Lost Summer

by Stuart Harrison

  It was getting dark by the time Adam and the others arrived at the disco at the weekend. A group of younger boys lurked in the darkness at the edge of the tiny car park furtively smoking cigarettes. In the entrance hall two women from the church social committee sat behind a scarred wooden table taking money and dispensing entrance tickets. One of them cast a disapproving eye over Nick’s leather jacket.

  ‘You can leave that in the cloakroom if you like,’ she said.

  He gave her his money without answering and held her eye until, flustered, she dropped her gaze. Inside they stood bunched near the door. The hall was about half full. The music was loud and clusters of local kids stood around the walls, boys on one side, girls on the other, except for three young girls dancing together near the stage at the front. The DJ seemed to be absorbed with his record collection. A bank of coloured lights in front of his sound system blinked on and off with the music and a single silver glitter ball suspended from the rafters cast a forlorn pattern on the dance floor. A woman and a balding man wearing a knitted tie with a brown check shirt were selling cups of orange juice and sandwiches, which nobody was buying. The woman wore a fixed smile and jigged determinedly in time to the music. Occasionally they both glanced uneasily towards a group of four teenagers standing in one corner of the hall.

  They were conspicuous both by their appearance and by the space around them that set them apart from everybody else. Their clothes looked like hand-me-downs and they shared a common dark hue to their skin and eyes. If anybody looked their way they stared back with silent hostility. Adam recognized one of the two girls as the one he’d seen from the bus back in the spring, though there was something different about her. He decided she looked smaller than he remembered, perhaps because last time he’d seen her she was on horseback. She also seemed young, which he put down to the fact that all the other girls in the hall wore clothes and make-up that made them look older than they really were. She looked over as if she sensed him watching her until one of the boys with her noticed and glared at her.

  ‘Fuckin’ gyppos,’ Nick muttered.

  Graham nudged him and nodded towards a couple of girls who had started dancing together. ‘There’s Christine Abbot and that friend of hers.’

  They wore high heels and short tight skirts, and when one of them noticed they were being eyed she said something to her friend and they both giggled. Nick and Graham went over to talk to them.

  Adam looked around for Angela but he couldn’t see her anywhere. He and David lingered by the door. A few boys plucked up the courage to approach a group of girls. They paired off and started moving to the music with blank expressions. The music seemed to get louder as if the DJ thought sheer volume would make up for what else the hall lacked. It was hot and airless and after a while Adam told David he was going to get a drink. In the toilets he splashed water on his face and then made his way to the entrance and went outside where it was cool and the sound of the music faded.

  ‘Hello, Adam.’

  He turned around and found Angela smiling at him. ‘Hi,’ he said and for a second or two was at a loss for anything more to say. She wore jeans and a pink T-shirt with the imprint of a pair of lipsticked lips on the front like a big kiss. With the touch of make-up she wore and her hair done differently she looked older. ‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Were you waiting for me?’

  He wasn’t sure what to say. His heart was beating faster than normal. ‘Would you mind if I was?’

  ‘No.’ For a moment neither of them spoke, absorbing the fact that they seemed to have crossed some kind of invisible boundary. ‘What are you doing out here anyway?’ she asked.

  ‘It was hot inside.’

  She gestured towards the children’s park next door. ‘Shall we go over there then?’

  ‘Don’t you want to go in?’

  She looked at the door. ‘Not really.’

  The park was deserted, lit with a single overhead lamp. Angela sat on a swing and caught the chains in the crook of her elbows. They talked for a while about nothing much, the sounds from the hall drifting over to them. He told her about his job and she told him that she liked art at school but didn’t know what she wanted to do when she left.

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I think I’d like to be a journalist.’

  ‘You mean work at the Courier?’

  ‘No. I mean for a national paper. Or perhaps a magazine.’

  ‘You’d have to live in London or somewhere wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Don’t you like it here then?’

  ‘Sometimes I do,’ he said, and grinned at her.

