[Polwenna Bay 01.0] Runaway Summer

by Ruth Saberton

  Jake wished the same. He’d meant to have a word with Nick too, hadn’t he? He sighed. Sometimes the responsibility of it all was like a leaden weight on the top of his head. Apart from looking out for his younger siblings’ welfare, there was all the stress of trying to find ways to shore up the failing family business – not to mention a father who insisted on doing an ostrich impression and keeping up appearances by flexing the company plastic. Jake’s temples began to thud like the bass of one of Zak’s songs. And if he even dared to start to thinking about Ella and Summer…

  Jake closed his eyes in despair. Maybe he should just take a leaf out of Danny’s book and go back to bed. As Alice clattered pans and plates into the dishwasher, his head pounded with each crash of china and chink of cutlery.

  “Heavy night?” Mo grinned at him from her perch by the Aga. With her stripy-socked feet up on the laundry basket, she was chomping away on a doorstep of a bacon sandwich while flicking through the equine section of yesterday’s Western Morning News.

  “Very heavy by the look of him,” Issie laughed. Once Morgan had been dispatched to wash and smarten himself up for church, she added with a wink, “Evil Ella was doing her best to get poor Jake pissed so that she could have her wicked way. When I left the pub they were looking very cosy. I hope you resisted, bro? I couldn’t bear her as a sister-in-law. She’d make Tara look like Mary Poppins.”

  “Ella St Milton?” Alice’s wise brown eyes were troubled at the mention of this. “Be careful, Jakey my love. She’s one determined young woman. I seem to remember that her grandmother was exactly the same. Poor Jonny St Milton never stood a chance. She was going to marry him whether he liked it or not.”

  “Ella’s well hot. I would,” winked Zak. He reached across the table and helped himself to the leftovers on Issie’s plate. “She’s worth a fortune too, mate. What’s stopping you?”

  “Err, the fact that she’s rancid?” suggested Mo, joining them at the table and helping herself to coffee. Her curled lip spoke volumes.

  “Didn’t seem to stop Jake last night,” teased Issie. “He wasn’t exactly fighting her off.”

  “My goodness, you were drunk, weren’t you?” Mo said scathingly. “God, we should get this family a group admittance to Al Anon. We’re a disgrace to the village.”

  Jake lifted his head just enough to look at Mo. The sunshine was hurting his eyes. “Just for the record, nothing happened with Ella. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  And this was the absolute truth: nothing had happened, although it hadn’t been for want of trying to engineer the situation on Ella’s part. Drinks, flirty looks from beneath those thick false lashes, and hundreds of feather-light touches on his shoulder, arm and leg; she’d gone into full attack mode. After last orders they’d walked through the quiet streets together, and when Ella had asked him to come back to the hotel for the night, Jake had certainly been tempted. After all, Zak was right – she was sexy. With her hard gym-honed body and perfect salon grooming, there was no doubt that Ella St Milton was a very attractive proposition. Yet somehow the memories of lush curves and wide-spaced green eyes in a heart-shaped face kept superimposing themselves over Ella’s features, and he’d stepped away involuntarily when she’d moved in to kiss him. Getting home to check on Danny had been Jake’s excuse, but deep down he knew that as much as he loved his brother it hadn’t been Dan that had held him back. Ella hadn’t been pleased and they’d parted rather coolly. Lying alone in his bed at Seaspray and listening to the muffled giggles and groans coming from Zak’s room, Jake had started to regret turning Ella down. Now, though, in the bright morning light and surrounded by his teasing siblings, he was relieved. The last thing he needed right now were any further complications.

  “I can’t believe you still hate Ella St Milton,” Zak was saying to Mo. “It was years ago that you two fell out. Get over it. You’re worse than the Count of Monte Cristo!”

  “You know our Mo can hold a grudge for England,” sighed Alice. She pulled out a chair and sat next to Morwenna, a gentle squeeze of her granddaughter’s shoulder taking any sting out of her words.

  “It’s not a grudge. I’m just a good judge of character. I was right about Cashley Carstairs too, wasn’t I? The tosser’s only trying to buy the woods.” Mo set her coffee mug down with a thud. “Well, over my dead body! If he wants a fight then he’s got one.”

