A Summer to Remember

by Victoria Cooke

  ‘Come on, Jeanie, she’s upset. Let her grieve.’ My dad bows his head.

  ‘We’ll let you grieve,’ my mum says. ‘But we’re here for you.’ I chance a quick look at her red-rimmed eyes. Her mouth is drooping at the corners as though someone is yanking an invisible string that’s been attached to them. My dad looks much the same. I go back to staring at the peeling wallpaper. From the corner of my eye, I see my dad take my mum’s arm in his, linking her for support. My chest aches for them through the dullness I already feel, but I can’t forgive them. They’re alive; they have each other. I’m practically dead, and I have nobody. Nobody who understands this mess, at least.

  ***

  A few days later, I open the curtains and the light almost blinds me. I shut them instantly, before opting for a compromise and leaving them slightly apart, allowing a thin ribbon of sunlight to stream in. I take a deep breath and walk to the doormat to scoop up the mail. When the doorbell rings I nearly jump out of my skin. I stay crouched by the mat, holding my breath. I see a shadow shuffle about outside through the frosted glass window, and they ring again. I daren’t move. Eventually, I hear them walk down the path, and I exhale. That was close.

  I scurry into the kitchen at the back of the house and sit at the table, fanning the mail out in front of me. Junk, junk, bills … then something catches my eye. It’s franked and looks official. I open it. It’s about Kev’s life insurance. They’re paying me some money, and when I look at the sum, all kinds of thoughts fly through my head. It’s enough to pay the house off with a bit extra, and for a split second, I feel a tiny bit relieved before I want to vomit with guilt. No amount of money can replace Kev. I push myself away from the table. The air feels close and thick and I need to go outside.

  I pull on my long coat, which doesn’t match my joggers and sweater but I don’t care. Grabbing my keys, I march outside and suck in a lungful of fresh air. It feels good. There are a few people walking down the road. Tourists, maybe? I ignore them and make my way towards the river.

  ‘Sam?’ I hear a woman’s voice. I keep walking, but I can hear someone jogging to catch me up. I speed up.

  ‘Sam?’ She’s getting nearer. ‘Sam?’ She pulls to a stop in front of me, and I have no choice but to grind to a halt. It’s my mum’s friend, Sue.

  ‘Love, I wanted to offer my condolences. It’s just awful what’s happened, and if there’s anything I can do …’ She cocks her head to the side and creases her brow.

  ‘Th-thank you, but there’s nothing.’ My dry lips crack as I force out the words. My voice sounds like someone else’s; it’s small and squeaky. I just wanted the words to come out and I used the front of my throat in haste. Now she’s going to be all sympathetic and I can’t stand it.

  ‘Any time you fancy a brew or a chat, please, pop round. My kettle is always on, and I always have cake.’ She presses her lips together, so the skin above and below squishes out.

  Cake? Is she for real? Kev has been in the ground just a few weeks, and she thinks cake is going to cheer me up? My fingers ball up and I squeeze as hard as I can, pressing my nails into my palm. I manage to meet her eyes and nod before scurrying back towards my house. I walk as fast as I can, fixing my eyes on the path ahead, and don’t stop until I’m putting my key in the front door.

  Once I’m inside, I slam the door closed and slump against it. I can’t do this. I can’t be around these people who pity me. Most of them probably wish it was me who died and Kev who lived. He was the sociable one, the life and soul of the party, the one always up for a laugh. I was just the accessory always with him. I imagine life will get easier, someone else will die and the villagers will find someone new to pity, but I’ll still be in this house, with the mirror in the hallway that’s not quite central to the radiator cover because Kev had already knocked two holes in the wrong place and I said no to any more. We’d laughed about it and went for a curry. I stare up at it, as it taunts me with Kev’s memory. Everything oozes with him, and whilst I love every inch of his soul left behind in this house, I can’t deal with seeing it every day. Perhaps one day I’ll come to look at it with nothing but fondness, but right now it just makes my angry wounds raw with sadness.

  I need to get away. I could rent somewhere, just for a bit. I could get a temporary job for a few months. Somewhere busy where nobody knows me, or somewhere by the sea. It will be good for me.

