by Beth Corby
‘Ow!’ I yelp, more because of the noise than because I’m hurt. I stay perfectly still and concentrate on my breathing to make the nausea subside. Alec skids to a halt beside me.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks, panting a little after running down the hill.
I blink and prop myself up on one elbow. ‘I think so. Just a bit . . . surprised.’ I rub my knee.
We look at the upturned go-kart.
He frowns. ‘Perhaps the helmet was a good idea,’ he mutters. ‘Why didn’t you turn? Did the steering fail?’
‘No, I just . . . forgot.’ That sounds so lame.
‘You forgot? How could you forget?’
‘Easily, as it turns out! It’s not like I’ve done this before.’
‘No, but it’s a fairly basic part of go-karting!’
I give him a hard look. ‘Well, you do it then!’
Alec shakes his head, and I can tell he’s starting to find it funny. ‘OK, OK, you forgot,’ he concedes.
‘And it won’t happen again,’ I say firmly.
‘You’ll go again?’ he asks with insulting incredulity.
‘And I’ll remember to turn,’ I assure him. I get up slowly, brush myself down and stomp off up the hill. Alec gives the go-kart a quick once-over and follows.
We start from the same point, but this time, as I sit on my plank, I feel a bit braver. I lift my feet and set off down the hill. This time I feel the exhilaration as I gather speed and the wind on my face makes my eyes water. I can’t help squealing as I bounce over a hummock, and my stomach flips. What’s more, I remember to turn and come to a stop with me still on the kart! Alec’s cheering, and I get up beaming with pride.
‘See, I told you I’d remember,’ I say as he comes down to meet me.
‘Do you want to try a little higher?’ he asks, and I nod eagerly.
Over the course of the next hour we start further and further up the hill, and I’m managing it better each time. By the end, I’m looking down the length of the entire slope.
This is the big one. This is as good as it’s going to get.
Alec’s talking seriously, pointing out various bumps and dips. ‘So keep it steady, and turn gradually from where we made the first run.’
I nod, taking my seat on the now all-too-familiar plank.
‘You will be going quite a bit faster,’ he warns, ‘so put your heels down if you need to.’
I nod.
‘Ready?’ he asks. I give him a racing driver-type salute and lift my feet, excitement gripping my stomach as the kart gains momentum.
He’s right, I’m going quite a bit quicker than last time and it’s the most intoxicating feeling in the world. I have to narrow my eyes against the wind, and my whole body is tingling as the world rushes past. But something’s wrong. The plank I’m sitting on is juddering and I can feel the kart pulling to one side.
Before I can think what to do, a bump catches the left rear wheel and yanks it backwards. The kart veers violently to one side, and suddenly I’m no longer on it. Thanks to my first run, I remember to let go of the rope, but I’m tumbling faster and faster and can’t slow myself down. I’ll break something if I stick my arms out, so I tuck myself tighter and close my eyes, hoping against hope that I don’t hit the wall at the bottom. The grass is rasping against my helmet, alternating with Alec’s shouting for what seems like an age, until I come to a stop on my back, thankfully without hitting the wall. I lie on the grass with my eyes closed, because when I open them, the world won’t stop spinning.
‘Hannah? Hannah, talk to me!’ yells Alec, falling to his knees next to me. He clutches my hand.
I stare up at him for a few dazed seconds, watching him weave about.
‘Is Uncle Donald trying to kill me?’ I ask, and Alec lets out a relieved laugh and rocks back on his heels.
‘Get your breath back. Does anything hurt?’ he asks anxiously.
I blink several times. ‘I don’t think so, but that’s enough death-defying stunts for one day.’
‘Agreed,’ says Alec, sitting beside me and running his hands through his hair. His hands are shaking. ‘I don’t think the go-kart can take any more, either.’
‘Great.’ I shield my eyes from the sun and release the helmet clip.
Alec reclines, propping himself on one elbow and starts picking grass out of my hair. It’s unnervingly intimate, and I can’t seem to pull my eyes away from his. ‘Can you sit up?’ he asks.
I carefully raise myself to a sitting position, but I still feel dizzy. ‘I’m going to ache tomorrow. And,’ I add wincing, ‘I think my scabs have come off.’ I look over at where the go-kart is lying twisted and broken. ‘God, I want a cup of tea.’
