May. 7th, 2014

Rachel skipped school on Monday and Tuesday, and spent the days with her dad instead. He called in sick to work and looked after her. They took a long drive down to Bournemouth to go the beach, starting early in the morning after Imogene made breakfast, toast with cream cheese, pomegranate and walnuts.

Rachel hung bits of herself out of the car window as Harley drove, her head or her feet or her hands, and he let her pick the music.

The days passed quickly, like it was a rough sketch of time, not quite real, not quite present. As she lay her head against the seat belt on the way home, her legs crusty with salt where she’d paddled, her lips chapped from the wind, she felt more like a girl in a summer romance film than a real person.

... )

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