Dad v2.0

Lying here, watching the rain on the dark window, I feel like I could sleep. Except Fern is snoring a bit, and the seatbelt is digging in to my side.

Dad is sitting up front, and he looks like he should sleep for about a month, but he keeps turning round to peer out of the windows. Like, does he think we are being followed, or what?

He looks kind of wild around his eyes. I'm glad he's not driving.

I liked the house. I guess. It was big. Nice. The kind of place you could have friends over. Not like the poky place we were in before. But we couldn't have friends over. Mum wouldn't let us. And Dad... Dad was acting all weird.

He sounded like he just walked out of a therapist's office. Validating our feelings, but it didn't mean shit. He was still saying No.

I know you feel disappointed. Your mother has said No, so that's what we are going with. Let's find something you enjoy. I'm here.

Huh. I'm here. I used to wish he was around more for us to play with. You know. When I was a really little kid. Then when I got bigger, I guess it would have been neat to hang out with him. Maybe. But then he was actually around all the time, and it wasn't like I thought it would be. Not at all.

He was just sort of... crap. Floppy. Dull. Like. Get this: he'd come in and tell me he was there to spend time with us. It was just annoying at first, and then we figured something out. If we told him to stand on one leg for twenty-eight minutes, he'd do it. Wouldn't question it. Just go, sure, and then stand on one leg. Like an idiot.

Once we spotted it, we really pushed it. Asked him to throw things out of the window, or burn stuff, or put things in the microwave. That stuff he'd say No to, but nonsense things, he'd just go along with it. Even if we couldn't stop sniggering the whole time. Say, "I am a potato" every time someone opens the fridge. Count your hair. Start again if someone sneezes. Pretend to be a horse until bedtime. Say I love you to all the things in the room.

He'd go along with any old rubbish with this creepy little smile on his face.

Looking back on it, seems like a dream.

Now he is still acting weird, but different. Before it was a bit unnerving. Kinda. Sometimes. Now it's scary. But real. Real scary.

If I talk to him now, I might wake Fern. Or Tansy. Maybe I'd talk to him anyway, if he'd just wear a hat or something. So I can't see all the blood in his hair. The taxi driver isn't saying anything. Maybe the blood put him off as well.

No, I take it back. I'm still mad at him for making me leave everything behind. Again. School. Friends. My phone. All my stuff, my clothes, everything. He promised me he would replace anything I wanted, which does help a bit, I suppose... but he doesn't get it. That's my stuff. Oh. And Mum, obviously. She wasn't properly there either. Always planning something with one of her friends. But I didn't want to leave her behind.

He hasn't told us where we are going. He just says there's someone who can help us. Did we need help? I dunno. Maybe he does. He seems pretty freaked out. How did he get that huge cut on his head? You know, you don't realise how horrible it is to see your dad covered in blood. Until you see it. Did Mum attack him? Is that why we are running away?

Running away sounds exciting, like an adventure. Don't try this at home. It's dull.

Dad's snappy and distracted, which sucks, obviously... but it's like he used to be. YIf I asked him to get out and stand on one leg now, and go through the alphabet backwards until someone said "meatball marinara", he'd look at me like I'd gone strange, or say, "What?" Or tell me not to be daft. You know. Normal.

You think you want a parent who is calm and patient, until you get one that doesn't get angry ever, and sometimes says stuff on repeat, or stands on one leg for twenty-eight minutes. It feels like there's something missing. It's not like Lucy's mum, she's just really sweet and kind and patient, and doesn't get cross. It's like... he couldn't.

My eyes slide shut, and I jerk them open again. I'm tired, and bored, and fed up. But I don't want to sleep.

I didn't mind so much at that fat lady's house. Watching Jack Sparrow on her sofa felt kind of safe and ordinary. She was nice. I could have slept then. I don't want to, now. If I do, I don't know which version of him will be there when I wake up.

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