Summer’s Shadow

by Anna Wilson

  Thought so. He’s going to tell me I am trespassing.

  ‘I, like . . . found it by accident,’ Summer said.

  Zach smiled. ‘So you came on your own?’

  Summer shrugged, a smile flickering on her own lips now. She should play it cool. Especially if he was about to tell her she had to go.

  ‘Oh, I get it. Wanted to get away.’ Zach nodded. ‘Like that all the time in the holidays. I can never wait to get away, myself. Can’t find me any jobs to do if I’m here, eh? So you’ve met the seal?’ he pressed on, in spite of Summer’s reticence. ‘Amazing, that guy. Fearless. You can swim with him, you know. He won’t hurt. He’d never let you get close enough. He’s just curious. All seals are curious. Well, a lot of them are.’

  Summer felt fidgety in the face of all this banter. She was unused to anyone showing any interest in her. Especially a boy.

  ‘You do swim, don’t you?’ Zach asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  Summer remained silent.

  ‘Where are you from?’ Zach persisted.

  This was too much for Summer.

  Where am I from? Not from round here, that’s for sure.

  She got up clumsily. ‘What’s with all the questions?’ she snapped. ‘Can’t I just sit here without someone coming and asking me what I’m doing, who I am, where I’ve come from? I came here to get away from everything.’

  Zach had pulled back, confused. ‘Sorry – I didn’t mean—’ he stammered.

  Summer was annoyed with herself. Annoyed with this boy for turning up and asking all those questions, just when she had found somewhere she could be alone. When was she going to stop being such a nightmare, to act normal again? This boy had done nothing wrong, but she found she could not stop herself from lashing out at him.

  ‘I just want to be left alone!’ she cried, turning from him.

  ‘OK. I’m sorry,’ he repeated. He was concerned, not angry, as Summer felt he should have been.

  ‘I’m going,’ she spat, and scooped up her bag and towel. She did not want any more questions.

  No one’s got answers to any of my questions, have they?

  She was lurching over the rocks, her blood churning in her ears.

  ‘Careful!’ Zach called after her. ‘You’ll fall!’

  She slowed a little, but kept her eyes fixed on the path up to the clifftop. Soon she was in the woods. She stopped and scanned the way she had come. He hadn’t followed. She was alone.

  When she got back to the house, the clouds had evaporated and Bosleven was already bright, lit up by the sun, now high overhead. The air up here was still, the heat more intense away from the coast.

  Summer stayed in the shade of the path at the bottom of the garden, trailing her feet in the dust and kicking idly at dried leaf mould. Her head ached. She licked her lips and tried not to think of ice cubes knocking together in a long tall glass of cool water. She imagined what it would feel like to enter the damp, chilly kitchen, to lean against the cold, white-ceramic side of the sink and let the tap water run over her wrists.

  She could not go in right away. Someone would see her, notice how hot and bothered she was, see she was flustered, ask more questions. She needed time to calm down.

  ‘There you are!’

  Too late. She emerged, hangdog, from the shadows to see Tristan was walking across the lawn, waving cheerily.

  ‘You were up early,’ he said. Then, taking in her bag and messily bunched-up towel, ‘Kenan told you how to get to the beach then. Been for a swim?’

  ‘Er, no.’

  So he’s not going to mention last night’s outburst?

  It seemed that Tristan was waiting for her to say more. When she didn’t he said, ‘So. You did well to find the beach on your own.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘The beach is the best thing about this place,’ he said. ‘Did I tell you it’s, ah, it’s our beach?’ He looked bashful.

  ‘Your beach?’

  ‘Yes, well. In theory. We can’t exactly police it, but we keep it tricky to find!’ He laughed. ‘Anyway, when I’m not busy I like to go down for a dip. You have to be careful where you get in and out. The rocks, you know. It’s helpful to know the tides. We’ve got a little book that tells you when high and low tides are – I’ll show you.’

  So it is private. Does that boy know? Is that why he was so nosy? Maybe he thought I’d tell . . .

  Summer knew she must be blushing as she held an image of Zach in her mind for a second.