  ***

  The good thing about living in a quaint touristy village is that people always want to rent property. I listed the house with an online agency, and someone snapped up a six-month rental within days. So here I am, in London, south of the river, living in what barely qualifies as a flat. As I’m about to enter the converted townhouse it’s in, my phone buzzes. I glance at the screen, which says ‘Mum and Dad calling’. I hit decline and stuff the phone into the back pocket of my jeans before heading up to my new home. I feel guilty for not answering, but it’s been weeks now and I still can’t face talking to them. Plus, I don’t have the energy to explain myself. I did send them a letter, so they know where I am and that I’m safe but I’m not ready for anything more.

  I couldn’t face a flat share, and I couldn’t bear some of the less desirable areas, so I spent a lot more than planned on a lot less space than needed and ended up here. After a few weeks of applying for dead-end jobs, I decided it would be silly to ignore my field of marketing; it was never my job at a small marketing company that I needed to get away from. I love designing fliers and banners. Tomorrow I have a second interview for a marketing assistant post at an international company called Pink Apple Marketing.

  Chapter 22

  I didn’t sleep at all last night. The rational and irrational parts of my brain argued without respite, and to be fair, they both presented excellent cases. The kiss with Ethan was amazing. It catapulted me back to my school days and fulfilled my teenage fantasies of snogging the fittest lad in the school, and all of the fluttery feelings I imagined would be par for the course were there. The attention scratched an itch that I thought I’d slapped calamine lotion on a long time ago, and I can’t honestly say that’s a bad thing. The moment could have swept me away in a new direction, and I wanted to let it. I really did. Ethan is gorgeous, honest, reliable, sweet and wholesome but he’s also got this raw edge about him that gives me urges I haven’t felt in years. If you could write down the perfect traits of a man, on little pieces of confetti and put them into a bag, shake them up and shout ‘Hey presto’, Ethan would emerge.

  But – of course, there’s a ‘but’ – what is the point in allowing myself to fall for someone? What is the point in having feelings for someone who isn’t Kev and who I’ll never see again once I go back to England? It’s like swearing off meat and then enjoying a random burger ten years down the line. You might think you want it, it can do no harm, but you’d just feel disgusted with yourself afterwards.

  This situation isn’t good for Ethan either. If he’s ready to start a relationship, it needs to be with someone more local to Provincetown than London. It needs to be with someone of a similar mindset. Having a fling with me would be awful for him. And Lexi. I need to do us both a favour and be the logical person in this … whatever this is.

  ‘Wow’ is Bridget’s reaction when I fill her in after breakfast. ‘I never thought I’d hear of the day when Sam Butterfield kissed a man.’

  ‘I know,’ I say solemnly. ‘Two men, actually.’

  She gasps.

  ‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, the first was just a drunken mistake and doesn’t count.’

  ‘So, the kiss with Ethan counts?’ Her tone is mischievous.

  ‘Do you think it makes me a terrible person? It’s like I’m destroying Kev’s memory or something.’

  ‘No, no, honey, not at all,’ she soothes. ‘You’re a normal person continuing your life. It’s what we all want you to do.’

  ‘There’s something I have to confess.’ I pause as emotion bubbles up in the pit of my stomach.

>   ‘Go on.’

  ‘I can’t even remember Kevin’s voice.’ My own voice is a whisper as my chin trembles and a watery pain surges through the bridge of my nose and eyes. ‘I don’t remember how the love of my life sounded, and when I think about his face, all the images I see are from photographs, not real life.’ I’m sobbing now, uncontrollably.

  ‘Oh, honey, I wish I was there to wrap you up in a hug. Listen to me – you are not a bad person. This is just nature’s way of letting you know that you should move on, that it’s okay to live your life after losing someone.’

  I sniff.

  ‘You’ve dedicated eight years of celibacy to Kev’s honour. Think about it, what would Kev say to that? Would he be pleased? Would he want you to do eight more years?’

  I shake my head and realise she can’t see me. ‘No.’ I sniff again. ‘He’d call me a daft bint and tell me to be happy.’

  Bridget laughs. ‘There you go then.’