  She smiled. ‘Like now?’

  ‘Yes.’ Suddenly emboldened he said, ‘I’m glad you came tonight.’

  She reached across and found his hand. ‘I’m glad too.’

  They went for a walk hand in hand around the park. It was warm and the air felt thick and soft in the darkness. The sounds from the hall grew fainter.

  ‘Shouldn’t you go back inside?’ Angela asked. ‘Who’d you come with?’

  ‘David and the others. I think Graham and Nick were talking to some girls though.’ He frowned, looking back at the hall, thinking perhaps he should go back, though he didn’t want to.

  Angela squeezed his hand. ‘David’ll be alright. All the girls fancy him.’

  He was surprised, but when he thought about it he supposed it was true. David was popular and easy-going and he made the girls laugh. He experienced a faint twinge of jealousy. ‘What about you? Do you fancy him too?’

  ‘David?’ She laughed at the idea. ‘I suppose I never thought of him like that. I prefer the dark serious type,’ she teased. ‘I remember the first time I saw you after you moved here. I felt sorry for you.’

  ‘Sorry for me? Why?’

  ‘You looked lonely.’ She squeezed his arm and he smiled though he was slightly uneasy that she had felt sorry for him.

  It was late when Graham and Nick came out of the hall with the two girls they’d been talking to. When Nick put his arm around one of them she laughed coarsely and pushed him away, but then the four of them made their way around the back of the building and vanished in the darkness.

  Angela raised her eyebrows and looked amused, then looked at her watch. ‘I should be getting home.’

  ‘I’ll walk you,’ Adam offered.

  ‘Alright.’

  ‘I better just go and tell David.’

  ‘I’ll wait outside.’

  It was crowded in the hall and at first he couldn’t see David anywhere. He looked twice around the hall until he finally found him talking to the gypsy girl he’d noticed earlier while her friends looked on with sullen suspicion. One of them in particular stared with obvious hostility. He had the same general look as the girl and might have been her brother.

  ‘I’m off,’ Adam said when he went over.

  ‘Alright. See you later.’

  The girl went back towards her friends and David followed her with his gaze.

  ‘Did I interrupt something?’

  ‘I just asked how long they were staying.’

  ‘I don’t think her friends liked her talking to you.’

  ‘They’re gyppos, Adam. They don’t like outsiders much.’ David looked around the hall. ‘Where’ve you been anyway?’

  ‘Just talking to Angela Curtis.’ He tried to make it sound casual, but he didn’t think it worked. ‘I said I’d walk her home anyway, so I better go.’

  David grinned and said he would see him later. When he got outside Angela was leaning against the wall beyond the light from the door. ‘I thought you’d got lost.’

  ‘Sorry, I couldn’t find him.’

  She smiled. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  As they started walking towards the road she slipped her hand inside his.

  Approaching the end of a long hot August, Castleton and the surrounding country seemed smothered in a sleepy stupor wher
e late in the day nothing much stirred. Cows lay down in the shade of oak trees in the fields and buzzards circled lazily in the thermals high above the fells. Then something happened which abruptly shook the town from its lethargy.

  One Saturday afternoon Adam was waiting outside the shop when Angela finished for the day. She wore a band in her hair and a denim skirt that ended mid-thigh. They walked along by the river where she took off her shoes, holding on to his shoulder for balance as she stood on one leg. They followed the path away from the town, past the sawmill and along the edge of Castleton Wood. At one point they passed the gypsy camp on the other side of the river where a woman was hanging washing on a makeshift line and some grubby children were playing with an old bike. The woman stared at them as they passed.

  ‘I wonder why they live like that,’ Adam mused aloud. ‘Do you think they’re as bad as people think?’

  ‘My dad doesn’t like them coming into the shop. He thinks the kids will nick anything they can get their hands on. When I was young he used to tell me I should stay away from them because gypsies sometimes stole children.’

  ‘That’s a bit strong isn’t it?’