  “Anger management for you, young lady, after flying off the handle at him yesterday,” teased Zak – and predictably Mo flared up like a Roman candle.

  “I didn’t fly off the handle! I just told him that there’s no way that he’s going to buy those woods. Somebody has to care about what goes on here while others – no names mentioned, Zak Tremaine – want to waste their time chasing total slappers and pretending to be something out of Bon Jovi or Led Zeppelin!”

  Zak’s wide blue eyes were the picture of innocence and he placed his hand over his chest. “Ouch, Morwenna. That hurts.”

  Mo snorted rudely. “Truth tends to, Pound Shop Robert Plant!”

  “That’s enough!” Alice said. “Zachary, don’t tease your sister.” She turned to Mo. “But sweetheart, he has a point. You really do need to calm down a little.”

  Jake didn’t think his sore head could cope with much more squabbling. Every time they were back together the Tremaine family rolled the years away and all the old childhood grievances and allegiances surfaced. If Symon, Danny and Nick were present too then there was usually a full-scale fallout guaranteed within ten minutes. It was all pretty harmless stuff and more from force of habit than any real upset, though; when the chips were down they would all fight tooth and nail to defend one another.

  “Granny Alice is right, Mo. You do need to watch that temper. You tore a strip off Summer too,” he reminded her. “That red hair of yours is getting to be a liability.”

  Morwenna looked mutinous. “Thanks for the gratitude. I was sticking up for you.”

  “That’s really kind,” said Jake, tongue firmly in his cheek. “But I’m big enough to fight my own battles, thanks. Besides, it was all years ago. There’s no point dragging it all up now.”

  Alice’s ears were out on elastic. “Did you say Summer? As in Summer Penhalligan? Eddie and Susie’s girl?”

  Jake could have ripped his tongue out. Great. Now his grandmother had this snippet of information he’d never get a minute’s peace. He was about to reply but Issie was staring at him accusingly.

  “I knew it was her I saw yesterday, but she’d vanished by the time I got to the car park and I thought I must have been mistaken! How come you never told me?”

  Jake shrugged. “There was nothing to tell. She’s probably just back for a quick visit and will be gone again in a day or two.” God, he certainly hoped so. Something was telling him that it wasn’t just a hangover that was making his insides feel so weird this morning.

  But Alice was frowning. “That’s funny. Susie didn’t mention Summer was visiting. In fact she’s been getting worried because they haven’t heard from her for so long.”

  Zak leaned across the table, raising his eyebrows at Jake. “Aha! Now I understand why you didn’t rock the casbah with Ella last night. Summer’s here?” He whistled appreciatively. “Did you see that last advertising campaign she did? That woman is a goddess!”

  Unfortunately Jake had seen it. He’d not intended to, but it was pretty hard to ignore six-feet high billboards depicting a gorgeous woman dressed only in wisps of lace and satin. He guessed this was the whole point, given that she’d been promoting a new underwear range, but he’d rather it wasn’t his ex who was plastered across most of the UK.

  “Err, hello? But have you all gone mad?” interrupted Mo incredulously. “This is the woman who dumped Jake from a vast height, remember? The same one who used to be my best friend and who turned her back on all of us the minute something better came along?”

  “That was a long time ago, wasn’t it, Jake?” said Alice gently. She smiled at him, and as the
sunlight danced across her lined face Jake was struck by how old and tired she looked. Granny Alice was in her seventies and had spent what should have been her quiet retirement looking after her son’s motherless brood and running herself ragged. The last thing she needed now that they were supposedly adults was for all of them to start behaving like teenagers again.

  Even if his heart was feeling dangerously close to how it had at eighteen…

  “Absolutely. It’s all water under the bridge,” he agreed. “Honestly, Mo, you don’t need to look so furious. We were just kids and it wasn’t anything serious. I’m well and truly over Summer Penhalligan.”

  “Morwenna, my love,” Alice said softly and with a frown creasing her forehead, “I really do think you should let bygones be bygones. Summer was very young and she made the choices that she thought were the right ones at the time. We may not have liked them but we have to respect them.” She gave her grandchildren a stern look. “Surely you’re all old enough now to see that?”