‘You’ve earned one – and a new task!’
‘So I’ve passed, despite the helmet?’ I ask, taking it off.
‘After today, I shan’t let you out without it.’
‘Wow, thanks,’ I say, examining it critically. ‘It really goes with all my clothes.’
‘Women!’ he says, and pulls away from my half-hearted punch. ‘Come on – let’s collect our wreckage and see what Mrs C has rustled up for lunch.’
‘And then we can find out how Donald intends trying to finish me off next,’ I say brightly. ‘I hope it’s with cake.’
Mrs Crumpton insists on checking me over in the kitchen after lunch. She tuts disapprovingly at the state of my legs and suggests I head up for a bath, which sounds amazing. As I shuffle gingerly up the stairs, I hear her ranting at the kitchen ceiling.
‘Look at the state of ‘er! She’s hardly been ‘ere five minutes and she’s a mess! She’s not had all your years of bein’ a schoolboy, you know. You look after ‘er, you hear?’
I grin as I pass out of earshot, and hug her concern to myself as I run my bath.
The water is hot and I can’t help wincing as I lower myself in and it bites into my scrapes but, after a few seconds, the warmth starts to soothe my muscles and I stretch out and relax. I hadn’t realised how tense I was, but then I suppose facing your fears will make you feel a bit on edge. Not that I think this task was just about that.
Remembering Donald’s insistence that Alec help me, I think he’s working on pulling Alec out of his grief, too. I lie back and slide deeper into the water. Whatever else Donald intended, I certainly experienced the exhilaration he hoped I would feel, and I loved it, despite the crash. I let my eyes close, allowing myself to unwind. And Alec did join in, and even he would have to admit that at times he was really enjoying himself.
Realising the water’s almost cold, I get out, wrap myself in a towel, and pad back to my room.
There’s an envelope on the bed – Alec must have been in and left it there while I was in the bath. Keen to see what Donald has to say next, I quickly towel-dry my hair, put on a long T-shirt, and climb under the covers before tearing it open.
My Dearest Hannah,
Well done: another task under your belt. That’s my girl! Did you build a good go-kart? Was it fast? I bet it was! Did you feel the thrill of speeding down the slope as well as the joy of seeing something through from its conception to its conclusion – and perhaps even destruction?
When I was young, I was very proud of my go-kart. It was the best in the neighbourhood. It had room for both me and my friend, Jimmy Bartle, who had a pair of motorbike goggles. We thought we looked the business as we raced down our local hill, dodging cars and being shouted at by the locals. It’s a miracle we weren’t killed, but somehow, through good steering no doubt, cars and go-kart never actually met. Needless to say, our parents didn’t approve, but then karting would never have been so much fun if they had.
Well, one day, Betty got it into her head that she wanted to ride my go-kart. I’m not sure what brought this on, but with arms folded and pouting like a milk jug she demanded a turn. I told her it was absolutely out of the question because she was both too little and a girl. (Don’t start, she was!) She stamped her foot and threatened to tell our parents if I didn’t
let her have a turn. So, after a lot of arguing, and Jimmy storming off, I concluded that I had to agree (first mistake).
Being a responsible older brother, I dragged the go-kart to a field. There were brown cows in there, but no bulls or cars, so it was comparatively safe. I hauled the kart up the hill and explained the rules to Betty – no standing, no touching the steering rope and no leaning. We got on and it began well. We set off at a sedate pace down the incline, with Betty sat in front and me behind (second mistake), and with the cows watching us. All seemed fine until Betty, laughing hysterically, took it into her head to grab for the steering rope. We tussled for possession, but despite my best efforts, Betty finally caught hold of one side and yanked it as hard as she could, causing us to head straight for the herd of cows. I tried to correct our course, but Betty still had hold of the rope and I had to hit her hand to make her let go. I then quickly turned, but rather than heading for the dry grass I had originally aimed for, we sailed straight at the gate. The cows had trampled the ground there into watery mud, and as soon as our wheels hit the mud, we bogged down and slammed forward. I kept a tight hold on Betty to stop her hitting the gate, but in the process impaled my knee on the rough wooden side of the go-kart.
