After school Jasmine was going to walk into town with Felicity. A lot of the shops were independent and quirky, the council constantly fighting against the franchises that had swallowed every other town. As a result, the prices were less than ideal and so Jasmine and Felicity spent most of their pocket money buying clothes in the charity shops. The upside was that the clothes in the charity shops were often designer and much cheaper than the independent shops whose target audiences were women over fifty and people who owned boats. It wasn’t a town for young people.
Jasmine liked it in Sidmouth, but she didn’t feel she had a lot in common with anyone apart from Felicity and they barely had anything in common, not really. Felicity’s home life was a mess; her mother drank and had a revolving-door policy on boyfriends. Jasmine was both jealous of Felicity and fiercely protective of her; she was the only real friend she had. She wondered if that had something to do with her family’s summers abroad. She didn’t usually get to spend the holiday roaming the streets and discovering new hangouts or even hanging out in the old ones. The worst thing was missing the folk festival. Almost all of her school friends’ summer stories came from that one week in August. The town transformed into a hive of activity, people coming from all over the world to visit the sleepy little place. Jasmine had been there for one day of it before and it was like being in another place entirely. There were street performers and Morris dancers everywhere you looked. Extortionately expensive tie-dyed clothing and lots of multicultural and vegan food stalls dotted the streets. She was happy she was going to be around for it this year, and she felt guilty for that. For the first time, her summer would be normal.
Felicity came from another school entirely a few years ago and Jasmine had sort of adopted her. Everyone else had their own cliques formed from primary school but the two girls drifted between them. They weren’t an obvious choice for best friends but somehow it worked. Felicity loved to tell Jasmine all the things she had missed over the summer, all the boys she got off with. Jasmine thought in part she was jealous of her adventures, but Jasmine was so much more jealous of Felicity’s adventures at home.
Jasmine got along with everyone at school, but it was because no one really knew her, no one took the time. Maybe that was why she threw herself into books, maybe that was why Mr Morrell thought she was interested in him; because she spent time with him instead of friends. The truth was, she didn’t have any real friends aside from Felicity, who was heavily involved in lots of sports clubs, anything to keep her late at school, anything to keep her from going home.
When her geography exam was finally over – they had different exams as they took different subjects for their options – Felicity met Jasmine at the gate. As they walked into town it started to spit, the temperature cooling ever so slightly. They chatted as usual about the things Felicity wanted to talk about – arguments with her mother, why her father left, the bad behaviour of her mother’s current boyfriend. Jasmine couldn’t be sure, but she thought she could smell alcohol on Felicity’s breath. She knew Felicity liked to drink but it was getting more frequent; she never used to do it at school. As they neared the town Jasmine pulled Felicity into an alcove. She had spotted Tim talking to someone in the entrance to a side street car park a little further down the road.
‘What are you doing?’ Felicity asked.
‘Shhhh, be quiet, I don’t want to spook him.’
‘Spook who?’
‘See that guy over there? He’s our new lodger.’
‘You didn’t tell me he was hot,’ Felicity said, trying to get a good look at him.
‘Is that all you think about?’ Jasmine said.
‘Oh, like you haven’t thought of it? Do me a favour.’ Felicity pulled her red lipstick out of her bag and put it on using the reflection in the glass door as a mirror.
‘Can you hear what they’re saying?’
‘Do you think he would get us some booze if we gave him some money?’
‘Shut up, I’m trying to listen.’
Jasmine could hear fragments of the conversation. It wasn’t a friendly one. She peeked around the corner and saw Tim’s face; he looked intense and focused as his index finger jabbed the other man square in the centre of his chest. The stranger looked afraid.
‘I told you, I need that money back by Friday, and it’s Tuesday now. What do you suppose I should do with you?’ Tim barked.
‘Please don’t hurt me,’ the man was pleading, which surprised Jasmine. It sounded like a request made out of fear. Had Tim hurt this man?
‘I did you a favour and now you’re letting me down. If you can’t get me the money, then you had better consider what it is you can get for me. I’ll come back tomorrow. Don’t disappoint me.’
Tim stepped away and looked in the girls’ direction. They ducked back behind the wall. Jasmine’s heart was thumping. She looked to see if there was anywhere for them to go. What if he came past them? What if he confronted her? Instead, Jasmine saw him disappear into the side street that led to the car park. The charity shop they were headed for was just a few metres up the road. When the coast was clear Jasmine grabbed Felicity by the arm and pulled her quickly down the street. Once they were safely inside the shop, Felicity started laughing. Jasmine joined in, but in the back of her mind she couldn’t help thinking about what she had just witnessed. This wasn’t the man that she saw helping out around the house; there was something very sinister about the way he had been talking to that man. What had her parents brought into their home?
