Summer’s Shadow

by Anna Wilson

  Summer frowned. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Gran . . .’ Zach’s voice sounded a warning.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Summer. ‘I want to know. If your gran knows about these things, I need her to tell me. Please?’

  ‘If there has been a lot of love in life, it stands to reason that some of it must remain after death,’ said Mrs Pendred. ‘Your mother loved you dearly, Summer, and wanted you to go to a place that meant a lot to her, where she knew you would be safe. Maybe she is trying to tell you this now, because she could not tell you while she was still with you. Not all spirits are bad, dear,’ she finished.

  Tristan had said something like that – about his wife’s parents. That they were still part of Bosleven. And Mum must have been. Those photos proved it, didn’t they?

  Summer’s eyes pricked with tears. She battled to keep control of her voice. ‘So you think Mum had a special reason for sending me to live at Bosleven.’

  It was no good, she could not stop herself; the tears had begun to roll slowly down her cheeks. Zach rubbed his thumb on her hand comfortingly, which made her cry all the more.

  ‘Don’t resist that door, dear,’ said Mrs Pendred, leaning forward to pat her arm. ‘Don’t try and keep it closed if it wants to be opened. Keeping things held in is never good for us. Don’t be frightened to think of your mum and let her speak to you. That’s the only way you’ll find out what it is she wants you to know.’

  Summer met Zach every day for the next week. This was what she had been missing, ever since coming to Bosleven: having something to look forward to. Hot summer days with someone who only had to smile at her to warm her from the inside out; endless hours in the fresh air, away from the house – and away from Kenan, and everything that was bothering her.

  Her thoughts of home, of Jess, were only fleeting now. When she did think of her friend, it was as though she were remembering a character in a book or a film. Jess had become unreal to her.

  Summer and Zach had quickly fallen into a routine: meeting down on the rocks early in the day; swimming immediately if the tide was right; if not, a spot of fishing first. Climbing too; exploring every rock, every boulder. Sheltering in the caves as a freak shower passed over. Sharing picnics they had brought down to the beach with them. Lighting fires with driftwood as the sun sank over the bay. Then back to his house for tea and a natter with Zach’s gran.

  He took her to Lamorna. It was another wide arc of rocky beach, around the headland from ‘their’ beach, as she had come to think of it. It was beautiful too, but tourists came to rent boats and to buy drinks and ice creams in the cafe on the pier. It was not the wild, secret place that their beach was.

  Summer wondered if it had been, once. When her mother was a girl.

  She had told Zach about her middle name.

  ‘It is a pretty popular name around here,’ he said. ‘When Gran was a girl, she knew a couple of Lamornas. There’s a girl in my class too.’

  Maybe Mum called me that as a way of remembering this place.

  The thought pleased her. It was another link in the chain of clues that made her feel she belonged here.

  Summer was happier, healthier and stronger than she could ever remember feeling. Her pasty white skin had developed a glow, and her dark hair was shot through with streaks of sun-bleached caramel. She had never thought of herself as an outdoor kind of girl. Now she wanted nothing more than to be out, down on the rocks, cycling through the lanes. She did ask herself if she would feel the same about the place if Zach were not there with her, but knew what the answer was. She was excited about meeting him every day; no doubt about that.

  Tristan never asked where she was going beyond a simple ‘Out again?’ He seemed relieved that Summer did not ask anything of him beyond a sandwich and a bottle of water. In return he asked nothing of her.

  Her uncle had warmed to her, it seemed. At mealtimes he made the effort to exchange the odd word or two, but Kenan’s silences (when he bothered to turn up at all) had lengthened and deepened and were punctuated with nasty sneers at Summer when he thought Tristan wasn’t looking.

  Tristan had only once asked what she did with her time.

  ‘Oh, you know. Just out and about. Exploring. Reading.’ It was only half a lie.

  It was enough to put him off the scent. ‘That’s great. Make the most of this lovely weather. As long as you’re OK being on your own so much?’

