Bringing the Summer (23 page)

‘Bridie.' She says it matter-of-factly, as if she's not surprised by any of this. ‘You know about her, of course.'

‘Yes.' I wonder if she knows about me being on the train: that shocking, random event which catapulted me right into the centre of this family. But that isn't what's relevant right now. ‘He says he hears Bridie's voice sometimes, telling him to do things.'

Maddie changes gear as we come down the hill to the roundabout under the railway bridge. She waits for the queue of snow-covered cars at the junction and then joins the line of traffic into the right lane and along the bypass. The snow here has already turned to brown slush.

‘That's not so good,' Maddie says. ‘I didn't know he was back there, again, in that state. I'm sorry to have to say this to you, Freya, about my own son. He got too involved with Bridie before she died. And she was very, very sick. Obviously, seeing what she did. It messed his head up, rather. He needs lots of help, to get over it.'

I stare out of the window. All the magical feeling I had before is trickling away. ‘Help?' I say, blankly.

‘Professional help. He was seeing a counsellor in Oxford for a while, to help him get over Bridie's death. I'll have to set up some more sessions for him.' Her voice brightens up a bit. ‘Of course he needs love and friendship, too: the usual things that make a difference to all of us.' She smiles at me. ‘You've been through such sad things yourself; I know you understand more than most girls your age would.'

We stop at the traffic lights. Maddie turns to look at me. She pats my hand.

I feel like crying, but I don't. ‘What was wrong with Bridie, exactly?' I ask her.

‘Bridie's mother was an alcoholic. Bridie was born with something called
fetal alcohol syndrome
. It affects the baby's brain, means it doesn't develop properly. And that's probably why she got addicted herself, later, to drink and drugs . . . which made her mental condition . . . her depression . . . much worse. That's on top of all the early neglect Bridie suffered. Her mother couldn't love her properly, or even do the basic care a small child needs. Bridie ended up being fostered, but that wasn't straightforward either. We tried to help. I did, for a while.' Maddie's voice falters. ‘I'm afraid I failed her miserably.'

My head's starting to ache. I just want to get home, now.

‘Theo was obsessed with her. She was beautiful, in her thin scary way, I suppose. And she could be very exciting, with her sense of adventure, for someone like Theo who likes to push things to the limit, too.'

‘What do you mean?' I ask.

‘You know the way Theo wants to
experience
everything deeply? He can't bear the idea of a safe life – being comfortable. Not like most of us.'

‘But today he was fine,' I say. ‘So perhaps he just shouldn't drink. Today he was normal and lovely.'

I don't feel good, talking about him with his mother behind his back like this. I know Theo would hate it.

We're crawling along the London Road, in a long slow queue of cars.

‘I think it's best you understand exactly what Theo's struggling with,' Maddie says. ‘You're very young, Freya, to get mixed up in these things. I'm not sure it's what you need right now.'

I say goodbye politely when she stops the car, and thank her for having me for Christmas, but inside I'm seething. How dare she think she knows what I
need
!

I walk down our steep hill: the snow's settled here: it's strangely quiet with no traffic moving.

‘You look wiped out!' Mum says when I finally get in and flop down at the supper table. ‘I'll run you a bath when you've eaten something. You can join us for a film on the telly afterwards.'

‘I think I'll just go up to bed,' I say. ‘Thanks, Mum.'

 

My phone bleeps while I'm in the bath. I've left it in the bedroom, so can't check who it is. Maddie's worried face comes into my head. She was warning me, wasn't she? Just like Gabes, and Beth, and everyone. They all think they know best.

I dry myself on a new towel and pad along the landing to my bedroom.

It's a text from Miranda. At last! Heart beating fast, I open the message.

Hi Freya! Thank u for yr card. Want 2 meet me 2morrow?

It's such a relief I actually start to cry.

Yes! Where?
I text back.

Yours? 11ish? Mx

:) F xx

Twenty-five

 

She arrives on the dot. I skip down the stairs to open the door before Mum gets there. We hug each other as if nothing has ever happened.

Mum waves to Miranda from the kitchen. ‘Coffee, Miranda? Lovely to see you. Had a nice Christmas?'

‘Yes thanks!' Miranda calls back. She looks at me. ‘Shall we take our coffees upstairs?' she whispers. ‘Or would that be really rude?'

‘We can't talk down here,' I say. ‘And Mum won't mind. She's got stuff to do anyway.'

 

Up in my room, sipping her mug of coffee, Miranda goes round looking at everything, the way she does. She picks up the Advent calendar from my bookshelf. ‘Wow! This is amazing!'

‘Danny made it.'

‘Danny? You didn't tell me he was arty like that!'

‘I didn't know. He's never told me. I mean, there was no reason to . . .'

‘Well! Fancy that!' Miranda grins. ‘So, what does this mean, Freya?'

‘Nothing! Just Danny being sweet.
Dan
, I should say. That's what he calls himself now.'

‘Hmm.' Miranda gives me one of her looks. ‘Anyway, before we get on to Danny, first you've got to tell me what happened with Gabes.' Miranda settles down on my bed, back against the wall, just like the old days.

I think how to begin. ‘It was difficult at first, of course. We talked in the café that time you saw us –' I glance at her – ‘when you weren't speaking to me. He was . . . disappointed, I think. He seemed more cross with Theo than me. It was dead embarrassing. I felt terrible, for lying to him. And then we met again to talk properly about it, and Gabes was really nice. Generous. He was lovely at Christmas. That's where I've been the last two days: at Home Farm. Theo was there too. Gabes really isn't upset or anything now. We're still friends.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes. Honestly.'