Chapter Twelve
Jasmine woke up early, with a couple of hours until her revision class at school. It was just too hot today; the relief from the bit of rain yesterday had been short-lived. She tried to go back to sleep but the heat was frustrating. Her sheets clung to her and she felt the anger building inside as she wrestled against them. She decided to give up and get out of bed. The thought of putting on her school shirt made her feel even hotter; the poor-quality fabric would cut into her armpits and make her sweat more. Her hair was wet at the temples and her face felt clammy to the touch. She could barely breathe and it wasn’t even six a.m. A cold shower was the only way she could think of to cool down. She was out in less than five minutes and she pulled out a white T-shirt and some shorts to dress in until the last possible moment before school. The lingering smell of paint inside her bedroom was doing nothing to make her feel refreshed and so she grabbed her Spanish homework and went downstairs.
She cut up a melon from the fridge and went to sit in the garden to eat it. It was early enough that the part of the garden where the sun loungers lived was still in the shade. Yesterday Tim had started painting the facing wall white at her parents’ instruction. It had a Mediterranean vibe about it. Jasmine’s mother loved geraniums and the bright oranges, reds and pinks looked almost neon against the white backdrop.
The guest house door opened and Tim came outside. He nodded his acknowledgement of Jasmine, glancing at her bare legs but looking away quickly. He pulled a dustsheet off of his painting equipment in the corner of the garden and started to work immediately. Did Jasmine imagine he had been messing with her at the breakfast table? Maybe she just didn’t understand social cues. A wave of self-doubt came over her and she thought back to what had happened at school last year. Did she just not have the ability to read other people at all?
Tim continued to paint the wall with almost complete indifference to her presence. She looked at the clock; she still had a good hour before she had to go to school.
‘Do you need any help?’ she offered, before she had even really thought about it. She remembered her father telling her to make more of an effort and she had realised that she didn’t like being ignored.
‘Thank you. Just grab any brush and start painting,’ Tim said, pointing to the box of brushes.
She chose one and started at the opposite end of the wall to him. It felt therapeutic to be turning this tired old dirty lemon wall into something fresh and new. The surface was rougher than an
inside wall, taking a little more effort, so she began working the paint into the cracks and tiny holes. Tim had already filled in all the bigger ones, but her mother had insisted she didn’t want it to look too perfect or it would lose its charm.
As they painted, they got closer together and it wasn’t long before they were standing side by side. They had worked together in silence, which, when Jasmine thought about it, was a strange thing to do. Tim’s bare arm touched hers as they finally met in the middle.
‘Wow, guys, that looks amazing,’ Jasmine’s father called out across the garden, adding, ‘I hope she’s not giving you too much trouble.’
‘None at all.’
She felt annoyed at her father in that moment for saying such a dismissively ‘dad’ thing. He knew she was no trouble; he was just saying that for something to say, something he had seen some other dad say, on TV maybe. Frank did things like this sometimes, and she’d heard him repeat other people’s opinions and pass them off as his. She wasn’t entirely sure her father had any real opinions of his own. Most of the things he said were second hand, something her mother had said before, or something he had seen on TV.
‘We’re off to work now. Keep an eye on the time, Jasmine.’
Again, his words annoyed her. Treating her like a baby. She heard him go back inside and she relaxed again.
‘I had better go. Where should I put this?’ she asked Tim. As she looked at him a smile broke out on his face.
‘Come here.’
He reached up and slid his hand under her hair; she flinched backwards a little until he cradled her head in his hand. He licked his thumb and placed his other hand on her cheek, sweeping away what she assumed was paint. She felt slightly limp. He gently removed his hand from her neck, and she felt as though she could fall straight backwards. Instead, she went back inside and upstairs.
She peeked out of her bedroom window when she got back to her room. He seemed so completely different to the man she had seen in town threatening that stranger. Maybe the other man had been asking for it – she didn’t know the full story. Either way, Tim’s behaviour was confusing her; one minute he was sweet and kind and at other times he was almost sinister. Jasmine felt like she had no choice but to keep an eye on him for now. He didn’t make any sense.
Chapter Thirteen
Now
I’m so torn between needing to know the truth and being afraid of it that I can barely sleep. Despite being warm in the day there is a wind outside in the night and it whips at the sea. I hear the faintest sound of a tree branch gently thumping against some guttering, almost like a tap on a door. I am standing in the dark looking outside, a small bottle of whisky in my hand, the third and final one from the minibar. I have all the lights off so I can see the outside better and not just my own reflection, my outline against the glass like a ghost. This place is full of ghosts, including me.
The front is empty now, no stragglers or ramblers, no dog walkers, no bohemian travellers. Just the promenade, the pebble beach and the sea. I remember in the winter how angry the sea used to be. How the town would gather after a heavy storm and fix what the storm had destroyed. In the past, walls had been pulled down, lamp posts felled, hotels flooded, windows broken, and all by water. Unless you witnessed it, it was hard to imagine, the tide coming in, crashing against the concrete jetties. It was a game to stand close to the edge and wait for a wave before we all ran away screaming and laughing, some of us not quite getting away in time to avoid the splash of salty water. I don’t think anyone really appreciated how dangerous it was; it was just a way to pass the time, a break in the routine.
