A Summer to Remember

by Victoria Cooke

  ‘I just thought she’d get fed up of him after a few years. You’re right, he’s a lovely guy but so unstable. She needs someone more … dependable.’

  ‘What can we do about it?’ my mum says. I can’t listen anymore. All the weekends we’ve spent together eating Sunday lunches and going for walks in the countryside together, I thought they loved Kev. Was it all a lie? My blood burns with rage as I slam the gate shut and march around the corner.

  ‘Oh, hi, Sam.’ My mum’s face already has red blotches of guilt smattered across it.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m not staying. I know exactly what you think of Kev and our marriage now.’ My voice is trembling. ‘The good news is, you won’t have to worry about us anymore because what you don’t know won’t hurt you. I never want to speak to you again.’

  ‘Sam?’ My dad’s voice is thick with culpability.

  ‘Save it.’ As I turn to leave, I see Kev standing behind me wearing a puzzled expression as he balances a top-heavy carrier bag in both arms.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he says, wide-eyed, almost scared-like.

  ‘Oh Kev.’ His innocent face makes me want to cry. ‘We’re going home.’

  Chapter 19

  We head out to the cycle route, Ethan ahead, carrying the rucksack. The sun glints off the shiny metal of his bike. I follow, admiring the view, which admittedly has Ethan in it. The long grass sprouting from the dunes that line the path blows in the breeze, and the ocean crashes against the shore beyond. Once we’re on the smooth tarmac trail and have found a rhythm, Ethan slows and waits until I’m cycling beside him.

  ‘You can’t beat this view,’ he says, looking out over the bay as we reach Race Point Beach.

  ‘It’s so unspoilt.’ I’m more used to the commercial beaches of Southend-on-Sea and Brighton. ‘I can’t believe we could cycle here in less than half an hour.

  ‘It’s one of the many reasons I love living here.’ He looks wistful for a moment. ‘I think a few shots of you riding up and down this stretch will do it.’

  I look around. I love the rugged natural aspect of it. ‘It’s perfect,’ I say, and we film the last bit of footage for the day. Being busy helps my consciousness of Ethan subside a little.

  ‘It’s a great spot for a picnic,’ he says, gesturing to his backpack.

  ‘Ahh, that’s why it was so important. Food.’

  He pats his stomach. ‘I’m a growing boy.’ He’s joking, obviously, but for some reason, it sets me off thinking about those muscles again, and the thought of them getting even bigger is a bit too much. I swallow hard.

  ‘Let’s eat,’ I manage.

  We leave our bikes, and Ethan carries the bag to the water’s edge and unpacks a picnic blanket. He gestures for me to sit.

  ‘My finest culinary creation,’ he says, unwrapping a sub roll sandwich before handing me half. I force my eyes towards the ocean because I can’t help but watch him.

  ‘Sorry, it’s not actually a picnic, it’s just my lunch, but if I’d known you were coming I’d have at least made you a full sandwich of your own.’

  ‘Your generosity is astounding.’ I nudge him playfully. ‘So, how did you come to know Harry and Barney so well?’ I ask after a few mouthfuls of sandwich, which is, as he promised, delicious.

  He purses his lips and shifts position, shoving his hair out of his eyes. I’m sensing some tension. ‘They helped me through something a few years ago,’ he says, and I nod.

  ‘You sure know who your friends are when you’re going through something awful.’ I let out a dry, humourless laugh.

  ‘You’ve had that experience too? Though I’m sensing not quite the positive one I had with Barney and Harry.’

  Damn it. I didn’t really want to get into the whole Kev thing, but for some reason, I needed Ethan to know I could be there for him if he wanted to talk. In hindsight, mentioning it was a dumb move, and now I have no choice but to see this conversation through. Otherwise, I’ll just look like I was fishing for attention.

  I can remember it so vividly, the still, darkness of the house. The fact none of our so-called friends came in the weeks that followed his death. I saw them at the funeral, when they scrambled for words to say and came up with a few tired clichés. Having Barney and Harry around would have been a huge help, I’m sure.

