by Anna Wilson
She eagerly began to read. Her anger at Kenan’s behaviour silenced the nagging voice that told her she was the snoop now.
Mum, why did you fight about her coming? I want to know the real reason. I know you said about the will, but so what? Doesn’t tell us who she really is, does it? And why should that make you so mad at Dad? He’s gone all weird and quiet. He’s either cooking all the time or in his study and he won’t tell me what’s going on. I wish she’d never come to
Soft padding footsteps on the landing caused Summer to start away from the screen, mid-sentence.
She raced to the door, but reached it only in time to hear another door slam. She peeked out. There was no one there.
There were some books on the floor, though, by the bookcase outside her room. Had they been there before? Had they been knocked from the shelves by someone rushing past?
Summer’s nerves were jangling now. She made herself look carefully up and down the landing. Had someone been watching her? If so, it could not have been Kenan: he would surely have rushed at her the minute he saw her in his room, reading his personal correspondence. He would have shouted abuse, not spied on her and scuttled away.
The house was quiet. There was no one anywhere nearby.
Summer felt shame wash through her. She was the one at fault, not Kenan. She had intruded on her cousin’s privacy; judged him too harshly. He was not a mean, bullying character, he was simply a boy who missed his mother, who was upset that his parents had been fighting – because of her. He understood just as little as she did the reasons why he had to share his life with some unknown relative.
Maybe they had more in common than either of them would be willing to admit.
She hovered in the doorway and glanced back at the laptop. Sunlight caught on an object on the bed, grabbing her attention.
An iPod. Same silver facing as hers. Same white protective backing.
So he did nick it!
She went over and picked it up, touching the button at the base of the screen. A song she didn’t recognize.
Not mine. Just a coincidence then.
She flicked through the music.
A couple of albums of stuff she would never have listened to in a million years; hard-core guitars and loads of mad, shouty screaming.
Had he really got the exact same iPod as hers? Or had he pinched hers and wiped it, replacing it with some of his own rubbish taste in music? She put it in the pocket of her hoody, then immediately withdrew it and threw it back on to the unmade bed, clenching her teeth in frustration.
If I take it, he’ll know I’ve been in here. If I don’t take it, he might have got away with it.
No iPod, no phone, no computer. Cut off from the whole of the outside world.
Who would I contact anyway?
Her stomach growled. She remembered she had not eaten anything since her late breakfast of a small bowl of cereal.
I’ll have to go downstairs if I’m not going to starve.
She sighed.
And I’ll have to ask about where Becca is. I need to know.
Kenan was there for supper, which they ate early. He sat in silence through most of the meal, ignoring Summer completely and only rewarding his father’s gentle probing questions with a grunt or two.
Summer was still churning about the cracked photo frame and the iPod, in spite of feeling sorry for Kenan after reading the messages. His attitude towards her did not help: he was still so hostile. It would not be ridiculously far-fetched to imagine him snooping in her room, stealing from her. But why?
Just to be mean probably.
She had made a promise to herself: she wouldn’t say anything to him until she had more proof, and certainly not in front of Tristan. She forced polite conversation about how lovely the food was: vegetables from the garden, apparently, and fish pie, made from catch of the day, bought in the nearby village of Newlyn.
Eventually the conversation dried up. Summer concentrated on the scrape of knives and forks on plates.
A phone rang.
Tristan jumped.
Is no one going to answer it?
It was not coming from the hall where Tristan had said the phone was. It sounded as though it was coming from the other end of the kitchen passage.
‘Office phone,’ Tristan said sharply. ‘It can wait.’
The ringing stopped.
Tristan and Kenan exchanged a glance.
‘So if you’re done with the fish pie, I thought strawberries and cream? Clotted cream, of course. From the farm,’ Tristan said, bright and chatty, as he gathered their cutlery and dishes.
Kenan remained silent.
The harsh, rasping call of rooks filled the air. Summer looked out at them as they flew across the lawn to roost in messy nests in the top of the pines.
