✅ My Sister's Problem

123. The Babysitter

There was a lot of time to think as I ran along the beach and back. And a lot to think about; enough deep thoughts to distract me from the now-unfamiliar feeling of not wearing a diaper. But I couldn't really think, because I had no idea what Hugo was going to say. I didn't know what he was going to think, or how I could possibly persuade him that I wasn't some kind of freak for wanting this. I knew that really, I should have been reading over all the messages he had already sent me. With everything that had happened, and being babied for most of the week, I could barely remember the details. But when I lifted my phone up, I couldn't bring myself to scroll back on all those messages without reliving all the stress that I'd had about missing them. Just from the last few that were already on the screen, I could see that I had made him worry more than I ever wanted to.

As I came up to the house, I saw Hugo's parents driving away again. They waved as they passed, but I was still too anxious to come closer. Maybe they would have said something useful to me, but I wasn't in the right state of mind to talk to anyone right now. Presumably that was why I'd decided it would be easier to put off seeing Hugo again. Maybe I was just scared to get back to normal, because that meant I would have to face up to reality. Until I knew the truth, I could keep on telling myself that Hugo really liked me, and that he wouldn't be mad about the way I'd led him on and then stopped replying.

I came to the house, but I couldn't bring myself to go in. I didn't want to talk to anyone about this. Not right now. Every time I tried to imagine the conversation, it would end in disaster. A part of me wanted to stay oblivious, deluding myself that it was possible he would still like me after all this. Or maybe I just needed some time to think. I was a little more clear-headed than I had been when I left the house, so perhaps exercise was all that I needed. Another run? But then I might be too far away to get back quickly if I found a moment of inner peace that might let me talk about it.

I saw the hoop on the back of the beach house. It had been there since we moved in, and had never been used. I'd tried playing basketball last year, hoping that I would show some miraculous talent and be able to impress Hugo on my return, but I'd never managed to get good. I hadn't even managed to get one shot in, no matter how long I tried. But now? Now I could probably do it.

There was a cupboard under the house. A wooden door with a padlock on, which opened easily if you jiggled it in the right way. I managed to pull it open, and realised that we hadn't even found a reason to open it this year. The space inside smelled musty, and there was probably a crab living in the corner again. There was sand everywhere, and it was a little damp in that low space. But between all the buckets and spades, and big plastic excavators that hadn't been used since we were actual kids, I found a ball. Not a basketball, unfortunately. It was lighter, and a little softer. I couldn't judge if it was larger than the ball I was used to. Maybe the right size for volleyball, or the right weight for soccer. Anyway, I was sure that it would be good enough for practice.

I didn't expect to get any better at basketball this way. The ball was different, and I found out instantly that you can't dribble on sand. But I could run around in the space between the house and the cliff, and try making shots from different angles. I was a little out of practice; although the games on sports day had helped. And lining up each shot took my full attention, not leaving any time to think about other things. That was what I really needed right now, so I was glad of the chance to avoid thinking for a while.

I didn't know how long I'd been standing there, throwing that ball up against the wall, before it tumbled down and I saw a familiar pair of hands reach out to catch it.

"You're getting better," he said, and I knew there was no judgement in his voice. I turned towards him, already fishing for words in my mind, trying to work out the right thing to say so that he wouldn't think badly of me. But then I met his eyes, and he tossed the ball towards me. An easy pass at chest height. I made a little step to the left, and caught it without trouble. And then I looked up at the hoop; I wasn't in such a good position here, but I felt like I would be travelling if I took another step. Was Hugo still trying to see me get better, giving me a little challenge to overcome? That was a language I could speak without difficulty.