Twisted Summer

by Lucy V. Morgan

  Twisted Summer

  Title Page

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  PART TWO

  PART THREE

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  EPILOGUE

  About The Author

  by

  Lucy V. Morgan

  www.lucyvmorgan.com

  TWISTED SUMMER

  LUCY V. MORGAN

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2013 by Lucy V. Morgan

  Front cover design by Kenny Wright

  www.kennywriter.com

  Back cover design by Patti Roberts

  All lyrics by Matthew Gordon

  © Dexter’s Noose

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Acknowledgements

  As always, I’ve had a lot of help putting this project together. Huge thanks to my lovely team of friends-slash-professionals who make this kind of thing far easier than it is for many; to my editor and designers, thank you. You’re awesome.

  Additional thanks to the various people who provide ad hoc childcare for the small wonder that is my daughter. It makes working possible, and that’s very much appreciated.

  Finally, thank you to the people who continue to buy my books. I write for you. I’d quite like to keep on doing it.

  For A, who would just love it if I wrote something cheesy for him here.

  Unless, of course, it was too cheesy.

  PART ONE

  July 2nd 2012

  “The most beautiful things live and die in a day

  You may think that it’s quick, they don’t feel any pain

  They are drowned in a teardrop, crushed in your palm

  In the blink of an eye, they’re alive…then embalmed.”

  Dexter’s Noose

  Chapter One

  I wished I’d never opened my mouth.

  “Seriously, Mum.” I prodded her in the shoulder from the back seat of the car. “We can turn around any time you like. I was joking. I didn’t mean it—”

  She waved me off, and it wasn’t exactly gentle. “No, no. You said it: you’d rather live in the middle of nowhere than spend another minute in our poxy little house. So that’s what you’ll do for a weekend. Then we’ll see if you still feel the same way.” She huffed and puffed like an indignant rhinoceros. “Don’t put this on me, Danielle. I’ve had enough of your backchat.”

  My middle finger was rising when my phone went off. I flipped it open. “Boyah.”

  “Danni. Just got your message. What the frick is going on?” Esmé’s voice dragged with disappointment and my heart sank into my belly. We’d bickered enough these past few weeks—this was the last thing I needed.

  “I’m sorry. It’s all crap. I can’t go see Dexter’s Noose on Saturday.”

  “But I got those tickets specially for your birthday. You’re going to miss—”

  “I know, baby.” I glared at my mum in the car mirror and she rolled her eyes in return. “It’s not my fault. I had this stupid argument with Mum and now she’s making me spend the weekend with my weirdo uncle.”

  “He’s not your uncle,” Mum snapped.

  “What? Why?” Esmé tutted. “Did you slag off her cooking again?”

  “Something like that.”

  “But it’s only Thursday, and you’re eighteen now. You can do whatever the hell you want—”

  “Her house, her rules, blah sucky blah.”

  Esmé sighed. “I didn’t even know you had an uncle.”

  “Yeah, well…step uncle. I haven’t seen him since I was, like, the size of a midget. He lives in some crappy cabin on the coast.”

  “The coast?” she exclaimed. “Where are you?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “Devon.”

  “Devon? Dan. That’s like a hundred miles from here.” She sniffled a bit. “I can’t believe I don’t get to see you all weekend.”

  “I know…but I’ll be back on Monday, I promise. We’ve got the whole summer. I’ll make the concert up to you.” I toyed with a streak of my dark hair. “I love you.”

  Esmé made that little heh noise which meant she was biting her lip. “I love you too, pixie.”

  Then she hung up, and I found my middle finger wasn’t quite as twitchy.

  “Are you happy now?” I said to Mum. “Esmé’s really upset.”

  She shrugged. “Not my fault.”

  No, not her fault at all that I was headed farther and farther from civilization with every mile. Out on the narrow A-roads, the shapes of overhanging trees swallowed us in shadowy gulps. When the sun shot sporadically through the branches, it flashed against the windscreen and turned the inside of the car into a yellow blur. My phone signal was waning, I felt hot and sticky, and frankly, was in indecent need of an ice cream. I finally got up the guts to express how much I hated sharing our house with Malcolm the Moron, and this was what I got in return? Great start to my summer. Everything about it sucked.

  “Gabe’s going to meet us at the bottom of his track,” said Mum. “He reckons I won’t get this piece of junk up there.”

  His house really was out in the sticks. “He’s got running water there, right?”

  “Why would you need running water? Beach on your doorstep…you can wipe your bum on bits of seaweed…”

  “Ha bloody ha.” I blinked. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  She smirked at me in the mirror and I put my face in my hands.

  Twenty minutes later, we pulled out of the woodland and onto a tiny road. Mum’s little Nissan had barely navigated a few twists and turns when a tall figure came into view, waving an arm inward: this way.

  “Is that Uncle Gabe?” I squinted at him in disbelief.

  “For the last time, Danni—he’s not your uncle.”