She sighs. ‘He's not like most blokes, then.'

‘No. He isn't. That's one reason why I like him. And Theo isn't, either. That whole family . . . I've never met a family like them.'

Miranda sits forward on the bed. ‘I don't get it, the way you are so under their spell. You've got your own amazing family, Freya, if only you'd wake up and see it.' She sighs. ‘I could shake you, sometimes!'

I look at her, surprised. I don't answer her.

‘Well, I'm glad it all turned out OK in the end,' Miranda says. ‘Maybe I was wrong about Gabes. None of it's worth us falling out over, anyway. I'm sorry I went off on one like I did.'

‘I missed you loads,' I say.

‘Really?'

‘Of course. And I didn't understand why you were
so
mad with me.'

Miranda bites her lip. ‘No? Couldn't you see that you being so secretive – lying to me, even – how that would make me feel? Like, shut out. Not wanted. As if you didn't trust me to understand.'

‘I'm sorry,' I say. ‘I was too mixed up myself. I was all in a muddle. I felt bad, really. I thought you'd tell me off. I don't know . . .'

‘Which is why you should have talked about it all with me, Freya. Talking about things always makes them better. Isn't that what friends are for?'

‘Yes. I guess.' We're both quiet for a bit. Then I say, ‘So, what have you been doing?'

Miranda shrugs. ‘Not much. Usual things. Been to the cinema a couple of times. I went to Tabby's party on Christmas Eve.'

‘She didn't invite me.'

‘No. Well, that was probably my fault. Sorry. I was still mad with you.'

We're both silent, awkward.

‘What are you doing for New Year's Eve?' Miranda says.

‘I'm not sure. I got invited to a party but it's in Birmingham, and Mum and Dad will never let me go. Not that I've asked.'

‘You've changed,' Miranda says. ‘You've got all these new friends.'

‘Not really,' I say. ‘Duncan – who's having the party – is Theo's friend, not mine. And they are all older than me, and that's a bit weird. And they are into drinking and smoking and being
clever
– the ones I've met, anyway. I don't really fit in. I'm not sure I even
want
to go.'

‘So, you and Theo . . . are you actually going out together? Like, officially?'

‘No. Well. I mean, I like him, and he likes me, I think, but there's lots of things that aren't right.'

‘Like what?'

‘He's a bit of a mess . . . Well, more than a bit, actually. It's all much too complicated.'

‘Things with you always are!' Miranda laughs. ‘Oh, Freya!'

It's good to be laughing together again. We make more coffee, and we eat the biscuits Mum's left out for us on the kitchen table.

Miranda wants to see the new pieces in my art portfolio, and it begins to feel easier between us again. She flips through the pictures I've mounted on card for my project. ‘I love this one of the beach, with the torn-up bits of photograph. You definitely should do Art at college.'

‘I don't know,' I say. ‘I don't want to just do one thing. I like learning about everything. I want to go places and find out more about me, who I am, who I might be. I want my life to be bigger, somehow. To mean something.'

Miranda wrinkles up her nose. ‘Don't start getting all serious and deep and philosophical now. Please, Freya?'

It's not the right time to tell Miranda about Theo's problems, about Bridie and all that. Instead, I tell her the happy things: the Christmas meal and sledging.

Mum calls up. ‘Do you two want lunch?'

‘Do we?' I ask Miranda.

‘Of course!'

We trek back downstairs. Mum's made tomato and basil soup.

Miranda knows exactly how to win over my parents. She tells Mum how amazing her cooking is, and gushes about our house to Dad, which makes him feel good. I notice how it tips the balance back, having a fourth person at the kitchen table again. We're a bit more like a family with Miranda chatting and Mum asking questions and Dad flirting a bit: he can't help himself when Miranda is so bright and gorgeous.

 

Late afternoon, after Miranda's gone home, Dad calls up to me in my room. ‘Come and watch a film with us, Freya!'

Mum's making tea in the kitchen. She looks up as I come into the sitting room. ‘Home-made Christmas cake? Or a slice of stollen?'

‘You made a cake?'

‘Don't sound so shocked, Freya!'

‘I didn't know, that's all. I didn't think you'd done any Christmas cooking.'

This is the first time she's made a Christmas cake since Joe died. I join her in the kitchen to have a proper look. She's iced it and everything. Glossy white, with peaks like snow.

‘Do you want to put the decorations on it?' She points to the small grey cardboard box on the table.

My heart gives a lurch. I'd almost forgotten about them. I open the lid. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, are the little china decorations that Evie gave us when Joe and I were small: a seal, a polar bear, a penguin and an Arctic fox. Every year, we'd put them on the Christmas cake.

‘They might need a dust!' Mum says.

I wipe each one carefully with a tea towel and arrange them on the cake. I find two little fir trees in the box too, totally out of scale, and a robin. I put them all on to make a little winter scene.

Mum laughs. ‘I don't think it will pass Dad's
good taste
test!'

He's lit the wood-burning stove in the sitting room. It changes the light in the room: makes everything softer and more cosy. We sit together on the cream sofa, me in the middle, and for once Mum doesn't fuss about plates and crumbs.

‘It's a long time since we've done this!' Dad says. ‘Much too long.'

‘Freya's got her own life, these days,' Mum says. ‘She doesn't want to hang around with her boring old parents!'

‘That's
so
not true,' I say. ‘It's not like that at all. You're hardly ever here. You're always too busy.'

She looks genuinely surprised, as if she hasn't even thought of that before.