Betty instantly started howling because her dress was spattered with mud and, most likely, cowpat. Apart from that, she was unharmed. I, on the other hand, was bleeding and my knee was really starting to hurt. We struggled free from the kart, hid it in a hedge and hobbled for home – a very sorry pair.
On the way, well aware of the trouble I would be in, I tried to convince Betty to say we had slipped down the riverbank – mud and injuries accounted for. No one would be in trouble and we would be one-up on the parents, or so I thought (third mistake). But as soon as we entered the house, Betty ran screaming and crying to our mother, telling her that I had forced her to go on my go-kart and purposefully ruined her dress. She continued to say that I had hit her and told her to lie about falling in the river.
I stood in the hall fuming, while trying very hard to summon up a shamed face for my mother. The telling off that followed barely penetrated as Betty’s smirking face peeked out at me from behind our mother’s skirt. My father’s punishment, however, was far more injurious, for my go-kart was collected, mounted on the chopping block out back and shorn of its essentials as dramatically as if it were on Tower Green. I wept as he destroyed it and Jimmy Bartle didn’t speak to me for a week! After that, he kept saying ‘what did you expect from that little sneak?’, and I’m afraid he was right.
Jimmy forgave me, and my knee did heal, although I still have the scar. My relationship with Betty, however, was damaged beyond repair. Before then, we’d roughed along together, but after that day, I loathed her. It was the turning point in our relationship, which is why it has earned its place in my history.
On a more positive note, Jimmy and I built another go-kart and even raced it in that same field. On one occasion, Jimmy was butted clean over the hedge when the farmer exchanged the cows for a bull. I could only wish it had been Betty.
Implacably yours,
Donald
PS I almost forgot to give you your next task. You must go swimming in a river. ‘Wild swimming’ they call it now – stuff and nonsense. Swim in the sunshine and swim in the rain. They are quite different experiences, and nothing like the swimming baths. Take Alec.
I sink back into the soft pillows. So that’s why Uncle Donald and Grandma Betty don’t get on. I can’t help feeling a bit let down. I thought there’d be more to it than a go-kart shorn of its essentials, and when I think of what Lauren did to me, I can’t help feeling my dislike of her is more justified. I bury the thought since it doesn’t belong here at The Laurels, and roll out of bed.
Swimming, though . . . I like the sound of that, especially in the sun. But with Alec, again. I mean, he’s a lot more friendly than he was, and he’s certainly been supportive when I’ve hurt myself, but . . . I don’t know . . . it feels complicated, somehow, in a way it didn’t just a few days ago.
I dress quickly and trot downstairs. Alec’s in Donald’s study, busy with paperwork and I lean on the doorpost, unsure whether to interrupt him or not. I knock, trying not to feel awkward after our conversation in here last night.
He starts, but then smiles when he sees it’s me.
I hold up the letter. ‘The next task is swimming,’ I say with a tinge of excitement.
‘Swimming?’ He stretches. ‘OK. Any stipulations, specifications or suggestions?’
‘He wants us to swim in a river, in the sun and in the rain.’
‘Shouldn’t be a problem. You said “us”?’ My stomach flips. I hand him the letter and take a seat while he reads. ‘Makes sense,’ he says, handing it back. ‘Particularly since I know the area and I can make sure you don’t drown.’
The cheek! Just when I thought he was starting to see me as more than a gold-digging child he needs to babysit. ‘I can swim,’ I tell him frostily.
He regards me appraisingly. ‘Good – I hate to think what Mrs Crumpton will do to me if I bring you back damaged again.’ His frown deepens and I smirk. ‘There’s a nice little place out near Attscombe,’ he says, his eyes on me. ‘It has shallows, depths and an island with trees that dip their boughs in the water. It’s a beauty spot – when it isn’t covered in inflatable dinghies.’
‘Sounds perfect.’
‘And if Mrs C makes a picnic, we could make a day of it?’ he asks, watching me closely.
I hesitate, but there’s no time to figure out how I feel about spending a whole day with him – and at his suggestion. ‘Great,’ I say lamely.
‘How about tomorrow?’