  Kenan had glared harder than ever after that. ‘Yeah, as long as you’re OK, Summer,’ he had hissed.

  Summer’s new-found happiness meant she was gradually relenting in her feelings towards her cousin. He was hurting as much as she was, she reasoned, as there was still no sign of his mother returning. She decided to make a renewed effort not to react to Kenan’s hostility.

  Tristan caught her one morning as she was about to slip out and meet Zach.

  ‘Glad I caught you before you disappeared!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been a bit . . . preoccupied lately. I’ll take you into Penzance if you like?’ He ruffled his hair and made an attempt at a smile.

  The lines around his eyes and mouth were deeper than ever, his eyes circled, dark. Summer felt a stab of guilt as it dawned on her that she had not taken much notice of him lately.

  Looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

  ‘So? Do you want to go now? It’s about time I got you that phone. Perhaps we should think about what you need for school too. You’ll be starting in a month.’

  ‘S-sorry?’ Summer was shocked. Hadn’t he said that they would be visiting schools, that she would have some say in where she went? It was something that had seemed years in the future, something she had no need to think about yet. She wanted to concentrate on nothing beyond the here and now.

  Tristan was immediately apologetic. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to spring that on you. We’ll have to talk about it, though. Term will be here before we know it! Maybe we’ll leave it for today . . . Just shopping for now, then. That is, unless you have plans?’ His brow wrinkled.

  ‘No, no.’ Summer could see how much it had cost him to make the first move.

  How do I get out of this?

  A couple of weeks ago she would have jumped at Tristan taking any sort of interest in her. But not today.

  Zach will be waiting. Wonder where he goes to school . . .

  ‘You might like to have a look at the shops on Causewayhead,’ her uncle suggested. ‘Mosey around while I do a couple of jobs. Can’t have you trailing around the shops with an old man like me, eh?’

  She raised her eyebrows at that.

  He gave a short laugh. ‘OK, so you have a wander, then when I’m done, we’ll see if you need anything. Maybe go to look at phones?’

  Summer nodded dumbly. She did not care about getting a new phone any more. Who would she call? She was more concerned with how she might get out of this little expedition.

  ‘Is Kenan coming?’ she asked, keeping her voice light.

  Please say no.

  ‘Er – no . . .’

  Phew.

  ‘I thought I’d let him lie in. He was with friends last night. I went and fetched him quite late. He’s not much of a one for shopping anyway!’ he quipped.

  Makes two of us.

  Jess had been the shopper. Summer had never seen the point. Not having much in the way of pocket money, she had never been able to buy anything, so she had just trailed around with Jess, enjoying her company but quickly feeling fed up and restless with tramping the pavements.

  She reluctantly followed Tristan out to the car. She saw him glance fleetingly back at the house, as though checking for something. Did her uncle feel the same watchful presence she felt in those walls?

  ‘Here.’ Tristan interrupted her thoughts, taking her by surprise and pressing something into her hand.

  Summer instinctively pulled back, but her uncle closed her fingers firmly over the object which dug into her flesh.

  Fixing her with his dark eyes Tristan said kindl
y, ‘Take it. Can’t have you roaming the streets with no spending money, can we?’ and smiled.

  Summer looked down at her hand. Nestling in her palm was a crumpled note. He had given her twenty quid.

  ‘Thanks,’ she murmured.

  It was generous of him, but Summer was embarrassed, particularly as she would rather not be going into Penzance at all.

  As the car bumped along the drive she stared out of the window and wondered anxiously what Zach would think when she failed to meet him on the rocks.

  Tristan pointed out various shops to her before disappearing to do his errands.

  ‘You must tell me if there is anything you need,’ he told her. ‘I – I know I should have asked you this when you first arrived. I thought maybe Becca would . . . Anyway, please ask. Don’t be shy.’

  ‘It’s fine, really.’ Summer knew she should be grateful for his kindness, but it was all a bit too much, this sudden attention. It had been much easier when he ignored her and left her to her own devices. She was relieved when he went, even though the cobbled street he left her on was lined with ridiculously touristy shops which held nothing of interest for her.