  Jake exhaled slowly. “Absolutely we are, and nobody is to give Summer Penhalligan a hard time on my account. Is that clear? Absolutely nobody.”

  Zak opened his mouth, probably to make a quip about how he’d love nothing more than to give Summer a hard time, but the determined set of his brother’s chin was enough to make him shut up quickly. Meanwhile, easy-going Issie just nodded.

  Mo shrugged. “Fine. Whatever you think best, Jake.” She pushed her chair away from the table and scooped up her paper. Pausing with her hand on the door handle she shook her head in resignation.

  “I’ll leave her alone with pleasure,” she said, deliberately and scornfully, “but just ask yourself, Jake: why is it you still care what anyone says to her?”

  Chapter 10

  One hour, two Nurofen and six miles later, Jake was starting to feel slightly more human. Running always helped to clear his mind, mostly because while he was focusing on his breathing and his pace he couldn’t think of anything else at all; at the risk of sounding like that dippy hippy Silver Starr, he saw his regular runs as a kind of meditation. It was rare that pounding the fields, roads and cliffs failed to lift his spirits.

  Today Jake had taken his usual route that led out through the village, turned left at the car park (he really must liberate the work truck later on, or what little money the boatyard had made so far this season would be gobbled up by parking fees) and wound up a slow and deceptively steep hill to the top of Polwenna Bay. Once at the summit, and with his lungs burning, Jake always ran alongside the main road, criss-crossing from side to side in order to keep on the narrow track masquerading as a grass verge. Then he’d bear right towards the old abbey and pick up the footpath that led through the fields of wheat and maize to the cliff path. The cliff path was always Jake’s favourite part of the run, for although it was desperately steep in some places and inexplicably muddy in others, the view never failed to take away what was left of his breath or to compensate for the ache in his muscles.

  On this sunny May Sunday, the sea was sparkling and only a few wisps of cloud drifted lazily above Jake’s head. He passed a couple of dog walkers and some serious hiker types equipped with maps in plastic neck bags as well as gaiters and walking poles, but apart from these folk the cliff paths were relatively deserted. Jake liked it like this, when it was just the thrashing waves and his heartbeat keeping him company.

  Polwenna Bay was just around the next headland and, judging by the amount of small tripping boats trailing white snakes of wake, the village was already bustling with the first influx of visitors. Knowing that the lower path was likely to be choked up with ambling families blocking the way to take pictures or just admire the view, Jake opted instead for the punishingly steep track that led to the highest path. Full of pasties and cream teas, the day trippers were generally unlikely to embark on an almost vertical track that went nowhere except up and then back down. Only locals in pursuit of a little peace and quiet tended to bother with the upper route, and as he climbed upwards the overgrown grasses and wild flowers that hadn’t been beaten back by a constant flow of walkers brushed Jake’s legs. Several times he had to leap clumps of gorse that ambushed him in the middle of the little-used path – but as soon as he was at the summit and running along a flat grassy expanse for a mile, it was worth every minute. The blue of the sea and the sky seemed to mingle, sheep bounded away as he approached, and suddenly the path twisted and dropped away with dizzying sharpness to reveal Polwenna Bay huddled below in its narrow valley. Jake began to slow his pace; the cliff path ended abruptly in just a hundred metres or so, tumbling away in a series of sharp steps that zigzagged downhill to Seaspray.

  Just before the steps, and set back into a little scooped-out area, nestled a weathered bench surrounded by nodding valerian and pink campion. This was where Jake usually stopped to stretch out and cool down. The lichen-speckled wood was powdery with age, and the dedication plaque bore homage to a couple now long forgotten but who’d once loved the view and wanted a seat placed there in their memory. It probably sounded daft, but Jake often felt that by pausing there even for a few minutes and looking down on the village that hadn’t changed in centuries, he was, in his small way, respecting them.

  He was already looking forward to snatching a few quiet moments there, to calm his ragged breathing and to start collecting together the thoughts he’d been avoiding since Mo had lobbed her earlier verbal grenade at him. But this morning, as he approached the bench, Jake realised that for once it was occupied.

