Bringing the Summer (19 page)

Is Miranda waiting for me to say sorry? I text the words, and wait, but nothing comes back from her. Just before I go to sleep, I send a message to Danny.

Thank you for the beautiful calendar xxx

 

In the morning when I go downstairs, I find Mum and Dad already up, drinking coffee at the kitchen table.

Dad smiles at me over the Saturday review pages. ‘Hello, stranger! OK?'

‘Fine.'

‘Got plans for the day, Freya?' Mum asks.

‘Thought I'd go swimming,' I say. ‘I haven't been for ages.'

‘Great idea. Want a lift down? I'll be going shopping later.'

I shake my head. ‘I'll go early, before the pool's too busy. I can go on my bike.'

‘Town will be mad this morning,' Dad says. ‘Take care on the roads.'

I've forgotten about gloves, so by the time I've got halfway to the canal path my hands are frozen. This way along the towpath is a short cut and avoids the worst traffic on the London Road. It's pretty, all covered in frost, the sun breaking through the mist. I ring my bell to warn the dog walkers as I bowl past. I duck under the first two bridges. At the third one I stop: this is the turning for the track down to the riverside path to the leisure centre. If I went straight on, I'd pass by our old house, with its steep garden going down in terraces to the canal . . . the house where we were so happy together, with Joe . . .

I turn off down the track. The river is high. The water swirls and eddies, dangerous and mud-brown, bearing whole trees along in the swift current. You'd never imagine you could swim in it in the summer, or that anyone might even want to.

 

It's been a while since I've swum in an indoor pool. The sounds echo round your head, the water seems dead and sludgy. It stinks of chlorine. But after a while I get into a rhythm up and down the pool in one of the roped-off lanes, and it's good to be making my body really work. After about thirty lengths of front crawl, my mind begins to calm down. My thoughts stop racing. It's as if the jagged edges have been ironed out. I breathe more deeply. Let it all go, I tell myself. Miranda, Gabes, all that. None of it matters. Things will be all right. I do another ten lengths, breaststroke this time. I float for a while on my back.

The clock ticks round. The pool begins to fill up with screaming kids, families. I climb out. My legs feel wobbly and achey from the exercise: I suppose I've got out of the habit the last few weeks. It doesn't take long to lose fitness. Under the shower I start to remember all the things I don't like about the changing rooms: the dirty floor; the hairs clogging the drains. Queuing to use the hairdryers. I put my wet towel and swimsuit and goggles into my bag and go outside. It's only eleven fifteen.

I wheel my bike along the road into the town centre. It's heaving with Christmas shoppers. I stop off at the post office to send my parcel to St Ailla: there's a huge queue, and they've got some stupid new system. I take the ticket for my turn and sit down on one of the new seats, the parcel on my lap. Staring at the address makes me think about Evie and Gramps having a quiet island Christmas, without Joe or me, and my eyes suddenly fill with tears.

My phone bleeps with a new message.

Theo!

Film at 7.30ish? Meet inside cinema?

Yes!
I text back.

He must have come back from Oxford last night with Beth. And he's thinking about me.

The day begins to get brighter.

 

It takes me ages to decide what to wear. I'm not normally so self-conscious. I try a short skirt with black leggings and boots, and then change back to jeans. Nothing looks right. I brush my hair a million times, to make it shiny, and try pinning it up loosely with my silver butterfly clip, and then I give up on that too.

Mum looks up as I slip past her door. ‘You going out, Freya? I haven't even thought about supper yet!'

‘It's OK,' I say. ‘I had a sandwich earlier.'

‘Where are you going?'

‘Just a film.'

‘Don't walk back by yourself if it's late. Call us for a lift if you need one.'

Dad's outside in the garage, making something. He waves as I go past. ‘Have fun!'

A kind of bleakness washes over me again, like last night. It's as if I don't properly belong here, in this house. It isn't a family house. Ours isn't a real family any more. I feel as if I might just blow away: there's nothing holding me down, keeping me safe.

 

I arrive at the cinema five minutes early. For the next twenty-five minutes I imagine he's not going to turn up after all, and that everyone going past will know I'm a total loser with no friends. For a second I think I glimpse Miranda in a crowd of people going into Screen One. I look away quickly and pretend to study the posters on the wall.

At last I see him: pale face, dark clothes, messy hair. He weaves through the crowds of people in the foyer towards me.

‘You're really late!' I say.

‘Am I? Sorry. Got caught up with stuff. Shall we get tickets, then?'

The two decent films are sold out, and there's no way I want to sit through either of the others: a meant-to-be-funny one about a teacher and a nativity play, or a dreary action movie.

Theo looks cross.

‘It's your fault for being so late,' I tell him.

‘Well, since you were waiting here, why didn't you just get two tickets?'

‘Because we hadn't agreed which film! Honestly, Theo!'

‘You should have chosen one you wanted to see, seeing as you are so picky.'

Already we're pitching into an argument. We seem to do that every time we first meet. I bite back my reply. No point making things worse.

‘What now? I've got the van. We can go somewhere else,' Theo says.

‘The van?'

‘Mum's van. Beth wouldn't let me take her car.'

‘I didn't know you could drive!'

‘I don't need to in Oxford. But I can.'

For some reason I feel slightly scared. It's not that I don't trust him, exactly . . . If Maddie lends him her van she must reckon he's safe. But he's still got that angry look in his eyes, a bit reckless and wild, which makes me wary.

‘You're too young to go to a pub for a drink. You don't want to see a film. What
do
you want?' Theo says.

