Chapter 13 Fish and Chips #2
“It was,” Brandon agrees, “though we seem to have had it on very hard terms.”
A laugh bursts from me. “Right? I can’t believe they took our oysters!”
“Don’t forget that shopping trip you agreed to.”
“I didn’t agree to that, did I?”
“You did.”
“Oh no.” Then, trying not to sound presumptuous, I ask, “So, about dinner…are we eating out?”
“It appears so.”
By the time we’ve showered and changed, my appetite has returned with a vengeance. I hurry downstairs, sneakers squeaking, my cardigan thrown over denim shorts and a paisley shirt.
Brandon glances up from his phone. He’s neat in an ivory button-up and beige chinos, damp hair combed back. The simple elegance makes him look handsome in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
My heart ticks faster as his eyes find mine.
“So, what sort of restaurant would you like?” he asks.
My stomach growls before I can answer. “Honestly? Could we just get something quick, like a takeaway? How about those famous British fish and chips?”
He lowers his phone. “Not tempted by one of those ‘nice’ restaurants Rupert mentioned? There are plenty of places serving seafood and wine. Could still do oysters?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather save the oysters for when you make them. Best ones in town, right?”
His mouth softens. “I think it’s in the running, actually, provided I can do your father’s recipe justice.” He glances at his watch, expression sobering. “The music shop’s closing soon. We might still make it if we go there now, before dinner.”
I shake my head. “Another time, if that’s okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep. My guitar can wait. I want food.”
I’m not sure why I say that. Is it just the hunger talking, or am I stalling?
As if fixing a string will make a difference. You’ve always had the talent, Lily—just not the taste. Toby’s voice slinks in, seemingly well-meant, but sharp underneath. If you’d listened to me, we’d be playing the Sydney Opera House by now.
The Opera House was one of Toby’s dreams, not mine. He really thought we could get there.
Maybe he still will.
My dream was harder to pin down. I just wanted to write songs. I didn’t know where it would lead, only that it made me feel alive. That lack of vision disappointed Toby.
Brandon steps off the curb first. His hand hovers near my back, not quite touching, but close enough to feel protective as we cross to the esplanade. We follow the wide concrete path, the sea on our right and rows of sleepy cottages and shops to our left.
The sun dips lower, gilding the water in soft amber light.
I can’t help but wonder if last night’s breakthrough was a fluke. That old dread is creeping back in, tightening around me.
As we wait in line at a beachfront shack for fish and chips, the truth hits me: I am stalling. And that broken string? It’s a reprieve from proving whether last night’s small triumph was real or simply a moment’s bravery.
I can’t put it off forever. The longer I leave it, the harder it will be to pick my guitar back up.
“You seem far away,” Brandon observes as we carry our drinks and paper bundles of food down to the beach.
“Sorry. Just coming down from the sugar rush.”
“Nothing a nutritious drink won’t fix,” he quips lightly, lifting a can of soft drink.
I smile faintly as we sit on the thin strip of grass bordering the beach, the pebbles at our feet scattering as we stretch our legs out.
Toby would have said I’m moping, and that it’s unbecoming.
The thought flickers and fades before I can even dwell on it.
With Brandon, I don’t feel judged for falling quiet.
Even flat like this, I feel…comfortable.
It’s odd how quickly Toby has begun to feel insignificant.
The first bite of battered cod makes me moan. “Oh, wow.”
Brandon looks at me. “Does it meet expectations?”
“Mm-hmm.” My eyes drift shut. Greasy, hot, and salty—it’s everything I wanted.
I hear his chuckle, and it’s a nice sound.
The combination of ocean breeze, salty flavours, and his company lifts me up into the clouds. I wish I could capture this moment forever.
Once I’m full, I sigh happily, licking vinegar from my fingers. “I haven’t had a meal this good in months.”
He lifts a brow. “Are they not feeding you back in Sydney?”
His question is playful, but my mind immediately snaps to Toby. Even food had lost its colour in those last months with him. I shove the thought away and focus on what’s real: the salt and vinegar in the air, the warm pile of chips, and the calm trace of humour in Brandon’s expression.
I indicate the paper parcel. “I just haven’t had fish and chips like this before. With cod and malt vinegar and…” I seize a chip and prod a lump of green. “This green mushy stuff. Smashed avocado?”
“Peas,” he supplies. “You should try it—it’s good.”
I do, and it is.
“It’s a shame Ellenor isn’t here. She would have loved this.”
“Even the mushy peas?” Brandon asks, straight-faced.
I snort. “It’s actually called that?”
“Yes.”
“Right. Well, even that.”
“Good to know.” He takes a swig of soft drink. “Is Ellenor still practising family law?”
