Summer’s Shadow

by Anna Wilson

  ‘Probably nothing!’ Zach said carelessly. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it.’

  ‘No,’ Summer insisted. ‘She meant something by it. You know she did.’ Summer was not going to let him brush her aside. She had not talked to him about this for days. She needed him to listen, to take her seriously.

  Zach read her emotions in her face. ‘I think . . .’ he said carefully. ‘I think she was talking about how it’s OK to give in to everything to do with your mum – her death, what she means to you, how you remember her. That kind of stuff. Maybe you should try talking to your uncle more. Tell him how you feel. Gran told me once that people who keep that kind of thing bottled in, well, they can get – ill with it . . .’ he tailed off.

  Summer pressed him to continue. ‘So did she – talk to you like that when your dad died?’

  ‘Hmm.’ Zach nodded. He opened his mouth then swallowed, as though changing his mind about saying something. ‘I . . . I didn’t want to talk about it at all, you see. It was easier to keep it wrapped up inside. It hurt too much to even think about him.’ There was a sharp note of bitterness in his voice; his expression was strained.

  Summer touched him lightly on the arm.

  Zach relaxed a little, taking her hand in his. ‘There was Gran, wanting to talk about all of it. All the time. I mean, he was her son and everything, so I guess that’s normal. I don’t know . . . I think sometimes people like to talk about things to sort them out, and sometimes people like to keep things to themselves. I’m one of those who like to keep things locked away from other people.’ He looked down. ‘From most other people, that is.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Summer. She squeezed his hand. ‘You don’t have to tell me everything. I only wanted to ask you what your gran had meant about me.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Zach said, warmth creeping back into his voice. ‘I think meeting you is kind of . . . Maybe we were meant to meet.’ He paused. ‘Gran says things are either meant to be or not meant to be. I think . . .’ He stopped.

  ‘What?’ Summer persisted.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Zach quickly. He gazed out to sea, then made a clumsy attempt to change the subject. ‘See how calm it is today?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She didn’t mind. She had not enjoyed seeing him upset. She wanted him back to the way he always was: light and carefree, sunny and bright.

  ‘Know what I’m thinking?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Let’s swim to the Point and climb back.’ He turned and grinned at her, his face alight with its usual enthusiasm and excitement. ‘Come on!’ he said, noting her hesitation. ‘I said I’d take you one day – no time like the present. Don’t often get totally calm days like this.’

  ‘I . . . I’m not that good a swimmer.’

  ‘Sure you are! I’ve seen you,’ Zach said.

  ‘You’ve only seen me mucking about in the Pool.’

  ‘Listen, I told you, didn’t I? The salt helps to keep you afloat – it’s not like doing lengths in an indoor swimming pool. You don’t get tired so quickly, honest. There’s no swell today – see how flat it is. Anyway, if you stick with me you’ll be fine. Promise.’

  Summer looked doubtful. ‘Really?’

  Zach pulled a face. ‘Don’t you trust me?’ he teased. ‘I know this bay inside out. If you do get tired, we can always swim back in and get out on the rocks. No problem.’ He was already up and tugging at his T-shirt, pulling it over his brown shoulders. His shorts doubled as trunks, so he was ready in a flash.

  Summer had her swimmers on under her jeans and top. The thought of swimming so far bothered her. She was not going to admit that to Zach, though.

  ‘OK. Ready,’ she said, wriggling out of her clothes and scraping her hair back.

  Zach beamed. ‘Water’s high so we can dive. Come on!’ he urged. His strong limbs glowing, tensed and ready, he leaped to the edge and took up his position to plunge in.

  ‘You first,’ said Summer, rubbing her arms in anticipation.

  He gave her a knowing wink and then arced through the air and broke the surface with barely a splash.

  Such a show-off.

  She smiled and waited as she always did until Zach had reappeared, laughing, whooping and horsing around, and then she dived towards him. Not as gracefully as he had, of course, but still . . . It was better than hanging around, dipping a toe in, dithering on the side.

  She came up gasping at the shock of it, the joy and exhilaration of it, and took off like a rocket across the bay, shrieking with each stroke, until warmth began creeping back into her bones.