  “But he’s your brother—”

  “Step brother. Lucky me.” She huffed to herself again. Mum had family drama that she never talked about, and it had never really occurred to me to care before so long as they still put money in my Christmas cards (which was really crass of me, actually, wasn’t it? But I never noticed until recently. Maybe Mum had a point about my attitude. Still). The only time we really saw family anymore was our yearly holiday in Wales—which not-uncle Gabe had never attended.

  The only memory I had of him was from when I was six. He’d come home from university with some friends, and I was seriously peeved that they were taking up all of Grandma’s garden with their barbecue because I wanted to make mud pies for Ziggy the grasshopper. No amount of stamping my feet or screaming hysterically would move them, and when they offered me one of their stupid hotdogs, I may have fed it to the cat.

  Then the cat was sick all over Gabe’s bed at about three in the morning. He hopped and cursed in the hallway, his shoulder-length braids matted with chunks of feline vomit. He was huge and gangly, and I remember giggling to Grandma that he looked like a scarecrow.

  Not now.

  Gone were the braids and the awkwardly thin jaw; he’d filled out and h
is cheekbones jutted at model-fine angles. He’d cut his dark blond hair into a short, flicky style, and his tanned skin glowed; I half expected him to toss his head back and wink, like the star of a sunscreen ad. His faded T-shirt and surfer shorts made him look younger than I’d expected. No aging hippy here.

  I prayed he wasn’t the sort who tried too hard to be cool.

  Mum put a hand up at him as he guided us into the turn-off. Once we parked, I slid out of the car. The air smelled incredibly fresh compared to the city; like cut grass and mud warmed beneath afternoon sunshine. The lack of town buzz—the silence besides the call of seagulls and rustling leaves—was pretty stifling.

  “You must be Danni.” Gabe shook my hand and I went a bit stiff against his cool, smooth palm. “I haven’t seen you since—”

  “Yes, well. We all know why that is.” Mum cleared her throat. “No need to be soft with her, Gabe. She’s here to be punished.”

  “I’m aware of that.” He looked me up and down with a pair of silver-gray eyes.

  I glanced away, embarrassed.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “There won’t be any teddy bears’ picnics.”

  “I mean it.” Mum hauled my suitcase out of the boot and it landed with a crunch. “No day trips. No presents. Absolutely no drinking and if I so much as smell a whiff of weed on her—”

  “Hey.” He threw his hands up in defense. “Jess. What do you take me for?”

  Her upper lip twitched. “Sorry.”

  “Thanks.” He sighed in my direction. “We’ll have a chat, yeah? It’s not on to be rude to your mother.”

  I scraped a pattern in the gravel with the tip of my shoe. “Whatever.”

  “What-evaaah,” he mimicked. I was about to shoot him a cuss but he tutted loudly. “Yep. We’ll soon sort you out.”

  Oh my God. I HATED him.

  Mum tried to hug me. I shrugged her off with a hiss.

  “Fine,” she muttered. “Be like that. I’ll see you on Monday morning, Danielle.”

  “See ya.” I knew I sounded about twelve, but the pair of them were ganging up on me and it made my stomach churn. I hated being patronized. You get all this talk about being an adult when you turn eighteen, but nobody actually lets you be one.

  Mum climbed into the car and shot a helpless look at Gabe, who pressed his lips together. Wiggled his eyebrows.

  What a cock.

  The gravel ground beneath the tires as she reversed. They spat sand and stone-shards against my bare calves, and I jumped back, landing against my suitcase. Then the Nissan swung out on to the road and slowly, slowly grew smaller.

  The air swelled heavy with aaaawkward. I think there was sand in my mouth.

  “So,” said Gabe, “your Mum’s kind of a bitch, huh?”

  I gawped up at him. “Um. Possibly?”

  “Well.” He slid thick fingers beneath the handle of my suitcase and tugged it up. “Let’s get you back to the house.”

  I followed him on to the dirt track, taking broad steps to keep up.

  “Your enthusiasm is overwhelming,” he added. “It’s nice to see you too.”

  “Oh yeah. Weekend with Uncle Gabe. Somebody call the fun police.”

  He threw me a sarcastic scowl. “Okay. First things first—no more of this uncle bullshit. I’m just Gabe. It makes me feel old.”

  “You are old.”

  “I’m twenty-nine, you cheeky madam.”

  “My apologies. You’re a spring chicken.”

  There was a gentle tug at my ponytail and I realized his fist had closed around it. I shuddered as I nudged him off.

  “I’m starting to see what your Mum meant.” He flicked the sun-bleached wooden gate open. “You know, I don’t remember you being so…bouncy.”

  I snapped up. “What?”

  “Bratty.” He coughed. “I don’t remember you being so bratty.”

  A vision of cat-sicked braids flashed in my head. “You sure about that?”

  He held the gate open and nodded for me to follow. “Don’t push your luck.”

  Mum’d told me Gabe had a cabin; what he actually had was a glorified garden shed nestled in a little clearing. A stack of logs climbed one side and ivy snaked across the other; the air smelled like charcoal and more freshly cut grass. Not far behind the sloped roof, waves swayed and sparkled in the sunshine as they lapped against a pebbled shore. A dusty Range Rover was parked to one side and cast a welcome spell of shade.

