The Summer Without You

by Karen Swan

  As Ted had predicted, the wind whipped up as they moved further from land, knitting her hair and making her skin goosebump. Several times Ted turned, a quizzical look crossing his face as he saw the jumper lying on the bench beside her. Only after her skin started to take on a blue tint did she reluctantly admit defeat and slip the jumper on, holding her breath as it slid over her head.

  ‘Are you wearing sunscreen?’ she asked Ella after a while, aware of the heat behind the breeze.

  Ella shook her head.

  ‘Can I put this on them?’ she called out to Ted, who turned to find her holding up a small tube of Nivea sun lotion. She always carried some in her bag. ‘It’s for sensitive skin.’

  ‘Sure. Thanks. They wouldn’t sit still enough for Julianne this morning.’

  The mention of Julianne’s name was like a bucket of cold water and she fiddled with the cap, unable to understand its shock value. She knew he was divorced; she knew he was with Julianne. She had spoken to the woman herself just days ago. And – and more than anything else – she was with Matt. And he was a client. And she didn’t trust him. Not a word. Not until she discovered why he was really inveigling his way into Florence’s life.

  But even in spite of all that, she still felt like she’d been kicked.

  She rubbed the cream into the children’s podgy pink limbs, smiling as they tipped up their faces for her, all snub noses and rosebud mouths and baby hair sticking to their cheeks. Afterwards, she watched the white sails of the other boats flickering like tissues in the distance, letting Finn fiddle with her bracelets – cheap leather things she’d picked up at the till in Waldbaum’s – as Ella pointed out a pod of dolphins off starboard, Ro more excited than any of them to see them out in the wild. They played ‘I Spy’ and ‘What Am I?’, told their best jokes and tried to guess everyone’s ages. (Ella guessed that she was fifty-four, which was depressing; although she fared better than Ted, whom she guessed at sixty-seven, and who turned out to be thirty-four.)

  Ro spent the passage looking left, right, behind and up – anywhere other than directly ahead, determined not to notice the way Ted turned the huge wheel so easily, the way his hair looked as the wind rippled it back off his face, how his back narrowed as his jacket flapped against him. Nope, she didn’t see any of it.

  They rounded a point where, according to Ella, ‘the Injuns used to live’ and entered a vast but narrowing inlet with various points, bays and coves. Houses became visible through the trees, a smattering of people on the sparse beaches. There were a few boats moored at small private jetties, masts down, engines cut.

  Ted got busy, rolling up the sails again, cutting their speed and switching back to engine power for the final stretch, so that they drew alongside a short ramshackle jetty, almost inch perfect with no bumping at all.

  Ro stayed seated with the kids as he jumped off and secured the mooring ropes, Ro’s gaze determinedly out to sea, and then on the water as he held her hand to help her out.

  Ella led the charge again now that they were on dry land, her little feet pounding heavily on the wooden slatted planks that had weathered grey long ago. To the right of the jetty was a tiny sandy cove that sloped gently into shallow waters and was fringed with tall birch trees that flanked a wood.

  Ro reached for the camera round her neck, automatically positioning herself to take photos of the children as they ran onto the little beach, crouching over something – a crab, Ro thought she heard Ella say – their hands on their short thighs, their heads touching.

  But she stopped. She’d done this once before.

  ‘Is it OK—’ she began, turning to find Ted immediately behind her, carrying the bags again.

  ‘Yes.’ He was so close, his head tipped down like he was studying her, and as their eyes locked, she felt a gasp of air pulled from her and knew that somewhere, somehow – even though every part of her screamed, ‘No’ – they had crossed a line, a line she had tried to deny but that was as real and invisible as the breeze in the trees. There was a charge between them that made the air crackle and her blood rush. She’d been determined not to acknowledge it – it seemed almost wilfully perverse to admit to an attraction when there was so much about him that repelled her – but for hers and Matt’s sake, she had to now. Hump had been right. This spark, chemistry, whatever it was, was bigger, badder, stronger than even the terrible suspicions she carried in her head about him. And her head wasn’t winning this fight; every moment she spent with him, she felt like she was hurtling inevitably downhill on a luge. She had to get these shots done and go and never turn back.