Now that I am back here, I find myself remembering good things I hadn’t allowed myself to think about for fear of remembering something bad. The moment I walked away I closed a part of me down, like an attic with a rotten floor. No matter what treasures lay inside, I had no desire to investigate and risk losing myself to the past. Finding Chris was what saved me; if I had never met him I don’t know who I would be now. I dread to think. His kindness was what pulled me in; I needed it. I still need it. He will be up now; he goes in to work early. I grab my mobile and call him. I hope he has forgiven me for walking away. I half expect him not to answer – just being here makes me wonder if my life away wasn’t all just a dream. Maybe I never left at all.
‘Flick?’ he answers, and I feel tears appear almost immediately. I missed him more than I realised.
‘Hey. I just wanted to say hi.’
‘How is it going there? Are you OK?’ he says, warm as ever and I wonder if I imagined him being annoyed. I know that sometimes my paranoia gets the best of me. It’s served me well in the past, though.
‘I’m good, it’s good to hear your voice.’
‘I wasn’t sure if you would call,’ he said.
‘Why wouldn’t I? I miss you guys,’ I say, sad that I even have to tell him that I miss them.
‘You were just acting really strange before you left. I was worried about you.’
‘Are you still coming down at the weekend? Would be good to see you.’ I feel like I might never see him again. This place has a way of keeping you here. It’s hard to get away.
‘We will be down as soon as we can. I love you. I have to get in to work now.’ I hear a thickness in his voice, as though he is holding back tears.
‘I love you, too,’ I say, but he has already gone. I hope he knows without hearing me say it.
I straighten my hair and my fringe, line my eyes and add the red lips. I want to be out when the shops are opening, before the town livens up. It’s a good opportunity to talk to local people, if I can even get up the nerve. I wear boots today, even though it’s warm, because I plan on being out for most of the day and I don’t want to give myself any excuse to retreat back to the hotel like a coward.
I walk onto the promenade and along the front. I remember we used to sit in the shelter and shout at passers-by. Entertainment was what you made of it in a place like this. The shelter has had a couple of layers of paint added since I lived here, but it’s the same one. I remember when they installed it. I sit on the bench inside and run my fingers along the wooden slats. The first time we got drunk was in this little hut. We sneaked bottles of Vermouth and got one of the older boys in town to buy us cider. We drank the Vermouth straight and in too short a space of time. Afterwards we walked to the cemetery and jumped out at each other from behind gravestones. I still feel bad for throwing up on a grave, even though it was well over a hundred years old and clearly hadn’t been visited anytime recently. I had forgotten about that night until just now. I remember getting home and pretending I was sober and my mother playing along, or perhaps she was too blind to reality to notice, even though I could tell she knew I had been drinking.
I look up and down the promenade to check for anyone else, but there is no one apart from the occasional car on the adjacent road and so I lie on the concrete walkway. I have lain here before. I carved our initials in the wood under the bench. I wondered if it was preserved. It was; faded but the same and still recognisably in my handwriting. F & J forever. Except nothing lasts forever, not even in this picture-perfect little town.
Chapter Fourteen
I walk along the high street I have walked down a million times before – the same gift shops and charity shops, the same bakeries and clothing shops. I know where to start my search, although I’m still unsure of exactly what I’m looking for, still ignoring the whispers at the back of my mind that are telling me I already know what happened. I don’t know why I thought I needed to be here, all I know is that I do. I have to find out what I missed when I ran away. The library is as good a place as any to start.
Something catches my eye as I turn down the little road to go into the library. A car on the mini roundabout just on the edge of the centre. I see the tail end as it twists into the adjacent road; the colour looks like faded mahogany. I know that car. I stop dead for a few moments, scared that I am imagining things. Why would that car be her
e? Why now? Was I supposed to see it? I turn down the small side road into the library, partly to be off the main street. I feel sick at the thought that I have been discovered already. I enter the library and go to the reference section to look at old copies of the local newspaper, The Echo, to look for names, faces and stories about all the people I have tried to forget, all the people I left behind. I need to figure out who to speak to about the missing girl. In the back of my mind I keep seeing the car disappearing around the corner; did that really happen or am I just seeing an apparition of the past? This place is already playing tricks on me.
I remember the headlines when she disappeared. I remember being grateful it wasn’t me and then feeling guilty for that. I go to the archive and look for the dates; now that I am here I am ready to start making my way down the rabbit hole. I am embarrassed that I don’t remember the exact dates – I should remember, shouldn’t I? That summer changed my life. That was the summer I met him, that was the summer I realised you couldn’t even trust your best friend not to stab you in the back. That whole summer was a lesson in why you should never trust anyone. People lie and twist things to suit their own agenda; people manipulate you to get what they want. Even the people who say they love you more than anything in the world.
The Heatwave Page 5