  Tristan was still talking. ‘Kenan’ll go down with you later. You’ll be safe with him. Wouldn’t like to think of you swimming alone – not just yet. You need to get used to the swell around the rocks, that kind of thing.’

  Summer raised her eyebrows. She did not think she and Kenan would be having friendly little seaside picnics together any time soon.

  ‘Give him a chance?’ Tristan said, as though reading her thoughts.

  ‘Mmm,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Breakfast.’ Tristan nodded towards the house. ‘Oh, by the way – I found this.’ He was holding something out to her, something which caught the sunlight and reflected it back in a sudden white blaze.

  Summer let out a tiny gasp. ‘My iPod!’

  ‘It was in the car, on the back seat. It was so dark when we got here . . .’

  ‘Thanks.’ Kenan was definitely going to hate her now. She had rushed to accuse him and he would know she had been in his room.

  She pressed the button at the base of the screen. Nothing. Out of power.

  Tristan picked up the thread of what he’d been saying about Kenan. ‘He’s not what you’d call a morning person, generally,’ he said. ‘I suppose that’s why I was surprised to see you up and about. I thought all teenagers liked a lie-in! But then, what do I know, eh?’ His kind eyes twinkled. ‘Come on, you look as though you could use a drink. Amazing how hot it is already today, isn’t it?’

  She smiled, grateful that he clearly was not going to comment on the scene she had provoked with his son the night before.

  He is all right.

  Once they were in the kitchen, Tristan went over to fridge and brought an ice cube tray out of the freezer compartment.

  ‘Water OK?’ he asked. ‘Or d’you prefer juice?’ He turned back to the fridge.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Summer said. She sat down at the table and stared out at the sea.

  Tristan came back with the water, and some juice in a carton.

  ‘I’ll fix some food in a minute.’ He handed her the glass, rattling with ice. He looked suddenly earnest. ‘I want you to know that I understand what it’s like to lose someone as you’ve done,’ he said. ‘I know how utterly dreadful it is. How confusing and . . . the only thing I don’t know,’ he went on carefully, ‘is what to say to you at the moment. In fact, I think in many ways it’s best if I don’t say too much. I can’t make things better. I think you need time and space, and that’s what I plan on giving you. Unless you want to talk, of course?’ He bit his lip. ‘I know we chatted a bit about – about, well . . . in a more general way, didn’t we? But if you want to talk more about your mum . . .’ He tailed off.

  Summer shook her head. While he had been speaking, she had felt that familiar welling-up begin again, deep inside her. It roared through her, filling her head with wordless, painful noise, pushing to the surface until she couldn’t fight it, couldn’t push it back any more.

  She heard Tristan grab a chair and sit next to her. She felt him take her into his arms. Her grief was like something separate from her, stronger than her. It came with no warning, knocking the ground from under her. She was no longer Summer, the girl who had had friends and laughed and told jokes and lived a normal life: that girl was spirited away, spiralling into darkness while a raging sadness took hold of her.

  His being so kind – that only made everything worse. He would never be what her mother had been to her.

  Mum, Mum, Mum.

  Somewhere in the background, behind the terribl
e, animal noise she was making, she was aware of her uncle’s voice, crooning, telling her it was all right, he understood, she should let it all out, have a good cry. That she would feel better when she did.

  But I won’t, will I? I will never feel better.

  ‘That looks cosy. Can I join in?’

  Summer pulled away from Tristan, his shirt soaked with her salty tears. She swiped at her mouth, eyes and nose, furiously rearranged her features.

  Her cousin was standing in the doorway. He stared at her, his eyes like flint.

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ Kenan drawled, deliberately pushing past Summer and his father. ‘I’ll sort myself out.’ He grabbed a plate and went to get some bread out of the bin on the worktop. He yanked a drawer open, pulled out a knife and began hacking at the loaf.

  Tristan opened his mouth as if about to rebuke his son for his insensitivity, but seemed to think better of it.

  Why does he always let him get away with being such a mouthy little—?