  Zach caught up with her. ‘Hey! Slow down! So much for not being that great a swimmer. You’re beating me today.’

  ‘N-not for l-long,’ she stammered, spitting out briny mouthfuls. ‘You said it w-would be calm!’ she added, wide-eyed at the choppy surface of the water.

  ‘Well, it’s always a little rougher out here than it is in the Pool,’ he said. ‘Sorry. Believe me, though, if you focus on your stroke and keep it steady, you’ll be there in no time.’

  They swam side by side, Zach on the outside, shielding her from the open waters, the sweep of the rocky cove on the other. Summer did feel safe, knowing she could swim inland if she wanted to, although they were still some way from the shore.

  Zach kept talking as he swam, telling her about other expeditions he had made across the bay.

  ‘Do you ever get jellyfish here?’ she asked suddenly.

  Zach laughed. ‘Course we do!’

  ‘Stinging ones?’

  ‘What other kind is there?’

  ‘Thanks a bunch!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘No, it’s OK. We usually only get them when there’s been a storm. You’ll be all right.’

  The Point did not seem to be getting any closer. Summer’s legs were beginning to feel heavy and her fingers seemed to have stiffened; she could no longer hold them together to make effective paddles for her breaststroke.

  Zach saw that she was flagging. ‘Nearly there,’ he said. ‘It’ll suddenly seem nearer, promise. Do you want a hand?’

  ‘No.’

  I have to do this.

  He was right, another couple of strokes and the shoreline was within their grasp. She began to count to keep herself focused.

  ‘Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two . . .’

  Zach put on a spurt and suddenly he was holding on to a rock and shouting, ‘That’s it! Come towards me. This is the best way to get out.’

  He waited until she was within spitting distance and then hauled himself out of the water, reaching over to give her a hand. She took it gratefully, certain she did not have the strength to pull herself up. He leaned back and balanced himself on a rock with one hand and then heaved her out with one strong tug of his free hand.

  She had turned to jelly. She was numb, her legs useless as she stood shivering on the rock. The sun had dipped down behind the Point and already the heat was going out of the air.

  ‘Best thing is to keep moving,’ Zach told her. ‘Let’s climb the Point. That’ll warm us up. Good view from there too. I’ll show you where I fish from.’

  She raised her head to follow the line of the craggy outcrop and shivered violently, her teeth knocking against each other. The last thing she felt like doing was clambering up that high.

  A mug of hot chocolate would be better.

  ‘W-wouldn’t we need ropes – climbing equipment?’

  Zach took one of her hands again and rubbed it between his. ‘No. It’s easy! Come on, you’ll be fine in a minute or two.’

  He was right. After the first few shaky steps she found she was concentrating so hard on following him as he jumped, sure-footed and nimble, she had stopped thinking about the cold. By the time they reached the last, tricky, scrambly bit of the climb, she was almost too warm from the exertion.

  Zach navigated the steep section to the top of the Point like a practised mountaineer, his feet finding little notches and footholds that Summer would not even have noticed on her own. She
followed him, her toes gripping into the crevices, her fingers pulling herself up. Zach reached the top and leaned over to help her up beside him.

  ‘Ta-daaa!’ he cried, dramatically sweeping his arm out in a victorious salute. ‘Look at that.’

  Summer followed his gaze. Three small sailing boats skimmed along the inky line of the horizon, their sails paper cut-outs against the purple-blue cloudless sky. A shag, its wings petrol-black, its neck snake-sleek and graceful, made a sudden, clean dive into the water as Zach had done earlier, and re-emerged moments later with a fish in its beak.

  ‘Isn’t this just the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen?’ Zach said.

  His face was almost sad, it was so wistful; as if he wished he could capture the Point, the sea, and hold on to it just as it was. Fold it away and keep it, just for him.

  Or maybe that’s what I want.

  ‘It is,’ Summer said. ‘Beautiful.’

  She looked down to where they had begun their climb and tipped back on her heels, feeling dizzy as she saw how high they had come.