‘I want you to stop being so mean! None of that is my fault. Why don't we just walk round town and find a café that's open? We could get something to eat.'

‘Fine.' He turns his collar up as we go out into the cold, pulls his scarf round more tightly. He links arms with me. Gradually, he relaxes a bit.

But I'm still so tense. It's all going wrong. I feel stupid and too young. Not clever or
entertaining
enough.

We walk up through the centre of town towards the park. The huge trees at one end are lit up with the glow from the lights in a big marquee.

‘Hey, the outdoor ice rink's back!' I say. ‘Like last year. We could go skating!'

Theo shrugs.

‘Please? Be a
bit
enthusiastic.'

We queue up to pay for the next slot. There's a bar; Theo gets a bottle of cider while we wait for our turn.

Music blares out from the speakers in the middle, and the machines that pump cold air over the fake ice hum loudly too, so we have to shout to talk at all. In the end we give up and we simply skate together, arm in arm, like I did with Miranda that time. I show him the steps I know, and how to go backwards, and then we just join in with all the other people going round and round, skates finding the grooves made by everyone else, all flowing in the same direction, a current of people joined together by movement. It's like swimming, almost, graceful and effortless.

‘That was surprisingly fun!' Theo says as we step off the ice at the end of our turn. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright.

I'm giddy with it all: the movement, the lights and music, the crowds, the rush of happiness as he gives me a hug.

We walk back through the park the long way, under the avenue of cherry trees and across the frosty grass in darkness. Away from the marquee, the park is almost silent. We hold hands. We run, and slide on the grass and laugh when Theo skids right over, and pulls me with him. My boots are covered in mud by the time we get to the path. We walk down through the town, back to where Theo's parked the van.

‘I'll take you home,' Theo says.

‘It's OK,' I say. ‘It's not far to walk.'

‘But not on your own, not in the dark this late.'

‘It's not that late!'

‘What's the matter? Don't you want me to see where you live? Or is it because of your parents? They won't approve?'

I laugh, embarrassed. I'm not about to explain that they don't know anything about him yet; that I've never mentioned him once. And of course they wouldn't approve of him! Or of me, going out with someone who's twenty-one. Who smokes and drinks. Who has a scary fascination with a dead girl.

We scrape the ice off the van windscreen. Theo unlocks the door for me to get in. Sitting high up on the front seat reminds me of the time Maddie picked up me and Gabes after the bike accident, but I don't tell Theo that, either.

He starts up the engine. It takes lots of revs to get going. ‘It's got cold,' Theo says. He pulls out of the space. ‘Now, which direction?'

He drives quite slowly and carefully, not at all like I expected. He stops at the top of my road for me to get out. ‘There. Now no one need know who you've been with all evening.'

‘Theo! Don't say that!' I kiss him goodbye. His mouth is soft, delicious. He tastes of apples.

‘I'll be busy for the next few days,' Theo says. ‘But I'll see you on Christmas Day. No need to bring presents or anything. Family rule, for house guests. Mum said to tell you that.'

‘Don't you have presents?'

‘Only from Mum and Dad. There's too many of us.'

‘Who else will be there?'

‘All of us – Mum, Dad, Laura and Tom; Beth and the babies and Will; Gabes, Kit, me, you, Kit's friend Liu because she can't go home to her parents this year; two aunties and uncles and my cousins . . . I think that's everyone, though knowing Mum she'll pick up a few extras between now and Christmas Day.'

I watch the van as Theo drives away. He just takes it for granted that he has this big busy family, loads of friends. He doesn't know how lucky he is.

Back home, I wonder briefly whether Bridie ever spent Christmas at Home Farm, and whether Theo will be thinking about her this Christmas. I remember what Gabes said about Maddie collecting
waifs and strays
.

Later, lying in bed, I have a horrible thought. Am I one of them? Does she think of me like that, too? Do they all?

Twenty-one

College finishes at midday on the Friday before Christmas. At break, I finally pluck up courage and text Gabes. I've thought about it loads; made my decision last night in bed.

Can we meet somewhere? I'd really like to talk. Please? Freya.

He texts back straight away. Coffee at the Jazz caf
é
at 1? GX

The kiss gives me hope. Not for a real kiss, I don't mean. Just that things can be OK between us. For some silly reason I've got dressed up specially: dress, leggings, boots. Maybe because it makes me feel more confident or something. But I get there too early, so I still end up nervous, waiting for him to show.

Everyone else will be at the Boston, celebrating the end of term. I'm glad Gabes chose this place instead. It's warm and steamy, smells of bacon breakfasts. It reminds me a bit of the café in Exeter, where I first saw Gabes and his family, before I knew anything about them, except that it's not as busy. There are loads of free tables. I sit down at one near the big plate-glass window and order a coffee.

I watch him cross the road and walk into the café, bang on one o'clock.

He smiles as he comes over. ‘Cappuccino?'

‘I've already ordered,' I say. ‘But thanks.'

He sits down opposite me, chucks his bag on to the wooden floor. ‘Well?'

I blurt it all out in a rush. ‘I couldn't just turn up at Home Farm without talking to you first. I'm sorry I rushed off last time. I feel really bad about everything. Not being straight with you about seeing Theo. All that. I didn't mean to hurt you. I mean, if you were hurt. Perhaps you weren't. But anyway.'

He reaches out and touches my hand. ‘It's OK, Freya,' he says. ‘Calm down.'

I go hot. Why do I find it so difficult to talk about these things?

He's still smiling. I notice all over again how good-looking he is, how clear and direct and sunny.