‘Do they always make that noise?’ she asked, more for something to say than because she wanted to know.
‘It’s a racket, isn’t it?’ said Tristan.
‘Oh, no. I like it,’ Summer said. She knew she sounded overeager. ‘It’s kind of comforting. Like they’re saying the day’s over but they’ll always be there, or something.’
‘Oh, right, so you don’t believe in ghosts, but all of a sudden you can speak bird language?’ Kenan said, jeering.
Summer felt the blood rush to her face. ‘No, I—’
‘Kenan,’ Tristan said.
‘Well, I hate them,’ Kenan said with feeling. ‘They wake me up too early. There’s far too many of them now. Can’t we shoot some of them, Dad?’
Summer’s spine tingled as she took in the spiteful look on her cousin’s face.
He can’t always be like this. Look at how he wrote to his mum. It’s me. My fault.
‘I don’t think it’s a great idea to kill an animal just because you find them annoying,’ Tristan said quietly. ‘Anyway, you’ve never told me before that they wake you.’
‘Not as though you’d listen if I did,’ Kenan muttered. He rocked back on his chair, studiously avoiding eye contact with his father.
‘Kenan, what’s got into you?’ Tristan threw the words out in exasperation. ‘Can’t you at least be pleasant while we’re sharing a meal together? You’ve said nothing all evening and Summer says you left her—’
Summer cut in quickly, raising her voice to prevent the argument escalating. ‘The phone. It reminded me . . . I – I wanted to ask you,’ she said. ‘I haven’t got a mobile—’
Kenan snorted, breaking out of his sulk to rock forward with a jibe. ‘Wouldn’t be much point anyway. There’s no signal here, is there? Flipping black hole, this place.’
‘Kenan!’ Tristan remonstrated. ‘Please.’ His chair was harsh on the bare boards as he pushed it away and went to get the dessert.
‘What d’you mean?’ Summer said to her cousin. ‘You’re not telling me you don’t have a mobile?’
Kenan curled his lip.
Tristan answered. ‘We do, but I’m afraid Kenan’s right. I did say, I think, didn’t I? We can’t get a signal here in the house or in the garden. You can get one in St Gerran – sometimes you get a faint one on the farm road. But it’s hopeless here.’
‘Oh.’
‘When we go into town we can send texts and so on,’ Tristan assured her. ‘I’ll get you one next time we go into Penzance, don’t worry. I know how important it is. But in the meantime, like I said, please do use the phone in the hall. Any time.’
Like I’m going to do that with both of you listening.
‘Thanks.’
‘And if you have a laptop—’
‘I don’t,’ Summer said. ‘I told you.’
Kenan shot her a nasty smile. ‘Shame.’
‘Maybe Summer could borrow yours—?’
‘No way,’ Kenan snapped.
‘You mean like he’s “borrowed” my iPod?’ Summer spoke over her cousin.
‘WHAT?’ Kenan slammed his hands on the table and reared up out of his chair.
Summer was shaking; anger pu
lsed through her. ‘I said,’ she said deliberately, ‘“You mean like he’s ‘borrowed’ my iPod?”’
Kenan leaned over the table and grabbed her by the shoulders.
‘HEY!’ Tristan rushed over and pulled Kenan back. ‘What’s going on?’
Kenan shook his father off and shouted, ‘Why don’t you ask her? She’s the one accusing me of theft!’
Summer raised her eyebrows. She was fizzing with anger, but determined to stay calm and in control. ‘That’s not actually what I said. But you did go into my room, didn’t you? My photo frame’s smashed too,’ she added, knowing she was exaggerating, not caring.
‘That’s enough. Sit down, Kenan,’ Tristan instructed. ‘We can’t discuss anything with you both about to jump at each other’s throats.’
‘Forget it,’ Kenan spat. ‘I’m not discussing anything with anyone. ‘Specially not her.’ He wheeled away from his father, catching the edge of the work surface and sending the plates and cutlery clattering to the floor. ‘I’m going out.’