  Zach put a steadying hand on her shoulder. ‘Careful!’

  She stood firm, but kept her eyes on the rocks beneath. She remembered how she had been when she had first found the beach, after that fight with Kenan.

  I wanted everything to end then.

  She thought of keeling forward, toppling, falling . . . Would you crash and bounce on to the rocks on the way down, or fall outwards in an arc like the bait on the end of a fishing line? Would you hit the water with a slap, or slice sharply through it? Or would you keep on falling, through the light surface water and then sink down, down like a stone into the suffocating black depths? Perhaps your lungs would fill slowly, painfully. Or maybe you would pass out immediately and then slip gracefully away into oblivion.

  Summer looked at Zach, watching her closely, and knew that she no longer wanted to let go of life altogether. She had let go of her old life, that much was true. But in that moment she knew she wanted to grab hold of the future and live it to the full.

  I just want to know about you, Mum. About you and Bosleven. Tell me! Please! Then I can move on.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Zach asked.

  Summer squirmed.

  ‘Tell me,’ Zach insisted.

  Summer gave a short, apologetic laugh. ‘I was thinking about Mum again. I found these photos. Of her, on the rocky beach. I need to know, Zach. Why won’t anyone tell me about her being here? Why didn’t she tell me?’

  Zach shrugged. ‘You’ve got to ask your uncle. He’s the only one who can tell you, I guess.’

  ‘I know.’

  I can’t keep going on about this to Zach. It’s up to me. I’m the only one who can find out the truth.

  She blurted out, ‘Have you ever thought about jumping off here?’

  ‘What?’ Zach cried.

  ‘No, no, I don’t mean I want to,’ she said quickly. ‘I mean . . . maybe I did before.’

  ‘Before what?’ Zach said.

  She held his gaze. With the sun behind his head, his eyes were dark. She felt goosebumps rise along her arms.

  ‘You know,’ she said, turning away.

  He caught her elbow and made her look back at him. ‘Yeah,’ he said.

  They stood there, not speaking.

  ‘Come here,’ Zach pulled her towards him and kissed her once, lightly, on the lips. Then he held her close and, mumbling into her salty hair, he said, ‘I won’t let you fall. I promise.’

  ‘I know.’ She leaned into him.

  He tilted her face towards his. ‘Talk to Tristan,’ Zach said. ‘You can do it.’ He kissed her again, longer this time.

  She let him wrap his arms around her, felt his heart beating against her.

  ‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘Yes, I can.’

  Summer walked back up to Bosleven feeling light and strong, ready to find Tristan and have it out with him once and for all.

  Warm, tempting aromas were coming from the kitchen, awakening a ravenous hunger in Summer. It was the first time she had felt properly hungry for weeks.

  She hurried into the kitchen, determined to have the truth from Tristan before she could weaken and let him change the subject.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, walking in. ‘Oh . . .’ Her heart plummeted as she saw Kenan, his arms folded, leaning with his back against the worktop.

  He shot her a sneery smile. ‘You look a bit hot and bothered,’ he said and raised one eyebrow in a knowing gesture.

  Something about the way he looked at her unnerved her. Did he know about Zach? Had he been watching them?

  He’s just being a jerk as usual.

  She scowled at him and went to get herself a glass of water.

  ‘Ah, Summer. I was just telling Kenan about the car,’ Tristan said.

  He was at the stove, busying himself with cooking.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Won’t stop going on about it,’ Kenan said, pushing himself away from the worktop and throwing himself into a chair at the table where places were laid for supper.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, Kenan, but it’s worrying.’ Tristan ladled fish stew into large oval dishes and set them down on the table. ‘I’ve taken the car out a couple more times today and every time the gauge has shot up into the red again.’

  Kenan rolled his eyes and began eating, slurping noisily.

  Summer ignored him and sat down to her dish of stew, concentrating on inhaling the rich, inviting smell.

  Tristan sat next to her. Still he talked, on and on about the car.

  ‘The garage says it’s nothing, so I checked the level of fluid in the engine again and it’s fine. Nothing’s hot when I touch it.’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake!’ Kenan exclaimed, banging down his knife and fork. ‘Take it BACK to the flipping garage!’