‘Fine. Do you know what the weather’s going to be like?’
‘You have to swim in the sun and the rain, so does it matter?’
It’s an annoyingly good point. ‘Let’s hope it isn’t just cloudy, then.’
‘Or hailing,’ agrees Alec, his mouth quirking at the corner. ‘But chances are we’ll be able to tick off one or the other.’
I tip my head in agreement, and look at the paperwork spread out in front of him. There’s a lot of it.
‘Stuff for probate,’ says Alec sadly, and I can’t help remembering how vulnerable and honest he was last night.
‘How are you doing today?’ My voice has a tenderness to it that surprises even me.
‘Better. Are you keeping an eye on me now, then?’
I blush, not sure if I’ve crossed some line. ‘No, I was just wanting to make sure if . . . well, you know . . . if you wanted to talk, then . . .’
‘No, I’m fine. Difficult times,’ he says quickly. ‘I’m just busy.’ He bends over his paperwork and I take the hint.
‘OK, I’ll leave you to it,’ I say, getting up.
He nods. ‘Thanks for letting me know about the swimming.’
I run back upstairs to check if I have my swimsuit. I don’t, so another trip to the 24-hour supermarket is needed, but I might ask Mrs Crumpton if I can borrow a towel.
Chapter 12
Last night, after a quick trip to the supermarket and finding myself once again left to my own devices, my writing started to flow in a way it hasn’t for years. It was so utterly absorbing that I lost all sense of time, and when I finally looked up at the clock it was very late. Tired but elated, I got ready for bed and lay in the darkness. I heard Alec come upstairs and not long after, the gentle sound of an acoustic guitar made its way from his room. It was lovely: pure, tender and slightly mournful. I was surprised by how well he played – he was obviously being modest when he said he could only play a few chords, and I drifted off to the sound of his playing. I had the deepest sleep I can remember in a long time.
This morning I feel properly refreshed, and as I pack my new swimming costume, with my toes crunching into the sun-baked carpet, it feels like it’s one of those summers that will stretch on forever. I skip down the stairs, leaving my bag next to Alec’s rolled towel on the bottom step.
Then I double back and move it up one step in case it looks like wishful thinking, and join Alec in the dining room for breakfast.
He gives me a quizzical look as I cheerfully plonk myself down at the table. ‘Good morning. Sleep well?’ he asks as I drizzle honey on my porridge.
‘Very well! Near death experiences seem to suit me,’ I add quickly, not wanting to admit I heard him playing in case he gets embarrassed.
Still regarding me with perplexed amusement, Alec indicates a large wicker picnic hamper that wouldn’t look out of place on the set of Downton Abbey. ‘Mrs C has prepared us a picnic,’ he says with suitable awe.
‘Wow. It’s enormous!’
As she comes in, Mrs Crumpton gives me a curt nod, which from her is the equivalent of sweeping me into her arms and dancing in circles. I grin at her.
‘Catering for the week, Mrs C?’ asks Alec, indicating the basket.
‘It’ll all go. You’ll see,’ she says, and walks out.
‘If we eat all that, we’ll sink like stones,’ Alec whispers.
It is ridiculously huge. ‘Or get cramp. Will she be very offended it we don’t eat it all?’
‘Heartbroken,’ says Alec.
Scraping the last of the porridge from my bowl, I put down my spoon and go over to try and lift it.
‘Blimey!’ Mrs Crumpton is stronger than she looks. ‘No one’s upset her recently, have they?’ I ask, suddenly suspicious.
Alec snorts and comes over. ‘You think the postman’s in there?’ He lifts the basket with both hands. ‘Bloody hell!’ he says, putting it down again. ‘I think he might be!’
‘Shh!’ I giggle, checking Mrs Crumpton isn’t within earshot.
Alec flexes his muscles for dramatic effect. ‘Don’t worry milady, I’ll manage, though mi’ back ain’t so good.’ He lets out a comedy wheeze as he picks it up. ‘Open the car! Open the car,’ he shouts as he staggers out into the hall. I’m so surprised by this new, silly side of him, that I almost don’t follow him out. Then, as his words sink in, I hare off after him, hoping to open the boot before he makes it to the car.