  ‘So how do you want to do this?’ she asked. ‘As in, do you have anything particular in mind, or are you happy just for me to observe and gently direct?’ Her words came out in a rush. A panic.

  His eyes scanned her face slowly, too slowly, so that it felt almost like a touch. ‘I’m going to let you lead.’

  She swallowed, nodding briskly. ‘OK, then. Well, I’ll let them just play and I’ll take my opportunities where I can.’

  A hint of a smile sprang to his eyes. ‘That sounds like a plan.’

  She nodded, watching as he walked ahead with the bags. Remembered to breathe.

  In spite of various such moments, the day passed quickly. Ted built a small log fire on the beach, cooking up sausages and heating baked beans in the tin, as Ro scampered, lunged and crawled around the children as they played. More often than not, she got drawn into the games too – unable to pass up on making a tunnel for the hermit crab to make its way back to the ocean and pretending to be a donkey for Finn to ride on her back. She even showed them her big foot, Ella waggling her own pudgy toes next to her, which were barely a third of the size of Ro’s. Sporadically she would sit on the sand, scrolling back through the images, her head tilted to one side as she examined the mix of images – close-ups, atmospheric shots, details like sandy toes or a blonde tendril against the blue sky, panoramas of the siblings . . . It was all going well, but then how could it not? They were beautiful children.

  She liked the setting here. The cove was tiny, but it was more characterful than the enormous, broad, uniformly white-sand ocean beaches of Long Island’s South Fork. Even the water had that dappled green, lapping lake quality, instead of the anonymous thundering navy-blue surf that had travelled hundreds of thousands of miles to crash upon the shore.

  Eventually, though, the children began to flag, worn out from a day of playing in the sun and wind, delighted by their new friend who ‘spoke funny’ and got sand in her swimsuit and had weird tan lines and kept secrets from Daddy. The sun had dropped behind the trees and the first cool of the evening was outstripping the tide.

  ‘I think maybe we’ve had the best out of them,’ Ro said, as Finn burst into tears because Ella was using his hat as a bucket and filling it with sand.

  ‘I agree. Come on, kids. Time to go.’

  Finn ran into his father’s arms, jubilant to be saved from himself. Ella walked calmly over to Ro, her arm outstretched, confident that Ro, her ally, would take her hand.

  Ro smiled, touched by the compliment, marvelling at how tiny Ella’s hand felt in hers.

  ‘Uh . . . the boat’s this way,’ she said, pointing towards the conspicuously yellow boat that was moored not fifteen feet away as Ted and Finn walked in the opposite direction into the trees.

  ‘So it is.’ Ted grinned, amused by her pointing out the obvious. ‘But they don’t want to bathe in there, trust me. It gets way too hot in that cabin.’

  ‘So where are we going, then?’ Nerves were beginning to rise in her like flames.

  ‘To our house in the woods,’ Ella said, looking up at her as they stepped over broken branches and a deep leaf layer even this late in the summer. ‘I get to sleep in a cupboard. And the bath is orange.’

  Panic joined the cocktail of hormones rushing through her: they had a house here? They were bathing the children here? She remembered the bags. Too many . . .

  She closed her eyes and inadvert
ently squeezed Ella’s hand for comfort. Ella squeezed back. She opened her eyes and looked down to find Ella gazing up at her. ‘Are you feeling sad?’

  ‘Ummm, maybe a little bit.’

  ‘I’ll look after you,’ Ella said, ever the big sister.

  Ro smiled as they walked through the trees to a clearing where a tiny wooden cabin stood with shutters that had hearts notched out in the middle and a perfectly crooked metal stove pipe poking through the roof.

  ‘This is yours?’ she asked, as they caught up with the boys.

  ‘Not technically,’ Ted smiled, Finn in his arms, watching her reaction. ‘Although it’s been promised to us – we spend so much time here. Do you like it?’

  ‘It’s absolutely darling,’ she murmured, her spare hand wandering up to her camera again. ‘May I?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, taking Ella by the hand too now and walking her with him up to the cabin.

