them all. Three more to go. Life officially sucks.

I sit alone on the floor at the bottom of the deep end of the pool, and it feels gritty under my backside, other people’s dirt digging into my skin. It’s impossible to stay still because there is nothing to hold me down, so I drift from side to side. I burst up to the surface, creating waves with my body and arms, and a mother with a baby throws a disgusted look in my direction and I don’t even care. I bob up and down in the small swell that I’ve created, watching the water spill over the sides, into the overflow drains.

A pair of legs covered in blond hair appear in front of me. I look up and see Danny.

Not good. Life just got even worse.

There’s nowhere to hide but under the water. A minute goes by, and then another, and then I need to breathe. He’s crouched down when I surface, arms balanced on his knees.

“I thought it was you. Can we talk?”

“I’m busy,” I reply, and then go down again.

I last only a minute this time.

“I don’t want to fight. I’ll wait until you’ve finished.” He points to a bench at the side of the pool.

I don’t have the energy to go down again. There’s no getting away from him.

“Pass me my towel, then,” I say as I climb up the ladder.

The heat from his body stops me shivering as we sit on the bench.

“You told me to stay away from the harbor. You didn’t say anything about the pool. Not that I have to listen to you, anyway.”

“We might have got off on the wrong foot.”

“I haven’t seen Tay, if that’s what you want to know.”

“I was wondering, actually. I haven’t seen him either. My dad’s going mad because the diving club is supposed to open next week and Tay’s nowhere to be seen. We can’t get through on his mobile—it’s like the number doesn’t exist.”

Bits of towel fluff are stuck to my legs, and I flick them off one by one onto the wet tiles by our feet. They soak up the water and float away. I wonder where Tay is. It doesn’t make any sense, because the reason he was here was to train as an instructor for Mick’s school.

“Well, you sent him away, didn’t you?” I ask.

Danny scratches his neck. He has a shaving nick that looks sore.

“Look, I didn’t tell him to leave. I just told him not to hurt you.”

“Well, I’m sorry that you’re a man down, but I can’t really help you.”

“Maybe you can help. I need a favor.”

I almost laugh in his face. I can’t imagine what he’d need help with.

“The clubhouse still needs work before we open. We need someone to help us finish decorating it, and then when we’re open, we’ll need help with equipment and the boat—someone to come out on the boat with us on dives and be a spotter and generally help out.”

“You want me to be your minion,” I say. I can’t believe that he thinks I’d want to be his slave.