Bringing the Summer

by Julia Green

  ‘You need to make the first move, if Gabes isn’t going to,’ Miranda said, when we were having lunch together at the Boston café. ‘Why should it always be the bloke who has to do that? Perhaps he’s shy, or he’s not sure how you will react. You need to make it more obvious that you want him to. So he’s absolutely clear it’s what you want.’

  But is it? That’s the real problem, I slowly realise. I’m not clear, even with myself. I keep telling myself it doesn’t matter, that none of this is that important, anyway, in the grand scheme of things. Why shouldn’t I be friends with both of them? They are brothers, after all.

  Friendship. Is that what I’m wanting, really, with both? Is that all? Is it enough? Or is it the family, all of them, that I want to be a part of? My need to belong somewhere? Because my family is just too . . . small? It doesn’t feel like a family at all, any more.

  Too much thinking does my head in. I open my box of pastels and start to draw. I do what Jeanette says: pay attention to the object, look properly, as if you have never seen it before. Draw what is actually there, not what you think is there, and keep the connection: the eye, and the hand, moving across the page. An edge of table, and the back of a chair, and a plant in a pot: a geranium with leaves that smell of lemon, and tiny white flowers. The smell is part of it, but how can you show that, in a painting? Through colour? Association? The drawing lacks depth, somehow. I push the page away from me.

  Mum phones: she’s got a meeting after work so she’s going to be late, and Dad won’t be home till nine. ‘Make yourself something proper for supper,’ she says. ‘Have some fruit and vegetables.’

  ‘I’m sixteen, Mum. You don’t need to tell me.’

  The house seems even emptier now. On impulse, I phone Gabes.

  My heart does a little flutter as he answers.

  ‘Thought I’d actually speak to you,’ I say. ‘Instead of texting. Is your foot any better? What have you been doing today?’

  ‘Lying around, watching crap telly, mostly,’ Gabes says. ‘And being bored.’ There’s a slight pause, before he says, ‘Do you want to come over, this evening?’

  ‘Well, yes, that would be great. But I’m not sure how I can get there . . . my parents aren’t around. There’s no one to give me a lift . . .’

  ‘Hang on a minute.’

  I hear him calling out to someone, and voices in the background, and then he speaks into the phone again. ‘Beth can come and get you. She said she’d like to.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘She wouldn’t offer otherwise. You can help her out, sometime, if you want to pay her back.’ I hear voices again, in the background. Gabes laughs. ‘Now she’s cross with me for saying that. You don’t have to do anything, she says. What’s your address, again? She thinks it’ll take her about half an hour.’

  So suddenly I’m happy, and rushing around, changing into clean jeans and top and getting my things together. Money, phone, notebook and pastels, which I then take out of the bag again, swimming things, just in case I get to stay over and it’s warm enough to swim tomorrow; toothbrush, a change of top and underwear . . .

  Beth texts me, to say she’s at the top of the road. By the time I get there, she’s turning the car round, ready. She leans across to open the door for me. ‘Sling your bag on the back seat, if you can find a space!’

  I push it between the twins’ car seats.

  ‘Thanks so much, Beth!’ I say as I fasten the seat belt, and she drives off. I look at her, remembering what she told me last time. ‘So, how’s your week in Oxford been?’

  ‘Awful,’ she says. ‘Don’t ask. That’s why I’ve come home again for the weekend. Will’s staying in London.’

  Home. Such a tiny word, and so telling. You’d expect her house in Oxford with her husband Will to be her home, but instead she uses the word for the house she grew up in, with her parents. Or rather, her dad. Maddie, I remember now, isn’t her real mother, even if she’s been like a mother most of her life.

  Beth smiles at me. ‘But I’m fine now. Just having other people around, the twins seem so much easier to look after, and happier. Gabes has been great with them this afternoon. Playing endless games of bricks and reading stories. They love him.’

  She concentrates on driving for a bit, negotiating traffic on to the London Road and then over the bridge to the ring road. It’s busy at this time on a Friday.

  I clear my throat. ‘And Theo? Is he at home this weekend?’

  ‘Yes. His last one before uni starts up again.’ She glances at me, curiously, and I wish I hadn’t asked.

  She turns off the lane down to the farmhouse. The green driveway isn’t green any longer: the leaves on the overhanging trees have turned brown and gold. My spirits lift again. I love the first glimpse of the cobbled yard, the whitewashed walls and dipping roof, and that big wooden door into the kitchen.