  I draw a deep breath of my own and begin. ‘I was married. A long time ago, that is. Kev found me on the eve of the millennium and sort of changed my perspective on life.’ As my mind wanders back to first meeting Kev, I realise I’m smiling. I feel Ethan’s eyes on me, so I compose myself and continue. ‘I was quiet at school, a bit of a loner I suppose, and I never felt good enough for anyone, and no matter how hard I tried, I never quite cracked it. I was always under the radar at best and I wanted to go back to my home village and make an impression to a bunch of people who probably couldn’t have cared less. That is until Kev came along and properly saw me.’ I rub my upper arms and smile. ‘We were inseparable, and naturally we got married. Lived happily ever after blah blah blah. We were this sickeningly sweet pair. He was spontaneous and I was the planner but we worked well together; the strength to each other’s weakness. People sometimes thought we were putting on our affection because it was so rare to see it, I suppose, especially after so many years together. But the truth was, we couldn’t take our hands off one another.’ I stop before the moisture in my eyes becomes too hard to conceal.

  ‘What happened?’ he asks softly. ‘If you want to tell me, that is.’

  I dab my eyes with the sleeves of my hoodie and study the damp patch the action leaves. Surprisingly, I do want to tell him. ‘We’d stayed up all night, chatting about starting a family. We were both so excited we talked about names, nursery colours, childcare. Everything. Then the next day we dragged ourselves out of bed, bleary-eyed after just a few hours’ sleep, kissed, and went to work in a happy daze. Bang on seven o’clock that evening, I got a call from his mobile.’ I stop as my voice starts to tremor, but a warm hand on my arm gives me the strength to continue. ‘It was the police.’ I pull in a lungful of air.

  ‘You don’t have to say any more,’ Ethan says, stroking my arm, but I’m committed; I can’t pull back from the story. It’s been trapped inside of me for so long, it needs to come out.

  ‘He’d been to the chemist on the way home from work, to get ovulation strips. We hadn’t even talked about using them, but he was just so excited about us trying. That’s what he was like. He’d do anything to help his cause, or anyone else’s for that matter. The hospital gave me the little pink gift bag he’d been carrying them in when …’ My shoulders judder and loud sobs begin to escape. Reliving the moment never gets easier. ‘He crashed his motorbike into the back of a car that had stopped suddenly because some drunk had stumbled into the road. His reactions were probably a bit slower because he was so tired … The impact broke his neck. I got to the hospital as soon as I could, but it was too late.’ The last two words are fractured by the wrecking ball in my throat.

  ‘Oh, Sam. I’m so sorry,’ Ethan says, and I notice his jaw tense as he stares out across the water.

  The hollowness I felt that day, when everything inside me was ripped out and shoved back in, is still as raw as it was eight years ago. That’s the first time I’ve ever told anyone the story. Everyone just sort of knew, and since I moved to London I’ve told people I lost my husband and how wonderful he was, but that’s as far as I’ve ever gone. Even Bridget doesn’t know the full story. She asked once and I practically bit her head off and she’s not mentioned it since. I wipe my nose and eyes. I must look a real state.

  ‘It was a long time ago, and I’ve come to realise that not everyone gets to experience what we had. I’m lucky to have that to hold on to.’

  He nods. ‘I get it. I had it too.’

  I look at him, still staring across the water, his strong, tanned profile twitching ever so slightly in the shadow of the sun, and remember what Harry and Barney said about Ethan being off limits to
women.

  ‘Want to talk about it?’

  ‘Nope.’ He wraps up the last bite of his sandwich and stands, dusting down his shorts. ‘Shall we make a move?’

  ‘But what about lunch? We just got here.’

  He rubs the scruff on his chin and shakes his head as though he’s trying to rid himself of something. ‘Sorry, you’re right. Do you want a beer?’

  I study him, confused, as he sits back down and pops the lid off a bottle of Budweiser. He takes a long slug before passing me the bottle.

  ‘I don’t normally drink at lunchtime. This one was left in the bag from a fishing trip I took with Zac a few weeks ago.’

  ‘You don’t have to explain,’ I say, thankful for the taste of the warm beer. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. I just wanted you to know that I’m, y’know, here if you wanted to talk.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry, I don’t do this. People have been on at me to share or talk ever since it happened, and I suppose I’m a bit like you in that I want to keep my private memories … sacred or something.’

  ‘That’s completely okay.’