  ‘I know, but my rationale is solid. Nobody can replace Kev, so I don’t see the point in trying to. Remember when your favourite four-year-old gladiator sandals broke, and you bought six new pairs hoping to replace them? In the end, you threw them all in the bin in temper and ranted about the fact your feet would never be happy again.’

  ‘Yes.’ She sounds confused.

  ‘Well, your feet equal my heart.’

  There’s a silent pause.

  ‘But then I discovered espadrilles and my feet were happy again, just in a different style. Maybe your heart can be happy again on a different continent.’ Her tone is musical, and I sense she’s proud of that little retort. It makes me smile.

  ‘Are you saying you don’t want me to come back to England?’

  ‘What? No. Shut up, it’s your stupid analogy, and you know very well what I’m saying.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So, are you going to go and see this Ethan guy again?’ she asks hopefully. ‘He sounds much better than a pair of sandals.’

  ‘No. He’s in a similar place to me, and he has this sweet little girl. I don’t want to complicate their lives. Maybe, just maybe, when I get home, I’ll agree to go out with one of your third-floor-office guys.’

  She squeals, and dolphins gather in the bay.

  ***

  I spend the day by the pool and head to Harry and Barney’s for seven. They’ve booked us in at the secret restaurant because, I tease, they are apparently more high-maintenance than Ethan, and pizza on the beach just doesn’t cut the mustard.

  ‘It sounds awfully romantic,’ Barney says when I’ve told them the story of last night (minus the kiss).

  I take a sip of my wine and look at the window, unable to make eye contact.

  ‘There’s more, isn’t there?’ Harry says, his voice thickened with interest.

  I might as well tell them. At least it will make the other thing I have to tell them easier to bear. ‘We kissed.’

  Two gasps come almost too quickly.

  ‘That’s wonderful. Isn’t it?’ asks Barney.

  I sigh. ‘It was wonderful. It was perfect.’

  ‘There’s a “but” coming, I just know it.’ Harry leans back in his chair in anticipation.

  ‘There is a “but”.’ I tell them how I ran off and give them the shortened version of my rationale; London is a long way from Provincetown and I’m not looking for love.

  They don’t say anything, so I take it as my cue to drop my other bombshell. ‘It’s the reason I won’t be coming back to Provincetown during the rest of my stay in the US.’

  ‘Oh, Sam! Don’t do this again. Just talk to Ethan and agree to be friends,’ Barney pleads.

  ‘I can’t.’ I shake my head. ‘I’ve tried that, but every time I see him, we seem to get closer. Kissing was a step too far.’

  Harry and Barney look down at the table but remain silent. I know they want the best for Ethan too.

  ‘I’m going to miss you guys so much. You’ve made me feel so welcome here and saved me when I was ready to catch the first flight back to the UK and give up my career. I’ll be back to see you guys, I will, but I need to put some distance between me and Ethan before things get out of control. The thing between Ethan and me isn’t just attraction or lust. We’ve connected emotionally, and that’s the dangerous part. We live on different continents – there is literally an ocean between us.’

  ‘That’s poetic,’ Harry says.

  ‘So poetic,’ Barney agrees, eyes glistening.

  ‘So, you understand.’

  They nod. Barney blinks, allowing a tear to roll down his chubby cheek. I stand up and walk around the table to hug them both.

  ‘You guys can come to Boston anytime and visit me.’

  Harry looks at Barney and nods before looking back to me. ‘We do love the city, and we don’t go nearly enough. It will be good for us.’

  ‘See.’ I smile, reaching out and taking their hands.

  ‘The idea of you and Ethan is just so fairy-tale,’ Barney says, and I look down at the table.

  ‘Maybe in another life.’

  Chapter 23

  Work is going really well. The team is busy sourcing locations and Patrick and I have been brainstorming slogans. It’s been good to keep busy. When my brain idles, its default setting seems to be to fill the void with thoughts of Ethan.

  ‘Play hard with an edge,’ Patrick says, with a distinct lack of confidence.

  ‘Hmm …’ How do I say ‘that’s crap’ politely? ‘The whole ‘work hard, play hard’ thing has been done. What else have we got?’

  He sits back in his leather office chair and puts both hands behind his head. ‘Not much.’