  Gabes must have heard the car. He comes out to meet us. ‘Hey! Freya!’ He hugs me, and I’m so relieved and happy I forget about the awkward moment in the car with Beth. Everyone seems pleased to see me: his mum, the twins and even Kit, on his way out somewhere. There’s no sign of Theo.

  ‘You’ll be amazed how quick I am on these now!’ Gabes waves one of the crutches. ‘Even outside, and up and down stairs.’

  I laugh. ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Come and see the latest addition to the family.’

  ‘Who’s that, then?’

  ‘The fox. Remember Dad talking about it?’

  I do, vaguely. ‘Where is it?’

  I follow him out of the house again and across the courtyard, round the side of the house. Against the wall someone’s made a small pen out of wood and wire mesh. The young fox is crouched at the back. It cowers further into the shadows, and bares its teeth in a snarl. I can just make out the bandaged leg.

  ‘She’s terrified, obviously. But we can’t let her go till her leg’s mended. And that’ll be weeks. But we mustn’t make her too tame, either, otherwise she won’t readjust to being wild.’

  ‘It seems a lot of effort,’ I say, ‘just for one fox.’

  I’m thinking of all the dead ones you see at the side of the road, along with the squashed badgers and pheasants.

  Gabes looks indignant. ‘You’ll be saying you believe in fox hunting, next,’ he says.

  ‘No, no, I don’t! I think it’s horribly cruel,’ I say. ‘I’m just surprised, I suppose, about your dad going to such a lot of work for a fox. But perhaps if someone brings a creature to the vet’s, they have to save it. A bit like doctors, signing that oath.’

  ‘The Hippocratic oath.’

  ‘Yes. About the sanctity of life. Not killing.’

  ‘But vets have to put animals to sleep all the time. That’s killing. Dad hates doing it, actually. Mum’s always had a thing about taking in waifs and strays. Injured birds, that sort of thing. She does it with people too.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘People who need looking after a bit. You know. Like, if we had friends when we were little, and she thought they were a bit . . . neglected, or not eating enough or unhappy or whatever, she’d invite them back with us. That’s what happened with Bridie.’

  ‘What did happen, exactly?’

  In all the warmth and happiness at Home Farm, it’s never seemed quite right to ask more about Bridie. I’ve been a bit scared about it: as if her sad story might spill over and spoil everything. But I really want to know, now.

  ‘She came to stay with us when she was about five . . .’ Gabes’ voice drifts, goes vague. ‘Bridie’s mum couldn’t cope . . . Mum helped out for a while, but it was a bit of a mistake. It didn’t work out so well.’

  He takes a step nearer the fox.

  She cringes back, but her ears are pricked up, alert, and her nose sniffing the air. And next, surprisingly, she yawns.

  Gabes laughs. ‘She reminds me a bit of Bridie,’ he says. ‘Bridie when she was older, though, a teenager. Angry, and very bored, and underneath it all, scared
stiff.’

  I want to ask why. Why was she frightened? But Gabes is hopping back the way we came. I creep forward, and crouch down so I’m at nearly the same level as the fox. Her eyes shine in the dark at the back of the cage. Her tail is curled round neatly over her toes. ‘Bridie,’ I whisper to her, and her ears go back and then forward again, as if she is tuning in, listening to me.

  Beth’s making a meal for the twins, so she can get them to bed before we all eat a proper grown-up dinner: roast chicken, potatoes roasted with garlic and rosemary, green beans, gravy, followed by home-made apple pie and cream. I’m already starving, just thinking about it.

  ‘Want to help Phoebe?’ Beth asks me.

  ‘Of course!’ I settle down at the table, next to the high chair, and try to spoon baby dinner into Phoebe’s mouth before she turns her head or grabs the spoon. She wants to feed herself, really, and Beth wants to encourage that so it’s all a bit of a messy slow business. In the end we play the animal noises game: one spoonful for the tiger, mmm, yum yum. Roar like a tiger. One mouthful for the dog . . .

  Maddie comes in and out of the kitchen, checking on the roast, washing things up, making encouraging remarks to the babies about how well they’re doing and how gorgeous they are. It makes me feel as if I’m doing a good job too. I wonder if that’s why she does it, partly: to make Beth feel nice. Like, to show her she is a good mother.