  And then he realised by whom.

  ***

  Summer was exhausted. Not just tired; she was absolutely shattered. This was a grinding, deep-to-her bones weariness that no amount of sleeping or just sitting quietly could banish. Maybe it was an early pregnancy symptom, a bit like the metallic taste in her mouth and the waves of nausea? If it was, though, it wasn’t one that she’d experienced before when—

  No. She wasn’t going to think about that. The memories and the feelings from those long-gone days were safely locked up, had been for years, and the mental key had long since been thrown away. It was far better that way.

  Summer closed her eyes and turned her face up towards the sun. The calling of the gulls and the distant roar of the waves were a part of the soothing music of being up here, as much an element of the place as the warm wood beneath her legs and the scent of wild garlic tickling her nose. Summer had always thought that there was a special peace about being up on the top path, and in the past this bench had been the place she’d always sought out when she needed space to think.

  This morning she’d woken up with a start, her heart crashing against her ribs, and her sheets wet with sweat. For a moment Summer hadn’t known where she was, only that the room was inky black and that there was an empty space beside her where Justin should be. Where was he? Was there somewhere she was supposed to be? Had she forgotten something important and been left behind as punishment for some minor misdemeanour? There were so many little things that could easily send him spiralling into one of his lightning-fast rages or, even worse, herald the start of weeks of silences so cold they made the Ice Age look tropical. Alarmed, Summer had dredged through her memories, just in case she’d smiled at somebody the wrong way or not paid Justin enough attention or, crime of crimes, been stupid enough to wear something that resulted in her getting even more attention than him. That was the ultimate betrayal in Justin’s eyes. But, try as she might, Summer hadn’t been able to think of anything she might have done wrong.

  It was only when her heart rate had slowed enough for her to hear the squawk of seagulls that Summer had remembered exactly where she was. The sense of relief had been overwhelming and she’d lain under the duvet feeling weak and wobbly, until the sun’s fingers had streaked the sky pink and blushed the small attic bedroom. Then she’d had a shower in the tiny cupboard-like en suite, before dressing in jeans and a light sweater and going downstairs to make a strong coffee and another plate of dry toast.

 
; After breakfast, Summer had felt slightly better. Her hands were less shaky and the nausea was passing. It was a beautiful morning, the world all new and shiny as though it had just been made, and she could hardly wait to venture outside and get some fresh air. She’d decided to avoid the village, though. Yesterday’s confrontation with Mo had been deeply upsetting and bumping into Jake worse again. Every time she allowed herself to think about the indifferent expression in his eyes when he’d looked at her, Summer felt the same sharp stab of loss. Even though everything had happened a long time ago, she could feel herself regressing to the unhappy and confused girl she’d once been. Well, that wasn’t going to happen today, Summer had told herself as she’d slipped her feet into her Uggs. She was twenty-eight now and had some real and very serious issues to deal with. The past was going to stay where it belonged – twelve years and another lifetime away. Still, knowing it was Sunday and traditionally the day when Alice Tremaine cooked up a massive breakfast for her family and their friends, Summer had decided not to tempt fate by walking through the village, where she was bound to bump into Mo. Instead she’d taken the cliff path out of the village and plumped for the higher route, where she was unlikely to meet anyone.

  Summer wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting on the bench. The warmth of the sun had made her drowsy and her eyes had closed. Listening to the droning of bees and the rhythm of the waves slowed the racing of her pulse and made her hopeful that maybe everything would work out just fine. Justin would be pleased to see the back of her and he’d break their engagement off without a fuss. He’d even let her bring the baby up on her own without being difficult.

  Yeah right, Summer thought with a mental headshake, and maybe Santa Claus was real too? The climb up was worth every step if it really made her believe that.

  “Summer? Are you all right?”

  The voice interrupted her thoughts and for a moment, with her eyes still shut, she thought she must have been dreaming – unless this bench was Polwenna Bay’s very own time vortex, whisking her back to the early noughties. How wonderful would it be to find herself sixteen again and with her whole life lying before her like freshly fallen snow, instead of the ugly slushy mess she’d made of it?