  I tap my fingers on the desk. ‘It’s like I’m having a mental block. I need to get my creative juices flowing a bit.’

  ‘You’re right. Let’s head to the park, get some fresh air.’

  ‘That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.’

  Ten minutes later, we’re strolling through Boston Common. I’d managed to convince Patrick that ice creams were a good idea since the sun is out and it’s a hot day.

  ‘I’ve been trying my best to channel the brand but I don’t know if we’re overthinking the whole slogan thing. What about something simple like “kick back”?’ I lick a dribble of ice cream off my cone.

  ‘I like that, but it needs more – “kick back and relax”?’

  ‘Not really in keeping with sporty footwear.’

  ‘You have a point.’

  ‘“Stride forward, kick back”?’

  Patrick ponders this for a moment. ‘I like where you’re heading, it suggests you can wear these shoes for being active and chilling out. What about “storm forward, kick back”?’

  I nod. ‘Storm forward … it packs more of a punch!’

  ‘Did we just nail this thing to the ground?’ Patrick asks.

  I smile. ‘We nailed it down.’

  ‘A toast,’ Patrick says, holding up his ice cream, ‘to us!’

  I knock my ice cream against his and with my other hand swipe the screen of my phone to turn the camera mode on. ‘Hold on.’ I snap a picture of our two ice creams together in the sunlight, celebrating our victory. ‘We just worked together as a team.’ I smile.

  Later that night, I upload the picture onto the Pink Apple Instagram. The green grass behind the ice creams makes them pop and the sunlight striking them looks so arty that when I add a filter, it looks like the Instagram gods have taken it. ‘Sod it,’ I add it to my personal page too.

  ***

  The following Monday I’m walking out of the office for the day when I spot Harry and Barney waiting outside. My heart leaps in shock.

  ‘Surprise!’ they chorus.

  ‘Oh my god! I can’t believe you came.’ I clasp my hands to my mouth. After a busy week at work last week, a day at the Quincy Market, and Faneuil Hall and a sightseeing trip to Salem at the weekend, I’m ready for a drink with my pals.

  ‘We told you we loved the city,’ Harry says.
‘Now, who’s for a cocktail?’

  We head to a bar at Long Wharf and manage to find an outside table amidst the bustle. It’s in stark contrast to the relaxed feel of Provincetown, but I enjoy the vibrancy of this just as much.

  ‘So how have you been?’ Harry sips his drink. Because it’s so busy, we decided to keep the drinks order simple: three beers.

  ‘Good. Great. Work is great. I’ve managed to see new sights. It’s great.’

  Harry raises a suspicious eyebrow. ‘You’re saying “great” a lot.’

  ‘I’m sorry, are my synonyms not up to scratch for you? I’ll buy a thesaurus,’ I say dryly and quickly regret my defensiveness. It’s not their fault I miss Provincetown and feel crappy about it.

  ‘Ooh, excuse me,’ Harry says. ‘It just seemed a little staged, is all. Are you sure you’re okay?’

  ‘Yes.’ I let my shoulders slump. ‘No.’

  ‘Neither is Ethan, in case you’re wondering,’ Barney adds.

  Oh? ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘We’ve never seen him so blue. We really think you should go see him. Just have a conversation.’ As Barney speaks, Harry nods in agreement.

  ‘There’s nothing to talk about.’

  ‘He misses you. I think you’ve ignited something in him that he didn’t expect.’ Harry’s eyes are pleading.

  ‘Well, why isn’t he the one here telling me that?’ I fold my arms and then realise they could take that the wrong way. The last thing I want is Ethan turning up. ‘I mean, it seems like it’s actually something you want and not him.’

  Harry reaches across the table and takes my hand. ‘Ethan knows why you’re here and he respects that. It’s why he didn’t chase you down the beach, and it’s why he’s leaving you alone. He wouldn’t want you to feel forced into seeing him. He’d want you to want to see him.’

  I don’t say anything. I feel like clinging to Kev’s memory is taking more and more effort and that scares me.

  ‘Sam, you and Ethan adore each other. We’ve seen it even if you’re trying your best not to. We get it, relationships are scary things, especially when you’ve been hurt before. It took me a while to trust Harry,’ Barney says softly.