Page 3 of Daddy's Pride
“Home.”
“It’s three o’clock.”
“And I’m owed three weeks’ holiday, and there’s only a week until the end of the financial year. So I’m taking my holiday as of right now. I’ll see you a week on Monday.”
Nigel stands, shoving his chair hard against the wall. “Don’t you dare walk out, Harris. You’ve got work to do.”
“You’re mistaken. I’ve done my job for the day.” It’s so fucking hard to keep my voice calm.
“You can’t take your holiday with no notice.”
“If I don’t, I won’t get to take it at all.”
“How am I going to run this place without you?”
“I don’t know, Nigel, but you’re the boss. You figure it out.”
“You can’t leave me in the lurch.”
“Bye, Nigel.” I reach the door.
“I’ll dock you a week’s pay.”
I hunch my shoulders. Legally, he’s not allowed to do that, but what can I do about it? Take my brother to court?
“I helped you when you needed me to.”
Here we go again. He’s going to hold it over me forever.
“Where would you be if I hadn’t created a job for you?”
I clench my teeth. I can’t let him get under my skin. I can’t let him persuade me to stay. I need a break.
“I saved your arse, Harris. We’re too busy for you to take time off now.”
According to him, we’re always too busy for me to take time off, which is why I’ve barely taken any time off. I even drag myself in when I’m sick. I don’t want to let him down, but I have to put myself first.
I roll my shoulders back and lift my chin. “Bye, Nigel. I’ll see you a week on Monday.”
I walk out on shaking legs, get to my car, and drive out of the industrial estate without looking back.
* * *
I must have taken a wrong turn. So much for taking time off to relax.
I’m driving to a bed and breakfast on the east coast. It’s early spring, which means the weather isn’t good enough for people to flock to the beach, so I didn’t have any trouble booking somewhere for the week.
Most of my journey was on a dual carriageway, but about an hour ago, I had to leave that behind and drive on narrow country roads instead. I thought I’d been following the right signs, but I haven’t seen one for my destination in over half an hour. The roads are getting narrower, the sky is getting darker, my petrol is getting lower, and my phone keeps ringing.
The first time, I stopped in case it was an emergency, but it was Nigel asking me to reconsider taking next week off. A glance at my phone tells me he’s calling again. I can’t answer while I’m driving, and the farther away I get from home, the less likely I am to give in and turn around.
The phone stops ringing. Thirty seconds later, it pings with a text message. Take the hint, Nigel. I’m on holiday.
I need a petrol station and a road sign. Neither is forthcoming as I twist and turn between endless hills and fields. Where the fuck am I?
I pull into a passing point and check my phone. No signal. Fantastic. I can’t ring anyone or use the GPS to figure out where I am. On the bright side, Nigel can’t call me either.
I have no choice but to keep going. At least the scenery is beautiful, and the sunset is stunning as it streaks the horizon with pinks, purples, and oranges. It’s a breathtaking sight until the sun sinks and only darkness remains. I switch my headlights to full beam, but the road is so twisty it’s hard to see far. I slow down, pissing off the car behind me. The driver honks their horn as they whizz past and screech around the next bend.