Footprints in the Sand

1. The Oncoming Loon

Seeing Dad come home was always a little bit of a crash back to his reality. I had to remember to call Mum Mother, and Dad Father. Sometimes I was glad I was the only child in my screwed up family: I doubt Mum would cope otherwise; I was enough of a pain to teach Queen's English to, let alone any other kid, especially when we were a four-hour train journey from London.

            I was sat in my room, staring blankly out of the window as Dad's Aston pulled up the drive. Of course Dad would come home just as my summer holiday was about to start. One more day of school and the summer would be here, that blissful summer between my years at school before university and getting away fromhim properly. That was my motivation to work hard; simply getting away from my deranged father.

            I heard the front door crash open. I slipped out of my shorts and tatty old top and into a blue, flowery dress that same to half way down my thigh. Dad would make some comment on the length of my dress, but it was as good as he was going to get. I walked downstairs, head held high; my long, wavy, blonde hair brushing the bottom of my back; my face was thinly coated in makeup, and my contacts in my eyes. My hand rested on the rail of the stairs as I walked down quietly. Dad smiled as his pale green-blue eyes met my darker version of his eyes. He smiled at me,

            "Florence! You look so beautiful!" He wheezed, holding his arms out to me. I smiled and walked into them. He rested his forehead on top of my head. The six and a half inch difference between his 6-foot stature and mine allowed him to do this. And, yes, that half inch is very important. Dad's friendliness unsettled me, even his appearance was different: his black curls were longer than normal, falling almost to his shoulders at the back, and his pale skin perhaps a few shades darker than normal, but this was still Avery Shadow, my Father.

            "How come you are back so early, Father?" I asked, ensuring I was talking like a stuck-up snob. Mum always let it lapse whenever Dad wasn't home, even letting me call him Dad rather than Father. Dad looked down at me, the faint creases around the edge of his mouth lifting slightly, forming his own subtle, glamorous smile.

            "I had to come see you for your last day of school this year, and some of your holiday. I do not see you often, Missy." He nuzzled into my hair. I heard Mum came towards us from the kitchen, and I could only guess how much she smiled knowing he was home.

            "Avery!" She shrieked with happiness. Dad lifted an arm, pulling Mum under it before kissing her gently.

            "I've missed my girls a great deal." He smiled. "And Florence, you have grown so much." "Father, I've stopped growing." I whispered, Dad chuckled and ruffled my hair,

            "But you still grow more beautiful." I let go of him and looked up into his handsome, pale face. Dad let go of Mum's shoulder and looked at the both of us.

            "Sweethearts, I have some fabulous news: La Bonne Nourriture has a restaurant opening in Exeter, meaning I'll be spending more time down here with my girls." Dad's face lit up, as did Mum's. Mine: not so much. Dad’s restaurant, La Bonne Nourriture, was vastly popular in all the major cities, and it coming to Exeter meant Dad would be picking on my work more than ever, and probably wanting me working for him as some sort of waitress since I had openly refused to do catering at school. At least I knew I'd be well paid, not like I needed the money anyway, but my own money would always be useful.

            "That's brilliant news!" I said, breaking the few second silence.

            "I want you to work under me every now and then, just when they're short staffed. I will make sure you are properly trained to allow you to work whenever the company may need you." Dad smiled, his whitened teeth glittering. I struggled to hold back telling Dad exactly where to shove it, but I managed it, and kept my smile in place. The abrupt sound of my phone ringing in my room saved me: I owed Mr Brightside so much.