Footprints in the Sand

8. Beach Ballooning

Dinner: the most awkward meal of my young life. All five kids and the three parents were seated around the table in the conservatory. The three Blake kids (Sian, Henry, and Lauren) chatted with Rory and I, but the adults, they were sat in silence, and the hatred and tension was palatable over the pizza we had. My phone kept buzzing on the kitchen counter, a stream of messages coming in from my friends that would remain unanswered until the evening.

            “So, Florence,” Eliza began, “what do you do at school?” Her tone was a little rude, but I would put up with her; there were far ruder at school.

            “Biology, Chemistry, Physics, and English Literature.” I replied, smiling politely. I swear she almost spat her dinner across the table. Rory smiled at me, as did Dad. Mum nodded in approval.

            “Three sciences?” She asked, a little astounded.

            “Brain’s don’t run on Avery’s side of the family either.” Rory added. The three Blake kids giggled. They were obviously used to someone insulting our Dad.

            “And Rory, what about you? What do you do?” Mum asked, changing the subject a little.

            “Tech support, best way to describe it.” He smiled at us. “Basically rebuilding computers when idiots break them.”

            “You should take a look at my school computers when I go back. They are embarrassingly broken.” I remarked. Rory chuckled, and his undeniable resemblance to Dad was there: Dad’s smile, that glittering, shimmering grin. And in that moment of truth, Mr Brightside went off once again. I got up and looked at caller-ID: Ash. I walked into the lounge and answered it.

            “Asher! I have siblings!” I declared, sorrow in my tone. I heard him chuckling at the other end.

            “How many turned up?” He asked,

            “Four. I have two brothers and two sisters.”

            “How old are they?”

            “25, 10, 9, and 7, I think. The boys look so much like Dad!” I whispered the last of the sentence just in case anyone was trying to overhear me. A few seconds passed before Ash replied.

            “That makes Ave a kid when he has his first!”

            “He was 18 when Rory was born.”

            “Christ almighty!”

            “You’re telling me. I’ve no clue how Dad’s keeping this outa the media.”

            “Or they just don’t know.”

            “They’ve hacked our phones enough. Don’t you remember that I had three phones a few years back?”

            “Yeah, but that’s all outa the window now. No one hacks phones anymore.”

            “I’m still surprised.”

            “It’s because you’ve tweeted nothing about it.”

            “I don’t tweet.”

            “You used to.”

            “Yeah, well, I don’t anymore. Anyway… not even kidding, Henry, the 9-year-old, looks so much like Dad it’s scary.” I could hear Ash chuckling again.