Free Weak at the Knees by Jo Kessel

weekend a fortnight ago. He was Amber’s type through and through. So even though I really should have travelled with this lovely girl called Gina who will be my live-in colleague in Montgenèvre (also blonde and really reminds me of someone but I can’t work out who), I’d wangled it so that Rod would take me instead. 
     
    Mum, Dad, Hugo and I are all standing at the front door, watching Rod as he parks his white Volvo hatchback outside my parents’ house. Hugo’s face drops when Rod gets out the car. All of a sudden he’s regretting ever giving me that kick up the backside, encouraging me to move on. A real-life Crocodile Dundee wasn’t the ‘on’ he had in mind. Hugo does not look happy. Even though he’s pretty tall and pretty handsome, ‘pretty’ is the word that sums him up. It would be fair to say that he’s verging on the effeminate. Rod, on the other hand, is all man. He’s taller, broader, with dreamily defined triceps and blond ringlets that brush his shoulders. As Rod approaches, Hugo squares up to make him feel taller.
     
    “G’day everyone,” chirps Rod, with a lazy ease. “You all set Denny?”
     
    “Yep, I think so. I should get Brownie points for following your instructions so to the tee. Look!” I exclaim, pointing to my luggage. “I can’t believe how impossibly light I’m travelling.”
     
    Rod casts his gaze towards my three bulging rucksacks, one giant-sized suitcase, boot bag and skis and raises his eyebrows questioningly, clearly at odds with my definition of travelling light. If bag carrying were an Olympic sport, he would win gold. He scoops up my booty in a flourish, two rucksacks over his right shoulder, third rucksack and skis hooked on his left elbow, giant suitcase in right hand, boot bag in the left. Hugo and Dad watch on, sheer incredulity and emasculation preventing them from offering to help.
     
    “Right then,” says Rod, so comfortable with his load that he can even turn his wrist to look at his watch. “We’re running a bit late, so I’ll pack this lot in the car whilst you say your g’byes. Nice meeting you all.”
     
    “I better get going,” I grin broadly. My expression is the opposite of everyone else’s. I feel happy, like I’m doing the right thing for the first time in ages and am setting off on a new adventure. The rest of them look downcast and downtrodden. I turn to Dad and give him a tight hug. “Have a great time my love,” he tries to keep his tone light, “and try not to break anything.”
     
    I nod.
     
    Then it’s Mum’s turn. She’s finding this difficult. Mrs Slater just lost her daughter and my mother probably feels like she’s losing hers. Even though I’m sure she knows how lucky she is in comparison, that at least her daughter is coming home, it doesn’t make her loss feel much easier. She dabs her eyes before pulling me into her chest. “I’d never have let you borrow my car that day if I’d known this was where it would lead to. Please make sure you come back safe and sound.”
     
    I nod again.
     
    Hugo’s looking bereft, like he’s scored an own-goal and I empathise. He’s been there for me through thick and thin and now this. He has to watch me drive off with a stranger who’s the antithesis of him and clearly a threat. I give him an extra special squeeze. “Be safe,” he whispers.
     
    Now they’ve all said it. “Be safe.” The simplest, most basic, most human of desires for someone you love, made especially pertinent by the recent loss of such a young life. Safety can never be guaranteed. We’re all walking on wobbly tightropes.
     
    “I’ll do my best,” I whisper back, then give them all a lasting, cheeky smile, walk down the garden path with a skip in my step and settle into Rod’s less than clean, battered motor. At 5pm on December 5 th everyone waves as Mr. Billabong, five pairs of skis on the roof-rack and I motor away. As we pass Amber’s house I bid farewell to the concrete memory of my