Tristan opened his mouth to speak, but Kenan had gone. Summer’s uncle looked washed out. The skin around his eyes was dark, leaving them sunken and old. The lines on his face seemed etched more deeply.
‘What on earth was that all about?’ Tristan shook his head.
Summer said nothing.
Tristan put his hands on his hips. ‘I think you have to try to understand, Summer, that this is tricky for Kenan too. Please try.’
‘Yeah, well. At least his mum’s not dead,’ Summer said. She kept her gaze steady. ‘So, yes, I’m sure it’s all very difficult for you to have someone turn up into your cosy lives in your mansion and upset everything but I can tell you that being told you have to go and live with people you know nothing about, who’ve never even been mentioned to you in passing, to have to leave everything and everyone you know . . .’ She paused, her lungs tight. ‘Well, it’s . . . it’s . . .’ She was not going to cry in front of him.
As her vision blurred, she turned on her heel and ran, not stopping until she was in her room, the door slammed behind her.
Summer woke early the next morning. She had fallen asleep the night before overcome by great shuddering sobs; unable to stem the flow, she had muffled the crying with her pillow. There was no way she would let Kenan hear her.
Now, as she shifted in the high bed and came to slowly, the memory of the previous day leaked back into her, bringing with it a bruised heaviness to her eyes.
She wanted to pull sleep back over her, but she was awake now and had to face what the day had in store. So she got up and drew the curtains. The sea winked a greeting over the tops of the pine trees, its surface dove-grey, tempting, speckled with sharp points of silver.
What if I called Jess? Tristan did say I could use the phone.
A few minutes of connection with her old home: a raft, a lifeline. But she knew that if she heard her friend’s voice, she would only break down and become a wreck again. Jess would react exactly how she had in the days after Catherine’s death: embarrassed and helpless. In any case it was too early to phone now. Jess had never been an early riser.
At least I can be up and out before I have to face them.
She had already decided to go back down to the rocks. She packed her small bag with her swimming costume (for sunbathing purposes only, she thought, remembering the icy cold water) and a towel from the bathroom.
Once out on the landing, she remembered with a quiver what she had heard and seen the day before: the soft footsteps, the books lying on the floor. She checked the bookcase, listening intently for a hint of anyone hovering nearby, but the books were all in place and there was no noise apart from the usual creaks and sighs from the old house.
Summer told herself not to be ridiculous. She ran quickly down the stairs, however, into the reassuring warmth and light of the kitchen.
She should take some food down to the rocks. She plucked an apple from a bowl on the dresser and found a bread roll in a bin on the worktop. In the fridge were a few litre cartons of juice with screw-top lids, so she took one that was half full and stuffed it in her bag along with the food.
Summer was running through the silent garden – the ‘rockery’ Tristan had referred to. She felt lighter the further away from the house she went. The stones beneath her feet were slippery glass, drenched with sunlight and freezing-clean spring water. She skipped over them, stepping in the stream, letting her feet get wet. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to stop there.
She ran on to open space, the sea, thoughts rippling through her mind.
Could I run away? Have I got the guts?
She kept running until she reached the cliff path. She was more nimble over the rocks this time, knowing that she was unlikely to slip on the dry boulders that were above the tideline.
Summer found herself smiling as she looked out over the glistening water. At least she had found this place. This would be her refuge. The house was no good – not while Kenan was there. Not while something was watching her.
She made herself focus on the fantasy film-set before her, pushing aside her fears and anxiety. This was a place where anything could happen, she told herself. It was so far away from her own, hemmed-in, grey, sad existence.
What if she could stay here?
I could camp! They wouldn’t miss me. Be relieved I’d gone. I could bring stuff down – tins, matches, blankets.
Even as she thought these words, full of bravado, she knew she’d never do it. Camping with her mum to organize everything, to remember all the equipment and know how to pitch a tent and light a campfire, that was one thing; managing alone was quite another.
