“Toast some marshmallows?” he says, clearing his throat.
I carry my camera toward Annie and the campfire. He lays out blankets on the sand, where I sit across from the two of them and stick marshmallows into the fire on a long barbecue skewer. I can’t help thinking how much more in my element I am here with Drew and his mum and the roar of the waves, the warmth of the fire, and a thermos of coffee than I was at that party with the loud music and flashing lights and alcohol.
My marshmallow catches alight, and I blow out the flame and slip it into my mouth, a sweet, gooey mess that makes me broadcast some primitive, guttural noise that I follow up with a snort of laughter. It’s so different from the sandwich anxiety earlier.
Drew smiles and throws me the whole bag of marshmallows, goading me into a repeat performance.
I catch Annie smiling at him, and there’s a whole history conveyed between them when their eyes meet.
“How often do you do this?” I ask.
“Not often enough. I haven’t been well,” Annie says, and I stop chewing and swallow. “It’s taken so much time away from Drew’s social life.”
He groans.
“It’s why he’s never had a girlfriend.”
“Mum!”
“What? It’s true, Drew! I know you’re not a saint …”
“MUM!”
“But as for long-term girlfriends …”
I watch him squirm. “I’m sorry you’ve been unwell,” I tell her, saving him, desperate to decode his tormented expression.
“I’ve had a lot of treatment,” Annie continues. “I just … It’s hard, sometimes, to get motivated.”
Firelight plays across Drew’s face. He’s reassumed that serious expression I noticed the second I met him. The heaviness. The depth. Even with this tiny glimpse into what might be going on in his family, I’m suddenly glad I acted on instinct and covered for him over the formal mix-up. It feels like it’s one small thing I can lift from his plate.
He catches me looking at him, and there’s a brief spark in his eyes, like the flicker of an engine about to roar to life. But I’m distracted by my phone buzzing again. He watches me resist it as I lie back on the blanket, staring at the stars.
22
Drew
If I hadn’t set my camera to capture that star trail, I’d take pictures of her. She’s on the blanket, legs bent, her head resting on my jacket that she’s folded as a makeshift pillow. She didn’t ask. Just went ahead and helped herself to a piece of my clothing like we’ve been friends for years.
Ihaveto stop. I can’t be sitting here imagining this is more than it can be.
She’s got a thing for Oliver. And if he has a thing for her, then that’s the start of that. And the end of this.
Mum is staring at her too. I can read her thoughts.Evie is lovely. How wonderful that Drew has met such an interesting girl, and she’s into all the same things.She tries to get up off the sand and struggles. I leap up and pull her to her feet, wrapping her jacket around her shoulders, remembering all the times a minor cold sent her to the hospital.
“I’m going for a little walk along the beach,” she announces, obvious as hell.
As I sit down on the sand again opposite Evie, she rolls onto her side and cradles her head in her hand, watching the fire. She pulls the beanie off and shakes out her curls, casting spiral shadows on the sand behind her.
“Pass me your camera,” I say. “And don’t move.”
It’s hard to get the right exposure with the brightness of the flames; I have to try a couple of angles. But she’s patient. She knows this is about the challenge of working out the shot. And she just lies there, watching me do it.
“Is your mum okay, Drew?” she asks, breaking my focus.
I take a shot, but it’s blurry.
Mum is probably even less okay than she seems.