“Yep. Working insane hours, as usual.” I hum wistfully. “We used to talk about travelling together. England was always on our list. Obviously, that didn’t happen.”
“You’re here,” Brandon points out.
“True. But it was meant to be something we did together.”
I consider taking a photo of the remaining chips littering the greasy paper, with the beach and the ocean in the background, but then I have a better idea. “Hey Brandon, would you mind if I call her and Mum?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Not at all. But you do know it’s the middle of the night for them?”
“Yes, but they should still be up. Mum’s at work, though she won’t pick up unless she’s on her break. But Ellenor always takes my calls.”
“Really?” He checks his phone. “Even at…2 a.m.?”
“Yep. She’s a workaholic. She never sleeps.”
I fish out my phone and call our group chat. As predicted, Mum doesn’t answer.
Ellenor accepts the video call almost immediately. She appears on the screen, her sleek, ice-blonde hair falling into her face, features illuminated blue by computer monitors. She’s surrounded by a wall of binders, her modern office barely visible. There’s at least one energy drink can in view.
“Hi, Elle,” I greet.
“Hi,” she says distractedly, the fierce click-clacking of her keyboard loud through the speaker. “I’m at work.”
“I can see that. I hope you don’t plan to push through until morning.”
“We’ll see. But the night is still young.” She takes a long sip of her energy drink.
I bite my lip. Much as I want to say something, there’s no use. She won’t stop until she’s completed whatever she’s working on. “Mum?”
“Saving lives at the hospital. But it’s your lucky day—I can spare five minutes for my little sister.”
“It’ll be worth it,” I tease.
“Doubt it.” But she finally tears her eyes from the laptop to look at her phone. She squints. “Wait. Are you outside? In the sun? I thought it was meant to rain all week there.”
“I guess the forecast was wrong.”
“Clearly. I hope you’re making the most of it.”
“Yep.” I grin, switching the camera to show her the beach, the water sparkling beneath the early-evening sun.
She groans. “I’m so jealous.”
“Wait, there’s more. Guess what I’m eating.”
She gasps when I pan down. “No way. Fish and chips, Brit-style? Without me? Traitor!”
I laugh. “You’ll survive. And look—mushy peas.” I bring the camera close.
“Gross.”
Beside me, Brandon murmurs, “They’re better than they look.”
Ellenor startles at his voice. “Is that Brando?”
I reverse the camera and he leans into the frame. “Hello, Ellenor.”
Her expression darkens, nostrils flaring as she says haughtily, “Hello, Brando. I have a bone to pick with you.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. You never finished our Words with Friends game.”
Trust Ellenor to bring that up. They only ever played a handful of games years ago, but she has a thing about closure. Brandon abandoned their last game mid-match, leaving it to slowly time out. In her books, that’s high treason.
Besides, she’ll find any excuse to spar with someone, willing or not. Poor Brandon looks mildly baffled, as if he’s not sure how he ended up in the ring.
“I never finished it,” he concedes.
“And why not?” she demands.
I groan. “Ellenor…”
“Let him answer the question! I deserve an explanation. He was rude to just ghost me like that.”
“You’re being rude now,” I point out.
She ignores me, combing her blunt fringe with pointed emerald fingernails as she waits expectantly.
I shift, feeling uncomfortable. Ellenor is just being Ellenor—only showing her softer side to those closest to her, and keeping everyone else at bay—but I worry Brandon won’t see it like that.
And I don’t want her to chase him away. He’s offering me real help, and the last thing I want is for him to think my family doesn’t respect him.
To my relief, Brandon seems unfazed. “I thought it best to surrender the battle early.”
“But you were winning!” she splutters, immediately losing all cool.
“Precisely. And I’m afraid I wasn’t ready to deal with the consequences of victory.”
“I think he’s saying you’re a sore loser,” I clarify.
Ellenor narrows her eyes at me.
“Yeah, I got it, thanks, Lil. Anyway…” She immediately drops the gauntlet in favour of a long yawn—one she somehow manages to keep talking through. “So, how’s England? Seen any Harry Potter destinations?”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet?!” Her voice spikes, scandalised. “Not even King’s Cross? Jeez, this trip is wasted on you.”
“I just got here, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah—excuses.” She leans back in her chair, shaking her head.
I bite back a smile, an idea sparking. “Although you’ll never guess who I saw at the airport.”
“Who?”
“Tom Felton.”
“No!” She nearly falls off her chair as she scrambles for the phone, her face taking up the entire screen. “You didn’t.”
“Pretty sure it was him,” I say innocently.
“Liar,” she growls, then she jabs a green-taloned finger at the camera. “Is she lying, Brandon?”