  She smiled ruefully. ‘It’s true the kids will nick from the shop though. You have to watch them like hawks. Little buggers.’

  Half a mile further on there was a bend in the river where a willow tree grew and made a pleasant shady spot to sit. The water was shallow close to the bank where it flowed crystal clear over pebbles and rocks. They sat in the long rye grass that was flecked with splashes of vivid red from the poppies that grew in the field. Angela tilted her face to the sun and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath.

  ‘I love that smell, don’t you?’

  It was the sweet smell of hay from a nearby field from where they could hear the drone of a tractor.

  A week ago they had been to the cinema in Brampton and on the way home had taken a shortcut through the graveyard. They had paused under the big oak tree by the south wall and kissed. Adam remembered the feel of her body pressed against his, her quickening breath.

  She opened her eyes and caught him watching her. The air seemed suddenly still. He didn’t try to conceal what he felt sure must be evident in his eyes. She leaned towards him and kissed him briefly and then her expression grew serious. She hugged her knees, not looking directly at him.

  ‘Adam … can I ask you something? Have you ever had sex?’

  ‘No. Have you?’

  She shook her head. ‘Sometimes though, I feel as if I want to. With you I mean. It’s just … I want it to feel right. I want it to be special. Does that sound silly?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There are girls in my class at school who’ve had sex with their boyfriends. They make it sound so casual. I don’t want it to be like that.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ he said.

  She picked a stem of grass and began shredding it. ‘Let’s wait. Can we?’

  ‘Of course.’ He reached for her hand. ‘As long as you like.’

  She smiled and they lay down side by side. He felt closer to her somehow. They linked hands and the warmth of the sun and the drowsy hum of insects lulled them into a languorous daze.

  ‘This is so beautiful,’ Angela murmured. ‘I don’t think I ever want to live anywhere else.’

  ‘Never?’ he questioned.

  She opened one eye. ‘Why would I?’

  ‘Don’t you want to travel?’

  She thought about that. ‘I suppose so,’ she said at last. ‘I’d like to go to America.’

  ‘What about somewhere closer? France.’

  ‘Paris. I’d love to go to Paris. I want to see the Eiffel Tower and all the glamorous shops. And I’d like to go to Italy. But I’d always want to come back here.’

  He pondered what she’d said and then abruptly Angela sat up. ‘I’m hot,’ she announced. She stood up and went down to the river’s edge and waded into the water until it reached just below her knees while Adam sat on the bank watching her.

  ‘What’s it like?’ he asked.

  She turned around and grinned. ‘It’s freezing.’

  A dragonfly skimmed the surface of the water, and the sun shining through the branches of the willow made shimmering patterns of light. Where the bottom was stony the water was clear, the colours of the stones bright and hard, sandy browns and darker reds, but further out towards the far bank the river grew deep and dark where it was shadowed by overhanging branches. As Angela bent to scoop water in her hand, her long hair fell across her shoulders and as she stood she pushed it back and splashed her face. Adam felt his throat tighten. He wanted to capture this image of her and store it away in his mind, to absorb the detail of the light and the reflections on the water, of a green weeping willow and a girl whom he thought he was falling in love with.

  When she came back to sit beside him again, she gestured to the paperback he’d shoved in his back pocket and asked what it was.

  ‘Cider with Rosie. It’s by someone called Laurie Lee.’ He showed her the cover. ‘It’s about a boy growing up in Gloucestershire before the war.’

  ‘Is it good?’

  ‘Yes.’ He started to tell her about it. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chin as he described the sense of another time that the book evoked.

  ‘Who’s Rosie?’ she asked.

  ‘A girl.’

  ‘What’s she like?’

  ‘She’s nice,’ he said. ‘He thinks about her all the time.’ An insect landed in Angela’s hair, and he reached out and brushed it away. She smiled and then turned to look at the water and for a while neither of them spoke.