  ‘My wife, Nicole, was my high school sweetheart. In a small town like this, you meet someone you like, you keep them.’ He smiles. ‘She was killed too. Car accident. Six years ago …’ He pauses and rubs his face. ‘Six years to the day I met you in Boston.’

  Cogs start to whirl and click into place. ‘God, I’m so sorry. So, when you said you were having a bad day, you really were having an awful day.’ I feel like a narcissistic idiot looking back on my behaviour that day. Why the hell didn’t I just leave him alone? All because I couldn’t get a decent selfie.

  ‘It’s no excuse for being so rude to you, but I’d just been to the Public Garden in Boston to see the swan boats there. They’re these cheesy boat things with huge plastic swans on that Nicole used to love. Every time we were in the city she’d drag me on them. Anyway, they’d brought back a few memories, and you caught me in the middle of them.’

  My stomach turns. ‘I bet the last thing you needed was a giddy Brit with a camera and bags of enthusiasm.’

  ‘You deserved some good manners at least.’

  ‘That’s true,’ I say. He smiles, and its brightness makes me smile too.

  ‘Anyway, Barney and Harry knew me from the bike place – would you believe that they used to cycle a lot? They were so supportive and helpful when they heard the news, especially with Lexi.’ He casts me a sideways look, waiting, I think, for a reaction.

  ‘Lexi?’

  He clamps his lips together and breathes out through his nose. ‘My daughter.’

  Chapter 20

  Daughter? Wow. I nod encouragingly, trying to remain impartial to this huge bombshell.

  ‘She was only six months old at the time, so you can imagine how difficult it was. Nicole had always done everything for Lexi – I was in Boston a lot, working at the university. I knew come summer, it would ease off and I’d be home to care for that little baby and give Nicole a break. She was finding it tough, but …’ His voice cracks, and I flex my fingers, resisting the temptation to wrap my arms around him. ‘Well, we didn’t make it to summer.’

  I swallow back my emotion, but it feels like my heart is breaking all over again. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s what everyone says. “I’m sorry”, like it was their fault, like they can take away a chunk of your pain with those words.’

  ‘I know,’ I whisper as I’m catapulted back to 2010, when I wanted to scream at people, You’re not sorry, you’re sorry you have to deal with me and feel awkward, you’re sorry you don’t know what to say to me. I can’t believe I’ve just used those words.

  ‘It’s an instinctive reaction, I guess. People know it’s a tried and tested “safe” response. They don’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing.’

  ‘What would you have wanted to hear?’ I ask gently, not sure if I would even have an answer to that.

  He hugs his knees to his chest and reaches down to rub a scuff mark on his trainer. ‘Our families told me how much she loved me, how her memory will live on in Lexi and so on, but it was all just words; they couldn’t quite cut through the pain I was in. I guess I wanted people to let me know that whatever I was feeling was okay. Even the anger, y’know? I needed someone to tell me to pull myself together because I needed to be there for Lexi. It was Barney and Harry who actually said those things in the end. It must have taken a lot of balls for them to do that, because I’ll admit I wasn’t particularly nice to be around during that time.’

  ‘I didn’t have anyone like that around me. Our friends didn’t even visit, they just sent texts to say they were giving me space but they were “there for me”.’ I let out a dry laugh. ‘But I had pity by the bucketload from our relatives, neighbours and random villagers. Everyone buzzed around me, wanting to know what they could do. Could they get me some shopping in? Make me a meal? Drive me anywhere? I wanted to shout at them that it wasn’t my neck broken in the accident, I was fully able-bodied, and that a broken heart didn’t render you completely useless.’ Even though it did.

  ‘People mean well.’

  ‘I know. I guess I just wanted someone to sit with and reminisce, someone who didn’t react with awkward aversion if I cried or yelled about how unfair it was that Kev was gone, not space or pity.’

  We sit in silence for a while, listening to the waves crash against the shore, sipping the beer, lost in our own memories.

  ‘How’s your daughter now?’ I can’t imagine how a child copes with losing a parent.

  ‘Great; full of energy, very cheeky and far too big for her boots.’ He laughs. ‘Obviously, she doesn’t remember her mother. She knows her mom died when she was a baby, and we talk about Nicole and look at pictures, but she’s fine. She has the whole family doting on her, though. She spends far too much time at my mother’s place and has the sass to prove it.’