  Nick arrives home from his surgery. He washes his hands at the sink. ‘Hello, Freya! Seen our fox?’

  ‘Yes. Gabes showed me.’

  ‘She’s doing well,’ Nick says. ‘As she starts getting better, we’ll have to make sure she can’t get out and have a go at the hens.’

  ‘She looked too scared for that,’ I say.

  ‘Appearances are deceptive,’ Nick says. ‘Especially with foxes! They are just as clever and cunning in real life as they are in stories. They can wreak havoc.’

  ‘Dinner in about thirty minutes,’ Maddie says.

  We untie the babies’ bibs and lift them out of the high chairs. Maddie starts clearing up the mess.

  ‘Can I help with bath and bedtime?’ I ask Beth.

  Gabes gives me a quick look I can’t quite interpret. Possibly, why? I’m not sure why myself, even . . .

  I go ahead anyway.

  ‘Come on then,’ I say to Phoebe. ‘Up we go!’

  Once we’ve finally got them settled in Beth’s room, I tiptoe out and close the door behind me. The delicious smell of roast meat is drifting up from the kitchen. I can hear music playing from one of the bedrooms. A ballad: something sad and mournful.

  On the landing, I hesitate for a moment. The music’s coming from the room next to Gabes’. Theo’s?

  By the time I get down to the kitchen the table is laid ready and Maddie’s serving the meal. She looks up. ‘Good. Is Beth nearly ready?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Where’s Theo?’ she asks. ‘Anyone seen him? Someone go and see if he’s in his room, But go quietly, in case the twins are just dropping off. Don’t just yell up the stairs!’

  Gabes starts gathering up his crutches. ‘Not you!’ Maddie says. ‘You can’t do anything quietly on those!’

  I look towards Nick: he’s busy reading a letter or something at the dresser.

  ‘I’ll go,’ I say.

  I tap on his door, too quietly at first, what with the music, and then say his name.

  The music goes quiet; he opens the door. ‘Freya!’

  ‘Supper’s ready,’ I tell him. I stand there, waiting.

  ‘Aren’t you coming in?’

  I shake my head. ‘Maddie says come now, to eat. It’s all served up ready.’

  ‘What are you frightened of, Freya?’ Theo half smiles, mocking me.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say quickly. I turn away, and at that moment he reaches out and pulls me towards him, and he kisses me, before I know what’s happening or can stop him. And at that precise second, Beth comes out of her room, and sees us. She turns away, goes on down the landing to the stairs.

  I’m furious with Theo. I pull away, my heart thumping, but I’m too shocked and embarrassed to make a fuss or say anything. Instead I just stupidly follow Beth down to the kitchen. It’s not what you think! It wasn’t my fault, I want to explain, but there’s no time, she’s already joining the rest of the family in the bright, steamy kitchen, and in any case, even I can see that anything I say would sound ridiculous. But I still feel awful, even though it wasn’t my fault.

  What was he thinking?

  Theo comes downstairs eventually, after we’ve all started eating, looking strange: dark-eyed, talking too fast, showing off. I try not to look at him.

  Gabes sighs. His earlier good mood begins to evaporate.

  Beth is watching all three of us, especially me.

  ‘You don’t have much of an appetite,’ Maddie says, eyeing me over her glasses.

  ‘That explains how she stays so slim and lovely!’ Nick says cheerfully. ‘Unlike me.’ He pats his round belly.

  ‘Stop talking about Freya like that. You are both so embarrassing.’ Gabes sounds defensive. ‘Take no notice, Freya.’

  Beth clears the plates and brings the apple pie to the table. ‘What’s everyone doing tomorrow?’ she says. ‘Theo’s packing, presumably?’ She looks over and glares at him.

  ‘I might have a last swim,’ he says, nonchalantly. ‘I’ve got all Sunday for packing.’

  ‘Don’t leave it till the last minute,’ Beth says. ‘If I’m taking you, you’ll need to be ready by three at the latest. I mean it.’

  ‘Stop stressing,’ Theo says. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  Beth bites her lip.

  Maddie intervenes, skilfully. ‘I shall be cleaning out the hens first thing, so any help gratefully received, and then doing a bit of tidying up in the garden. I need to do a big shop, too; we’ve got people coming for the evening.’

  ‘Who?’ Gabes asks.