  Who on earth would want to buy a pirate’s fancy dress costume?

  She bought herself a lurid blue Slush Puppie from a kiosk outside the cinema and sipped at it tentatively, her teeth fizzing with the shocking sweetness and cutting cold. Then she sat on a bench and stared ahead at a large, rambling bargain basement shop that seemed to sell everything from art materials to hardware, and wondered how she would pass the hour until she had to meet Tristan again.

  Her uncle met her in the car park at the top of the cobbled street. He was leaning against the car, flicking through a newspaper and didn’t look up until she said hello.

  ‘Oh!’ he jumped, as though he had not expected her; had forgotten about her, maybe. Then he smiled. ‘Let’s go then. Hope you don’t mind, but I passed the phone shop so I thought I might as well get you a mobile.’ He reached down and handed her a bag.

  So. No say in which school I go to. No say in which phone I get.

  ‘Right. Thanks.’

  ‘You still won’t get any reception at the house, I’m afraid, but at least you’ve got one for when you’re out and about. I should have thought of that earlier. You might need to contact me. If anything happened or . . .’

  ‘Thanks,’ Summer repeated, turning the box over in her hands. She knew she should sound more pleased, but she could not help feeling angry that Tristan had not thought she might want to choose the phone with him.

  Wish I could call Zach.

  The thought of him, fishing off the rocks, possibly – hopefully – wondering where she was, made her desperate to get back. She swept her self-pitying thoughts aside.

  ‘Are we going now?’ she asked.

  Tristan looked deflated. ‘Yes. Of course.’

  I’ve done it again. Been a cow. He thought he was doing the right thing, bringing me here, buying me a phone.

  It was as though she and her uncle spoke completely different languages.

  Her uncle drove in silence around the endless mini roundabouts back down to the sea front. There was a crowd of people pouring off a large ferry. It looked like the one she often watched these days from the rocks.

  ‘The ferry is the Scillonian,’ Tristan spoke at last, seeing her staring at the crowd. ‘Takes people to the Scillies. Beautiful islands – golden beaches. Perfect place for a holiday. I should . . .’ He stalled, then coughed and went on. ‘I should take you there one day?’ It was more of a question than a suggestion. When she did not answer, he blurted out, ‘I hope you are settling in. I want you to feel at home here, Summer. At Bosleven. It has not been the best start, but I promise things will get easier. Cat – your mum – she wanted you to feel you belonged with us. I know that.’ He kept his eyes fixed resolutely on the road ahead.

  Summer glanced across at him sharply. It was the first time he had brought up the subject of her mother without being prompted. She knew she should not let the moment pass.

  Quick! Think of something to say!

  The photos. The ones she had found in the attic, of her mother on the beach. She should ask him now, while he was driving and could not walk away.

  The words of Zach’s gran came back to her, suddenly, almost as though she were in the car right then. ‘Don’t try and keep the door closed if it wants to be opened. Keeping things held in is never good for us.’

  Summer felt queasy as it occurred to her that that was exactly what she had been trying to do – keep the door closed, keep Mum out of this new happiness she had found in her friendship with Zach. She had purposefully stayed away from the house and had given up on looking for more clues since spending time with him.

  She swallowed, screwed up her courage, took the plunge.

  ‘Tristan . . . ?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘I . . . I hope you don’t mind, but I was kind of exploring around the house the other day. When you were – well, you were busy.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Yeah, I . . . I went up to the attic.’

  Tristan looked across at her. ‘The attic?’

  The look on her uncle’s face alarmed her. ‘It was raining,’ she said quickly. ‘I – I didn’t have anything to do.’

  ‘Right,’ he said. A thin smile flickered on his lips. ‘Bit of a mess up there!’ His voice was strained, she thought.

  ‘Yeah! Loads of cool stuff, though.’

  Come on, you’ve got to ask him.