  ‘I have. Twice. I don’t get it. Thermostat’s fine. It’s not even a faulty gauge,’ Tristan said.

  Summer was not listening properly. She was savouring the meal and thinking about what Zach had said. ‘Talk to Tristan. You can do it.’ She gave a small smile as she remembered his kiss.

  ‘What are you grinning at?’ Kenan spat. ‘I suppose you think it’s funny our car’s broken down. Like our family.’

  ‘Kenan!’ Tristan looked horrified. ‘I have told you already. I will not stand for—’

  ‘For what? What won’t you stand for, Dad?’ Kenan pushed his food away, the sauce slopping over the edges on to the table. ‘For Mum not wanting to set foot in this room with us while she is here? Oh no, it’s not that that you’re upset about, is it? It’s a stupid, flipping CAR that has got you upset!’

  ‘Kenan,’ Tristan said in a low voice. ‘I am warning you . . .’

  ‘What?’ Kenan was on his feet now, his chin jutting forward, his stance challenging, furious. ‘What are you going to do? Chuck me out? You’d love that, wouldn’t you?’ he said, turning on Summer.

  Tristan pushed back his chair and grabbed his son firmly by the shoulders. ‘Calm down,’ he insisted. ‘I will not have you talk like that to Summer – or to me.’

  Kenan was shaking, but he remained silent.

  Tristan kept his voice calm. ‘How about saying sorry?’ he said.

  ‘How about no?’ Kenan shouted, pushing away from his father, making for the door. ‘If anyone should say sorry, it’s HER!’

  ‘Kenan, come back right now,’ Tristan said, his voice crackling with emotion.

  ‘No. I’m going to talk to Mum.’

  Tristan stiffened.

  Kenan shot Summer a look of pure poison and left the room, slamming the door so that it rattled in its frame.

  Summer had been paralysed during the scene, but at this she jumped up and went to Tristan’s side.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘He misses his mum. I get it.’

  They both listened as Kenan’s heavy footfall echoed in the hall.

  Something niggled at Summer.

  He said he was going to talk to her. Is she here, then? In the house? H
iding?

  She dismissed the thought immediately. She would have bumped into her aunt at some point if that were the case.

  Must be going to call her, or message her like before or something.

  Tristan began gathering up the dishes and cutlery in silence. Summer started to help, not knowing what to say now. Kenan’s hateful words hovered in the air between them.

  Summer watched as her uncle’s brow became furrowed and he worked his mouth as though talking to himself.

  I’m not going to be able to get anything out of him now. He’s too upset.

  She decided to turn the conversation back to the car. Even that would be better than this dreadful silence.

  ‘You’re really worried. About the engine?’ she began quietly.

  Tristan looked startled. ‘Um . . . oh no. I was just thinking about something else, that’s all,’ he said. ‘Sorry, away with the fairies, as they say.’

  Summer checked to see that Kenan was not hovering by the door. She steeled herself, remembering Zach’s encouragement.

  I have to try and ask him about those photos again. It’s stupid, leaving the whole thing buried. There’s too much that’s not being said in this family. No wonder Kenan’s so screwy.

  She cleared her throat and said, ‘So, erm, I’ve been meaning to ask you – about the photos?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  Something brushed against Summer’s leg, distracting her. She glanced down to see the cat, who shot her a peculiar, narrow-eyed look before disappearing into the little sitting room behind the kitchen.

  They never cuddle it. Never seen them feed it either, come to that . . .

  ‘Pass me that cloth, can you?’ Tristan asked, his tone completely normal again, as though the scene with Kenan had never happened.

  Summer felt irritation prickle along her spine. She was going to get him talking even if it sparked another scene. ‘The photos,’ she repeated. ‘I was asking about them when the car overheated?’

  Tristan would not look at her, made a big deal out of scrubbing at a stubborn patch of grease on a pan. ‘Oh, were you? I have to say there really is so much junk up in that attic . . .’

  They were both speaking at once now.