  I’d planned on feeling stroppy and claustrophobic at this moment, but actually…it was kind of pretty.

  “You’ve got running water, right?” I croaked.

  He poked me in the shoulder. “I think you’ll be impressed at the array of modern conveniences I have, Miss Warren. Shower…electricity…”

  “Internet?” Please. Please?

  “Unlucky.” He shook his head. “Now…welcome to my humble abode.”

  The wooden door creaked open and I stepped into the living area. A small kitchen occupied the left corner, and a corner-group sofa draped in patterned blankets dominated most of the remaining space. Shelves groaned under the weight of books and plants and photo frames, and the beat-up coffee table was scattered with shells.

  “Bedroom’s the door over on your right,” he said, “and the bathroom is beside it.”

  I glanced up from the piece of coral I was fingering on the fireplace. “There’s only one bedroom? So where will I…?”

  “I’ll have the sofa. It’s comfy enough.” He left my suitcase beside the table and went to switch the kettle on. “Coffee?”

  “Not really a fan.”

  “Right. Um.” He peered into the fridge, wincing slightly as the light illuminated the dim corner. “I’ve got 7Up or milk. Are you too old for milk?”

  My eyes darted left to right. “You’re going to offer me cocoa and a bedtime story as well, aren’t you?”

  He snorted. “I hadn’t planned on being that creepy old guy.” He held the 7Up aloft and it cast dancing shards of bottle-green over the pale wood floor. “Better?”

  “Okay. So, like…” I stroked the coral’s bumpy surface again. “Why do you live here?” Why were you in a shed in the middle of nowhere, Gabe, and not a house like a normal person?

  “This is my summer place. It gets way too cold in the winter, though. I’ve got a flat back in Plymouth where I spend most of the term.” The 7Up frothed into a pint glass as he poured. “I lecture at the uni there.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  “Paleobiology.”

  “Oh.” I smiled before I could help myself. “I actually know what that is.” Esmé had applied to study oceanography and there was a paleobiology module. “Prehistoric plants and stuff, right?”

  “A gold star for the brunette in row B6! Yep, pretty much.” He gestured about as he brought a mug to his lips. “Plants, animals…all sorts. I’ve got a fair few specimens in here.”

  I took the glass he offered and swallowed in four gulps. God, I was thirsty.

  “Long journey from Bristol, eh?” he said.

  “Yeah.” I folded my arms. “Esmé would like it here.”

  “Esmé?”

  “My girlfriend.” I still felt fuzzy saying that.

  “Oh. I see.” He tried not to grin, but it was there anyway: white teeth flashed around a hint of pink tongue. He looked filthy.

  I should not have had these thoughts about my not-uncle. Fuck. Why didn’t I smuggle any vodka?

  “Have you been together long?” he said.

  “Five months, fourteen days.” A blush prickled across my cheeks as I glanced at the time on my phone. “And about three hours.”

  “It’s love, then. Ahh.” His grin melted to a smile. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” It was the way Esmé always told people. I felt like I should do the same.

  We stood in silence for a moment, his fingers drumming on the kitchen counter. I pretended to be interested in his textbook collection.

  “So,” he
said eventually. “Want to go and explore a bit? Stretch your legs after that long journey?”

  What I actually wanted to do was hide in the bathroom and call Esmé for one of our dirty gossips, but…no signal. Fail, fail, fail.

  “Exploring it is,” I muttered.

  Gabe led me around the back of the house, past a collection of brightly-colored surfboards, and on to a narrow stone path surrounded by gorse bushes. The almond scent of the blossoms was underscored by the heavy, salty air of the sea that the breeze carried in.

  We were headed down to the beach I’d seen earlier. Even behind my sunglasses, the yellow sand was a sharp shot of colour beside the early evening sky. The clouds were closing in, wispy little fists chasing the waves. As much as I hated to admit it, I felt more relaxed here—in the company of a stranger—than I had at home lately.

  “Are those solar panels up on the roof?” I pointed back to the house.

  “Yep. A lot of the houses here have them.”

  “You’re all eco, huh?”

  “So should you be.” He glanced around, his shoulders loose as he walked. He had a bit of a strut going on. “One of the nice things about living here is how cut off I am. I fend for myself. All I need,” he smiled, pointing up, “is the sun. It tells me when to wake up and when to sleep. Keeps me warm. Powers everything. Makes me happy, actually.”

  I squinted at him. “That’s the pansiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Gabe rolled gray eyes at me beneath his flicky fringe. “What’s with this attitude then, huh? What’s landed you here?”

  Here with the person Mum appeared to hate the most? “Didn’t she tell you?”

  “She thinks you’re getting lippy.” He paused to open a battered gate and we stepped out on to the beach. “She’s struggling, Danni.”

  The gate creaked as I leaned on it to slip off my sandals. The sand was warm and powdery beneath my toes. I knew he wanted to say that Mum must’ve been desperate if she’d turned to him, but he was too polite to do so. It was nice to be considered like that…I think.