  ‘Listen, Summer, why don’t you go to my office? Use my laptop if you like? I’ll come up with a cup of tea.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She heard her voice, cracked, distant.

  ‘OK,’ said Tristan. ‘You know where it is? Next to my room. You have some peace and quiet for a bit.’

  He gave her another quick hug.

  Summer nodded gratefully and turned away, leaving Kenan hissing in fury, already tearing strips off Tristan.

  ‘What were you thinking of, hugging her like that? After everything Mum said . . . !’

  Spoilt. Horrible. Evil . . .

  When she got upstairs, the door to the office was ajar. She pushed at it gently, still shaking, struggling to get a hold on herself.

  Must concentrate, make the most of this.

  Kenan was going to be on her case now more than ever, she knew it. This might be the only bit of ‘peace and quiet’ she would get for a long time.

  The office was a tip. Papers cascading from drawers, files bursting with paperwork, on an armchair, on the desk. In the middle of the chaos, the computer.

  Summer thought of her mum’s small table where she had worked, dealt with correspondence. It had always been cleared at the end of the day. If Summer had wanted to do her homework there, she had had to promise she would leave everything as she had found it.

  She eyed the paperwork surrounding her and realized with a flicker of shame that she had not thought to ask her uncle anything about his life; what his job was. He seemed to be around a lot, although he had said he was busy and had mentioned having work to do.

  Maybe he has his own business, works from home.

  She went to the desk and flipped up the lid of the laptop. The homepage glowed invitingly. It crossed her mind that she could take a look at his browsing history.

  Might give me some clues.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to snoop, not after he had been so kind. Not after the misunderstanding about the iPod.

  She logged on and immediately any worries concerning Tristan and Kenan vanished when she saw there were no messages from Jess.

  Summer slumped back, hurt, and stared ahead of her.

  She had planned to say so much to her old friend. Now everything she had wanted to write rang false. Why would Jess be interested? Summer could hear her friend’s teasing voice now: ‘Yeah right, so it must be such a drag living in a massive house with acres of garden and a beach you can walk to, and a fit guy with blond hair and dazzling eyes who just happens to turn up out of the blue. Look at me – my heart’s bleeding.’

  She thought, with mounting sadness, about how Jess and the place that had been home had, in such a short space of time, begun to take on an unreal quality. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember it, but could only bring to mind flickering images, as though watching a tired old black-and-white film. Her memories had become static, fading and slipping through her grasp, falling out of reach. She had to make an effort to piece together Jess’s features.

  There was a dragging sensation in her chest, similar to the feeling she had had when she sat looking at her mother’s coffin, as she understood the finality; knowing that her mother would never see the world again and that she, Summer, would never be able to talk to her or touch her ever again.

  Now she would most probably never see Jess again either.

  Summer’s new life was here, at Bosleven. And she was nobody here. Sure, Tristan was trying to make her feel at home. But it was not her home. She had no friends here, no real family. She was a ghost in this house, in the garden, on the cliffs, on the beach. A shadow. Everything was thin, insubstantial; none of it meant anything to her. She would never own her bedroom here as she had back in London. She could walk away that very day and she would not have left even the merest imprint on her new surroundings. No one would miss her.

  She told herself to stop dwelling on such negative thoughts.

  Write something. Anything. She must have been too busy. You’ll have to make the first move.

  She looked up at the screen and began to type.

  Hey, Jess! Finally I get to a computer. You won’t believe half of what I’m going to tell you. And the worse thing is, I still haven’t got a phone. And even if I had, they say mobiles don’t work here . . .

  She tried her best to describe Bosleven, Tristan, Kenan. She didn’t mention the beach. Or Zach. It was as though she needed to keep something for herself.

  Her finger hovered over the ‘send’ button, then she pressed ‘delete’ instead.

  What was the point?

  She had her hand behind the screen, about to close the laptop, when she heard someone come into the room behind her. She turned to look over her shoulder, expecting Tristan with a mug of tea.

  ‘He told me I had to come up.’

  It was Kenan. He had tea with him.

  ‘Here.’ He all but threw the drink at her.