  It was evening by the time they walked back towards town. The light had grown soft and hazy, turning purple in the dusk. They passed the gypsy camp and heard the sound of voices from behind a caravan. The smell of wood smoke filled the air. Close to town they crossed the water meadow near the now quiet sawmill. On the other side of the river Adam glimpsed two figures in the trees. He stopped.

  ‘What is it?’ Angela asked when she saw where he was looking.

  The figures had gone, however, slipped back among the trees as if they didn’t want to be seen, though not before Adam had formed a fleeting impression of a boy and a girl, the boy tall with thick brown hair, the girl slender and dark. For a moment he was sure it had been David. He was on the verge of saying so, but in the end he didn’t.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Thought I saw something that’s all.’

  There had been times over the last few weeks when Adam had seen the gypsy girl in the trees across the river from the sawmill. She appeared to be waiting for somebody and she always hung back in the gloom as if she didn’t want to be seen. When he thought about it he hadn’t seen so much of David lately, though he’d been spending time with Angela so maybe that was it. Besides, if David was seeing the gypsy girl he probably wouldn’t want his dad to know about it, which might explain why he hadn’t said anything. And maybe it hadn’t been David anyway.

  But if it was, he wondered as they walked on, had David told Nick?

  Two days later, on Monday, the Courier was buzzing with rumours of a big story. For once Findlay turned up and went to the editor’s office where the two men were seen talking for almost an hour. When Findlay finally emerged he disappeared for the rest of the day, but he returned late in the afternoon and spent an hour at his desk hammering at his typewriter. Adam was proofing ads for the following weekend’s edition when Findlay surprised him by appearing at his side.

  ‘Working late I see, Adam.’

  ‘I thought I’d just get this done.’

  Findlay glanced at the ads. There was something different about him, a kind of gleam in his eye. ‘Where is it you live, Adam? Over Brampton way somewhere isn’t it?’

  ‘Just outside Castleton.’

  ‘Aye, I thought it was. Do you know anything about the gypsies that are camping over there?’

  ‘I’ve seen them,’ Adam said uncertainly.

  ‘One of them
’s gone missing. A girl. She hasnae been seen for a couple of days now. Do you ever talk to any of them?’

  ‘Nobody does much.’

  ‘No, I suppose they don’t. They’re not much liked, eh? Still, this wee lassie is a good-looking girl I’ve heard. Mebbe she just met some local lad, eh? And the two of them have eloped.’ He chuckled, but his gaze was penetrating. ‘If you hear anything, will you let me know?’

  ‘Alright,’ Adam said.

  ‘Thanks. Anyway, I expect she’ll turn up. Don’t work too late, Adam.’

  In the morning the story was all over the front page of the Courier. The missing girl’s name was Meg Coucesco. There was no photograph, but the police had provided an identikit and Adam recognized her as the girl from the disco. He read the story through with growing unease. She was seventeen years old and had last been seen late on Saturday afternoon when she had left the camp alone. She had never returned. There was little detail in the story other than a description of what she’d been wearing, and a statement from the police expressing concern for her safety. A search of local land had been organized for that day involving local police and volunteers, and anyone who had visited the camp over the summer, or who knew the girl, was asked to come forward and speak to the detectives on the case. The final quote was from a unnamed senior officer who said that at this stage the actions they were taking were merely a precaution. There was always the chance that the girl had simply chosen to run away of her own accord.

  Adam wondered about that. If the police thought she had run away, why were they conducting a search and asking to speak to anyone who knew her?

  At the end of the day he was glad to be alone on the bus, to give him a chance to think. Whenever he’d seen Findlay around the office that day he’d done his best to avoid him, though he wasn’t sure why. He unfolded a copy of the paper he’d brought with him and stared at the picture of the missing girl. It was a good likeness though curiously expressionless, which made him think of the first time he’d seen her from the bus when she’d stared back at him through the window.

  He kept thinking about the times he’d seen her near the sawmill and about the two figures he’d glimpsed vanishing among the trees on Saturday. He’d been thinking about it all day.