  ‘Oh, it’s all rubbish, really,’ he said, concentrating on the road again. ‘Old things. Things that – ah – I’ve forgotten about, mostly.’

  ‘I guess. There were some books I – I looked at them. And . . .’

  Go on!

  She was staring ahead too now, not daring to look at him.

  I can’t do this. I can’t tell him . . .

  ‘Some photos. I am sure they were of Mum—’

  ‘Oh, hell!’ Tristan thumped the steering wheel, hitting the horn by mistake. It blared, sending a shard of fear through Summer, bringing back a sudden, unwanted memory.

  Mum, lying in the road.

  The driver’s horn had blasted out then. The same piercing klaxon. An alarm call.

  Tristan was peering at the dashboard and biting his lower lip. He turned to look at Summer, who had gone white.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Summer. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ He pointed at a dial in front of him. ‘The car’s overheating,’ he said. ‘Such a pain. I’m going to have to pull over and check the radiator.’

  Fright turned quickly to annoyance. He had scared the life out of her, slamming down on the horn, shouting like that. Was this an elaborate trick to shut her up? He had done it the minute she had mentioned the pictures.

  Overheating? Yeah, right. Just didn’t want to hear what I was going to say about the attic, more like. He must know about those photos.

  Her heart was still fluttering, even as she muttered inwardly at her uncle.

  He had stopped and popped the bonnet. Opening his door he said, ‘You’d better get out too. Safer.’ His voice had an edge to it; Summer did as she was told.

  They walked around to the front of the car, Tristan frowning all the while.

  ‘Well, it doesn’t look hot, at least,’ he said, gesturing to the bonnet. ‘No steam. Can’t be too hot then. Not yet anyway.’

  Spare me the performance.

  Tristan pulled his sleeve down over his hand and lifted the bonnet, exposing the maze of pipes and boxlike structures that comprised the engine. He did seem genuinely preoccupied.

  Either he’s a good actor, or . . .

  ‘Aha!’ Tristan exclaimed, as though finding the answer to a crossword clue. Then he reached forward, his sleeve still protecting his hand and tentatively touched a blue plastic lid, rather like the lid of a milk bottle. Seemingly reassured, he grasped it and turned it until it came off in his hand.

  ‘Very odd,’
he said, half to himself, as he peered in more closely. ‘The fluid’s at the right level. Not too hot at all in there.’ He ruffled his dark hair with his free hand and straightened up, staring at the engine for a moment. Then shaking his head he hastily screwed the cap back on again.

  ‘So it’s OK?’ Summer asked.

  She had lost all confidence in bringing up the subject of the photos now. The moment had passed. Her mouth was sticky from the Slush Puppie, its coldness already long forgotten, and the back of her neck was sweaty from the sun’s rays, reflecting off the white houses in the street. She imagined dipping her feet in the Pool, allowing the delicious shock of the water to send shivers up her body. A shock she had feared so recently and now relished.

  She thought of Zach again.

  He’ll have given up by now.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you back. You must be hungry,’ Tristan was saying.

  Summer broke out of her reverie and climbed into the passenger seat once more.

  ‘I think I ought to get the car checked over. Something’s not right,’ her uncle continued, again as though talking to himself. His eyes flicked repeatedly to the dashboard and he gestured with his left hand briefly to the temperature gauge before him. ‘The needle was in the red, but it seems OK now. Oh well. I’ll drop you back at the house, then I’ll run along to the little garage in St Gerran. Better safe than sorry.’

  Summer was no longer listening to this stream of chatter. She sat back and shut her eyes, drowsy with heat. She pushed aside any niggling fears of her uncle hiding things from her and concentrated instead on the thought that she would get away to the beach as soon as they got back to Bosleven.

  Hoping that Zach would have waited after all.

  Zach was there, fishing as usual. Summer joined him and after a few minutes of casting and reeling in the line without catching anything, she brought up the subject that was burning her up inside.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about what your gran said – about letting my mum in?’ she said. ‘D’you know what she meant?’