  ‘Careful!’ she cried, as hot liquid splashed across her hand, narrowly missing the keyboard.

  ‘No, you be careful,’ said Kenan, leaning in close. ‘You be very careful, Summer. This is my home, do you get it? I don’t know why you’re here or why the moment you arrive my mum takes herself off, but I’m going to find out and when I do, you’ll wish you’d never set foot in Bosleven.’

  Summer made to push him away when they were both startled by a shout from down below in the hallway.

  ‘Don’t touch me, Triss!’ The voice was shrill.

  Kenan’s mouth dropped open. He froze for a second and the look on his face sent a ripple of panic through Summer.

  ‘Mum . . .’ he whispered.

  He looks like he’s seen a ghost now. Or heard one.

  Kenan had lost his intent look of menace. His face was washed with shock, his eyes wide. He was instantly a little boy again, lost and startled like an animal, caught in the headlights of a vehicle on a dark road.

  Summer too was held in the moment as the adult voices carried up the stairs.

  ‘No! I’m not going to accept it! I’ve told you why. You know why!’

  Summer saw Kenan react physically to what he had heard, as though he had been slapped in the face. Then he sprang to life, pushing past her, yelling, ‘Out of my way!’

  Summer stayed in the study, her breathing shallow, listening to Kenan’s footsteps hammering down the stairs.

  Tristan’s voice came next, a series of low, gentle murmurings. She couldn’t hear what he was saying.

  She edged along the landing, an intruder, checking over her shoulder in case Kenan was nearby. She went only as far as the banister, fearing any sound which might draw attention to her presence. She need not have worried; a riot of smashing crockery ricocheted from the kitchen into the hall and up the stairwell. A scream ripped through the house.

  Summer’s hands fluttered to her throat, but still she moved forward, unable to help herself.

  ‘I can’t stand it! You’re so calm! So measured! You think I should be? Well, I’m not!’ The woman. Her aunt. Hy
sterical. ‘I’ve tried, God knows I’ve tried, to get my head around this. I can’t do it. I don’t owe her anything. You don’t owe her anything. She made her feelings clear, Triss! She’s got to go.’

  ‘Please!’ Tristan’s voice now, raised and agitated.

  Before she could check herself, ask herself whether she should intervene, Summer was racing down the stairs towards the row.

  She had got halfway when there was an angry shout from behind.

  ‘DON’T!’

  She teetered and leaned on the banister to stop herself from falling as she looked up.

  ‘How did you—?’ she gasped. ‘I heard you go downstairs. Where have you been hiding?’

  Kenan lurched down to her and grabbed her arm. ‘Leave them alone.’

  She thought for a second that he was going to hit her with his free hand. Instead he dug his fingers into the bare flesh of her arm and twisted it, wrenching her close to him.

  ‘Don’t go anywhere near her.’ His voice fizzed with hatred. His face was close to hers, spit flying on to her cheek.

  She instinctively remained still. The voices in the kitchen had stopped. With unmistakable finality the sound of a slammed door crashed through the house. With that, Kenan changed from a young man full of rage to a lost child.

  ‘Mum!’ He hurtled down the stairs and out of the house after his mother, chasing her car’s screeching departure down the gravel drive.

  Summer waited until she was sure Kenan was not coming back, and sank to her knees.

  She didn’t know how long she stayed there, on the cool dark stairs. She listened as sounds of normality returned to the kitchen. The clink of crockery in the sink, the cascade of taps running into the plastic bowl for the washing-up.

  ‘Miaooow.’

  ‘Oh!’ Summer flinched. ‘You do like to startle me, don’t you?’

  The little white cat jumped lightly on to her lap, purring as loudly as ever. It curled into a ball, wrapping its tail neatly around itself and seemed to go to sleep.

  Summer hugged the small creature to her, grateful for the comfort of its warmth. She turned over in her mind the words she had heard. Something her aunt had said did not make sense. What had she meant by saying, ‘She made her feelings clear’? Becca hadn’t meant her, Summer: they had not yet set eyes on one another. So who had made their feelings clear?