  ‘Kate and Tim.’

  ‘Dad’s sister and her partner,’ Gabes explains to me. ‘Sorry, yet more family.’

  ‘Extended family,’ Beth says. ‘Dad’s family, mainly. He’s the prolific one.’

  After supper, we all help clear the dishes, and then Gabes and I take some leftover chicken out to the fox.

  As soon as I open the makeshift door she comes rushing and snapping at my hand. I drop the meat and shut the door again quickly and fasten the catch. ‘She’s starving!’ I say. ‘Or desperate to get out, perhaps.’

  Gabes doesn’t hear me. He’s gone back into the courtyard and is staring up at the sky. ‘There are loads of stars, tonight,’ he says. ‘Look, Freya!’

  They are nothing compared to the stars you see at St Ailla, where there are no street lights, no roads or cars, hardly any houses, even, but I don’t say that to Gabes. Instead, I point out the constellations I know, and he shows me which planets are extra bright this time of year. He stands close behind me, and I lean back ever so slightly, against him, but nothing else happens. He doesn’t put his arms round me, or kiss me, or anything . . . and then Maddie yells at us to close the back door and we go back inside.

  Gabes and I go upstairs to his room. We walk past Theo’s shut door. We sit on the bed together because there isn’t anywhere else, really, and in any case he needs to rest up his leg. He asks me about college, and I talk a bit about my sea painting.

  ‘Tell me some more about Bridie,’ I ask him.

  ‘Why are you so interested in her?’ Gabes says.

  ‘I don’t know . . . I suppose because of being on the train, and then the connection with your family . . . and because . . . I want to understand how such a thing could happen.’

  He doesn’t speak for a while.

  ‘Do you mind?’ I ask.

  ‘No. I don’t know what to tell you, though. What do you want to know, exactly?’

  ‘Her story, I suppose. What happened to her.’

  ‘OK. Well, I’ll tell you my version. Theo
would have a different take on it.’

  Eleven

  ‘The first time Bridie came to stay she must have been five or six; I don’t really remember: I was only about three. I think it was because her mother needed a break – she was a friend of Beth and Laura’s mum, Lorna. Bridie’s mother had lots of problems with alcohol, drugs and that; she wasn’t coping. Lorna helped out when she could, and somehow Mum got roped in too – Dad was still friends with Lorna in those days; he had to be, for Beth and Laura’s sake, so Mum knew Lorna too. Bridie was the same age as Theo. Mum thought they could play together. Which they did. They were quite close.

  ‘After that, she’d come from time to time – the holidays, mostly, and some weekends. She was already struggling at school. I can vaguely remember Mum trying to help her learn to read: sitting with Bridie at the table, helping her sound out words, or getting her to talk about the pictures. I remember that because I was already beginning to read, even though I was two years younger, and Theo was streets ahead – reading proper chapter books by himself. Mum thought Bridie might be dyslexic, though the school didn’t agree: they thought it was emotional, or something.’

  Gabes looks at me. ‘Are you sure you want to hear all this?’

  ‘Yes. I’m interested. Really.’

  ‘OK. Well, Bridie started being more troublesome. Naughty. She started nicking stuff: small things, our toys, bits of Lego and stuff from Beth’s and Laura’s rooms: doll’s house furniture, or hair beads, or rubbers – silly little things, really. And Mum would find them in her pockets, when she washed her clothes, but Bridie would always lie, deny taking them. Mum said it was a sign of Bridie’s unhappiness, and needing love and other things that were missing in her life, so she tried to be understanding and loving, not cross. But that made us cross instead – like there was one set of rules for Bridie, and another for the rest of us children. Plus, it was our stuff getting stolen! And Mum explaining to us why didn’t make much difference. As far as we were concerned it wasn’t fair.

  ‘Mum said if we were loving and patient, little by little we’d win her round: Bridie would begin to trust, and feel secure, and then she’d stop stealing our things. But we didn’t feel like being loving. Bridie was mean, and spiteful. She’d pinch you, or pull your hair, or say horrible things. One time, Mum caught her just about to push Kit out of an open upstairs window. It really scared Mum. So, after that it took up more and more of Mum’s time, watching out in case something else happened. And Mum had underestimated Bridie – the extent to which she’d been damaged. Mum was – is – too optimistic. She always thinks that if you are loving and kind, that’s enough.’