Dances With The Daffodils

NILS

He hasn't said anything yet. Instead, Dad stares out at the icy landscape ahead of us, his eyes as cold as the snow. Colder, in fact, if that's possible.

I glance out the window at the trees lining the horizon. The silence gives me time to think about what happened at the station. Whether or not to accept his offer. It really was him, I'm sure of that now — either that or I'm going mad.

Dad clears his throat, and I brace myself for what comes next. He's calm, for now, and refusing to meet my eyes. I don't know what to say.

He sighs. 'Why did you do it?'

I shrug. 'I... it seemed like a good idea.'

The car yanks back as he brakes sharply. A deer stands in the road.

'Good idea?' He's angry now, his short fuse snapping before it was ever lit. 'You should have just brought the thing, for God's sake!'

I recoil, but it doesn't stop me from losing my temper. 'That's not the point!'

'Well then, what is the point?' he shouts and starts the car moving again.

I quieten. He wouldn't understand. Dad's never had to impress anyone in his life. He's never had to fight for anything either. He grew up with a silver spoon firmly wedged between his gums.

I know what I'm thinking is hypocritical, but it stops me from screaming.

'The point is,' I start, keeping my voice low, 'is that this is the most we've spoken in days.' Without meaning to, my words are laced with contempt.

'What? No, it isn't.' He shakes his head. 'We spoke on Wednesday,' he tries, 'about the ski trip.'

We're nearing home now. Just a few more minutes to endure.

I scoff. 'No, you stormed in, told me what to bring, and then left to go to another stupid meeting!'

'Nils...'

I glare out of the window and watch as our street comes into view. He doesn't finish his sentence, knowing I've caught him out. It's a bad idea, but I keep talking.

'The only time we speak is when I've done something so bad you can't ignore it.'

We pull into the drive.

'That's not fair,' he says. 'You know how busy I am with the company, and—'

I shove open the door and leap out into the cold. He wasn't parked yet, but it doesn't matter. I dash to the house, leaving him to glow with rage.

'Nils!' I hear a muffled shout from inside.

A guilty smile plays over my face and I pull the house key from my bag. Just as he escapes the car, I hurry in.

Mum's in the front room. The door is open and I can see her playing a game on her phone. She hasn't noticed me yet. Glowering, I stomp up the stairs. Maybe that'll get her to look up.

I'm acting like a brat, I know, but I can't help it. Then, as I go up, my shoulder brushes wall, against a picture of my sister — another sore spot. She's the 'successful one', I suppose. Not that it matters. I don't want dad's company anyway.

Heading into my room, I fling myself onto the bed and wish it was morning already — arguments are always easier to resolve after a night's sleep. The guilt usually gets to someone by then.

I think back to Hannah, my sister. In the picture she sits delicately posed. Her graduation cap rests over her curled hair and she wears a bright-toothed grin. Business — that's what she studied. Dad loved that, of course.

Trying not to dwell, I grab my phone and check for notifications. Just one. The letters shuffle in front of my eyes but they're easy to read.

You okay?

It's from Greta, and instantly puts me in a better mood even though I still think she's angry with me. I grin and text back.

They let me go. See you tomorrow.

She responds almost instantly with a smiley face. I imagine her smiling on the other side of the screen too. Maybe Christmas won't be so bad after all.

With a sigh, I think about what to do next. I can't go downstairs for a while — it's best to let things blow over — at least until dinner.

Instead, I glance over to the window and see the old oak tree. A huge branch has grown to rest alongside the wall, big enough to sit on. When it's windy, the old branches tap against the glass — used to terrify me as a kid. Now, it's more like an old friend. I like knowing it's there.

Groaning, I push myself up and off the bed — my legs already sore. Then I head to the window, slide it up, and climb outside. I swing a leg over the wide branch and ignore the cold biting into my skin. I've done this so many times I know it won't break. It's safe so long as I don't slip.

I lean against the trunk and stare out into the street. It's full of large, modern houses with sports cars sat in the driveways. Ours is the same. I hope I don't end up here, like them, all suits and ties and poker nights.

I want something real.

My mind flicks back to Loki. Maybe that's it. Maybe that's how I escape. It'll give me a distraction, at least, I suppose. And if he does turn out to be a con artist, or a kidnapper, or some other kind of nut job, I'll just pay him off.

But what if he isn't? I'll have to fight someone, but who? It better not be a giant — that would be suicide. I almost laugh at how stupid that sounds. Almost.

I breathe out and watch my breath turn to smoke in the air. Maybe there's an evil monster that the other gods can't get rid of. I smile. I could be a war hero. That's way better than being a stuffy old businessman.

Still, I know to be careful. If this is real — like I think it might be — then Loki's dangerous. The stories in class taught me that. Well, the ones I listened to anyway.

I'll accept his deal, I decide. But that doesn't mean I'll trust him.