  Ro began to click as the little family walked away from her in the early evening light, Ella turning back with big eyes to check she was coming too, Finn’s head resting on Ted’s shoulder, his thumb in, his eyes already closed and Boo hanging down his father’s back.

  For once, she didn’t need to check the playback screen to confirm the moment. The image was timeless, nostalgic, bucolic – their little family, happy, tired, peaceful . . . But it was bittersweet too, the family incomplete and lopsided. Broken, even. Where was Marina? Why wasn’t she here? What had gone so catastrophically wrong between her and Ted that she was away from her own family? Had she gone back to work after twelve weeks? Was that it? Had she chosen the big career over them? Had she found someone else too? First?

  Ro followed after them, instinct telling her she shouldn’t follow them into the gladed shadows. But the sun was setting and the day was done. And what other choice did she have?

  She opened the cabin door to find the children already stripped down and running around all but naked, Ted lighting a pre-stacked stove, a pan already filled with milk. In another room, she could hear water running.

  The room was reasonably sized, dark (on account of the shutters being closed) and sparsely furnished. To her left, a long Aztec-patterned sofa was positioned with its back to her, and a round table with chairs was set to its right at the back of the cottage, the stove on the right near a small hall and seemingly the only source of heat.

  ‘Come see my bed. It was my mommy’s when she was little,’ Ella cried, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her into a tiny room, just a box room at the end of the short, stubby corridor. There was only a fitted wardrobe and a cot in there. Nothing else.

  Ella ran to the far wall and opened the stable-style wooden wardrobe doors. Sure enough, halfway up was a bed atop fitted drawers whose handles doubled as footholds. Ella demonstrated how the bed worked by scampering up and climbing in, pulling the sheets up to her chin and closing her eyes, pretending to sleep. Ro burst out laughing, immediately capturing it all on film.

  ‘You are such a funny little imp,’ she smiled, stroking Ella’s cheek.

  At the touch, Ella opened one eye and stared at her, her childish eyes filled with a deep aching sorrow that didn’t belong anywhere near a four-year-old. They brimmed with tears that began sliding down her velvet cheeks.

  ‘I miss Mommy.’

  Tears immediately sprang to Ro’s eyes. ‘Oh, of course you do, darling,’ Ro whispered back, feeling her heart break at the sight of this small child’s despair, a rush of anger pulsing through her that she was the one who suffered. ‘It’s only normal to have these feelings.’ She brushed her hand gently down Ella’s hair, smoothing it away from the tear tracks that plastered it to her cheeks.

  Ella’s eyes moved suddenly from Ro’s face to something behind her. Ro turned and saw Ted standing beside them, his own face stricken – a look she had seen before. She instinctively stepped back and he reached down, lifting Ella from the bed and wrapping her in his arms.

  Ro discreetly left the room, hearing Ella’s sobs grow faster and Ted murmuring to her softly, trying to paper over the fatal crack at the heart of this family.

  Out in the hallway, she saw Finn running about, ready for his bath, and she carried him into the copper bath, pushing a small wooden boat for him that looked like it was supposed to be for ornamental use only, her cheek resting on the warm roll-top as he chattered away to her in a half-language she could just about keep up with. The soft hum of voices on the other side of the wall told her Ted and Ella were talking, or reading a story at least, and after twenty minutes or so, she took him out and dressed him in the fresh pyjamas that had been laid out on the floor.

  She was pouring the warmed milk from the pan into his beaker when Ted walked back in, looking depleted and harrowed. Finn staggered over to him, overtired now and crying for his milk. Ted sighed wearily, shooting her an apologetic look as he lifted Finn and carried him down to the bedroom too.

  Ro watched them disappear, feeling just short of hysterical herself. The cabin was quiet now and growing dark. There didn’t appear to be electricity, so she couldn’t turn the lights on, and after a few moments of standing forlornly in someone else’s sitting room, she stepped outside and sat down on the steps.

  With the children already in bed, it was now abundantly clear the family was sleeping here tonight. But what about her? The cabin was tiny, with only two bedrooms, and she didn’t think for one minute Ted would be stupid – or ungallant – enough to assume they’d share. There must be a ferry back to Sag Harbor. But when and where?