Summer laughed out loud at herself, feeling giddy with the joy of being on the beach, alone, early in the day. This was hers, all hers! So what if she couldn’t survive like a hermit, holed up in a cave, catching her own fish, gutting it, cooking it . . . She could enjoy just being there.
She whirled round, the bay spinning before her. A merry-go-round of happiness.
Sitting down to catch her breath, she watched as the sea constantly played tricks on the eye, its shifting, lapping surface throwing up dark shapes and strange angles. It made her remember a holiday on Dartmoor a few years back. Her mother had promised her 10p for every different type of bird she spotted and named. She hadn’t got past ‘blue tit’, ‘blackbird’ and ‘buzzard’.
She squinted at the waves, scanning the bay, willing something to appear, anything. A sign of life other than her own.
She had been staring right at a dark shape ahead of her for a full minute without registering what it was, vaguely thinking it was another rock peeking over the silky, still surface. Then it turned. It looked at her, full in the face.
‘Oh!’ Her hands flew to her mouth.
The dark, dog-like head stared back steadily, coolly.
A seal!
Summer stopped short of clapping her hands in childish delight, her mouth stretched wide with joy, her eyes watering.
A real, live, seal!
She got up and went to the edge of the rocky ledge, not thinking about slipping and falling now. The seal didn’t budge, didn’t seem at all bothered by her presence; merely gazed serenely back as if to say, ‘Nice day for it.’
Summer sat herself down again and swung her legs over the steep side of the highest rock. She had an urge to struggle into her costume and plunge in, to swim up to the seal, to touch it, her earlier qualms about entering the freezing water swept away by her excitement.
She was so caught up in the moment, everything else around her had faded away; it was just her and the seal, staring at each other, like two kids on the school bus, too shy to talk.
‘Hey!’
For the tiniest moment, Summer thought the seal had spoken.
‘Hey! Hello!’
Summer turned and saw a figure making its way quickly across the rocks from the cliff path towards her. Her heart began thudding in her chest. She should have known this place belonged t
o someone. That’s why it was so difficult to get down here from the cliffs; someone wanted to keep it private. Now she was going to get caught. There was nowhere to go, however, even if she could race over the craggy surface of the beach. She eyed the caves. The figure was already leaping and bounding from rock to rock, as sure-footed as a cat hopping from roof to roof. How did this person manage to move so fast?
Summer turned back to the seal. It had disappeared beneath the waves. She sat, frozen. There was nowhere for her to hide.
‘Oh!’ said the stranger, close behind her now. ‘The seal! I wondered what you were looking at.’
The voice didn’t sound threatening. Summer peered at its owner over one shoulder.
The face, now level with hers, was beaming; both friendly and curious. Summer felt a rush of heat as she took in the brown, smooth cheeks; glass-blue eyes, as clear as the rock pools; a small nose sprinkled with a scattering of dark brown freckles. The smile was broad, innocent, showing glimpses of straight, bright, white teeth. The face was topped off with a messy mop of sun-bleached blond hair.
She wanted to hide what she knew was a blush forming.
‘Hi,’ said the boy.
‘Hi,’ Summer croaked back. She looked into eyes the colour of the sea, framed by absurdly long, brown eyelashes. The urge to hide her face was almost overpowering, but she forced herself to hold his gaze.
‘Been for a swim yet?’ The voice was deeper than Kenan’s, but nevertheless betrayed its recent change from a higher pitch, and there was a softness to it; the words rolled in his mouth, the ‘r’s especially rounded. ‘Not seen you down here before. On holiday?’ he continued.
‘Something like that,’ she said.
The boy sat down beside her, dangling his long brown legs next to hers. ‘I’m Zach. You?’
Summer sniffed and said, ‘Summer,’ keeping her voice as casual as she could.
‘So, Summer – how d’you find the beach? Not many people make it down. Difficult to find. But then, I guess – that’s kind of obvious . . .’ Zach tailed off and looked away again, swinging his legs gently, bouncing his heels off the rocks.