  I smile. ‘It sounds like you’ve done an amazing job.’

  ‘Believe me, it was a team effort.’ He glances at me and our eyes meet, freezing me for a moment. ‘I blamed myself for so long that I couldn’t even look after Lexi at first.’

  ‘I know how that feels. I wished I hadn’t kept Kev up all night. I blamed myself for the fact he was tired, and if he hadn’t gone for that ovulation kit … But we mustn’t. Sometimes things are out of our control, and sometimes all we can do is remember the good times.’ I smile and rub his back instinctively.

  ‘The best times were the simple times. Her painting Lexi’s room when she was seven months’ pregnant and splashing me when I teased that I hated the colour.’

  ‘Pizza in bed for breakfast the morning after a night out. Pretending we’d got our extravagant wedding favours from a posh department store when really we’d spent all the money we’d saved for them on a posh meal that we couldn’t afford and bought them from the pound shop.’ I smile.

  Ethan’s arms loosen around his legs and he lets his shoulders drop. ‘I haven’t spoken like this in a long time. It’s nice to have someone to talk to who understands what it’s like.’ He glances at me. ‘I wish you didn’t have to go through what you did to understand.’

  ‘I know. I get it. Me too.’ I offer the last of the beer to Ethan who shakes his head, so I drink it and take the bottle to a bin near where we left our bikes. When I get back, Ethan stands up and stretches his long limbs.

  ‘Do you want to meet Lexi? She’s at Barney and Harry’s, modelling for some face paint pictures for their Facebook business page.’

  I freeze. Meeting his daughter feels like it would be crossing another line, taking one step further towards the unknown and crossing into a territory that I’d vowed never to enter again. But it’s his little girl, and if I had a little girl, it would break my heart if someone refused to meet her.

  ‘I’d love to.’

  We cycle back to the shop then walk the short distance to Harry and Barney’s place. I start to get butterflies as we near the house, which is a strange
reaction to meeting a six-year-old, but it isn’t just any six-year-old – it’s Ethan’s six-year-old.

  ‘Hi, Ethan,’ Barney coos as he swings the door open. He spots me. ‘And Sam.’ He elongates my name, and a small smile dances on his lips.

  ‘Daddy!’ A little girl with sandy brown hair comes running down the hallway before leaping at Ethan, who catches her and wraps her in his strong arms. ‘These guys can do mermaids, and pandas, but their attempts at Paddington Bear are actually dial-a-bolical.’ Her voice is sweet, thickened with a confidence I’ve never encountered in a young child before.

  ‘That’s great, pumpkin, but you know, if these guys can’t even do Paddington Bear, they can’t be that good,’ he stage-whispers.

  She giggles. ‘If you want something doing, do it yourself,’ she says before sliding herself down and running back to the kitchen.

  ‘I warned you about the sass, didn’t I?’ Ethan says.

  ‘She’s adorable.’

  ‘For the record,’ Barney says, ‘Paddington is very difficult to do as a face paint. She wouldn’t sit still for the fine detail, and if she’d have just let me put a red hat on her …’ Harry puts a hand on Barney’s shoulder, which he rightfully takes as a signal to stop talking.

  When we walk into the kitchen/dining area, Lexi is perched on a stool at the breakfast bar and has managed to cover herself in brown paint. She looks pointedly at Barney. ‘Okay, it’s harder than it looks.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Barney says, visibly relieved.

  ‘Although, I’m only six and three-quarters, not a grown-up like you. And I’m not charging twenty bucks for my services. You should really keep practising.’

  I clasp my hand to my mouth to stifle a giggle as Barney’s face reddens. He looks like he’s gearing up to argue back but thinks better of it.

  ‘Anyway, Lexi, I’d like you to meet my friend, Sam,’ Ethan says, lifting her off the stool.

  She looks up at me with big hazel eyes and tilts her head slightly. ‘You’re very pretty.’

  ‘Oh, I, er … Thank you.’ I smile. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Lexi.’ I hold out my hand, not knowing what the correct protocol is for meeting a child like this one. She takes it and shakes it hard whilst studying me. Her eyes are deep, soulful even. It’s hard to tell through the brown paint and whiskers, but she almost looks as though she wants to ask me something, but I can’t tell what.