  She was rifling through her bag for cash – $6.47 in loose change so far – when Ted came out to join her, a bottle of red and two glasses in his hands.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s an ongoing process. Ella is starting to notice that other little girls have mothers, and that hers has gone.’

  ‘Of course. Anyone would. And she’s only four.’ Not to mention she’s got a glamazon like Julianne as stepmother-in-waiting to contend with, she thought to herself.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘Actually,’ she said, standing up quickly before he could sit down. ‘I’d better start heading back to catch the ferry.’

  Ted looked alarmed and checked his watch. ‘But the last one’s already gone,’ he said, frowning as the misunderstanding became clear. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you realized we were staying for the weekend. It’s a bit too far for a day trip with young kids.’

  ‘Uh, no, I-I’ve never been here before, so . . .’ she said quietly, wondering what the hell to do now. An overnight stay? Was he kidding?

  ‘Oh.’ He placed the bottle and glasses on the deck between them. ‘The children are sleeping or I’d sail us all back—’

  ‘It’s fine. There must be a B&B or something where I can stay, though, right?’

  ‘Well, I imagine so, but . . .’ He put his hands in his pockets, looking at her with his usual still demeanour. ‘Listen, Ro, everything’s set up here. I assumed you were staying, so I’ve given you the bedroom. I’m more than happy on the couch.’

  ‘No, definitely not. I couldn’t possibly.’

  ‘Honestly, I’ve slept on the couch before.’ He gave a rueful smile, but she didn’t find it charming that he should make light of the problems in his failed marriage, especially when the effects of it had clearly been so devastating to his daughter.

  ‘No, I mean . . . I haven’t packed or—’ She wrapped her arms around her. It was cool in the dusk now and she wished she still had his jumper to put on, but it was packed in the bags in the house somewhere, probably the kids’ room.

  ‘I’ve got a spare T-shirt and toiletries you can use.’ He took in her closed body language and evasive eye contact. ‘Listen, we’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. It really isn’t a big deal. And we’d all like you to stay.’

  She swallowed hard, looking around at the woods surrounding the cabin. She had no idea where the nearest road was – if there even was one – or where the ferry point was,
much less finding somewhere else to sleep for the night. She had to face it – she was pretty much stranded. ‘Well, thank you,’ she said reluctantly, ‘but I’ll take the couch.’

  ‘No, there’s no question of it.’ His tone was firm and it felt ridiculous to argue. And without saying another word, he pulled off the jumper he was wearing and held it out to her. ‘I don’t feel the cold either.’

  She smiled, feeling embarrassed and grateful all at once. ‘Thanks . . . again.’

  ‘So then . . .’ He picked up the bottle and unpeeled the foil, as she pulled the jumper on. It was still warm from his heat, as fresh with his scent as though he’d bathed in it and instinctively her eyes closed as it covered her.

  He poured them each a glass. ‘For you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She sat back down on the steps, resting her elbows on her knees as she curled herself into a small ball.

  He joined her, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back on his elbows. They were quiet for a beat.

  ‘So, how did you feel today went? Professionally speaking?’

  She glanced across at him. ‘Excellent,’ she said, her voice quiet. ‘I think I’ve got some really great material. Although, it would be hard to take a duff shot of either of them. They’re such gorgeous children.’

  ‘Well, they’re smitten with you. They’ll be asking if we can file adoption papers for you all the way back to the city tomorrow.’ His tone was light, but she kept her gaze on the trees regardless.

  ‘Is that where you live, then? New York?’

  ‘For now.’ He looked past his toes. ‘It’s not a long-term prospect, though. Manhattan’s no place to bring up kids.’

  ‘I don’t know. You seem to make good use of Central Park.’

  He looked baffled, then remembered she had seen all their private videos and was intimately acquainted with their home life. ‘Yes. I suppose we . . . Oh God, you saw the clip with the pug,’ he groaned.

  ‘Kite-gate?’ she smiled. ‘Oh yes.’