The Summer We Ran Away: From the author of uplifting women’s fiction and bestsellers, like The Summerhouse by the Sea, comes the best holiday read of 2020!

by Jenny Oliver

  When Amber had walked into his room, he’d grinned like a Cheshire cat at the sight of her. And she had grinned back. She climbed over the discarded clothes on the floor and onto the bed where he’d been lying listening to music, where he’d opened his arms wide to envelope her, where he’d smelt of warmth and sleep, Lynx and sweat.

  Where she’d found herself shy suddenly. And for the first time in need. Where she had allowed herself, as she slept on his grey patterned sheets, as she’d heard his mum watching TV in the living room, as she’d fought the drag of the blank hoarse loss of her dad dying and the bewilderment of her mum leaving, the momentary luxury of safety.

  She had woken up in the morning to find Lovejoy sitting up, T-shirt thrown on, fidgety like he’d been waiting for her eyes to open. When he’d smiled, this time his face was too vibrant. His eyes too wide. He started talking about a plan he’d had. He wasn’t hanging around here, he said. His mum had come into a bit of cash selling some old photographs of vegetables she’d found in an attic clearance. She was lending him some. He was going to go to the States. Did she know there were warehouses in Brooklyn packed with the antique equivalent of solid gold? Buy it cheap, ship it over. No messing. His hands moved fast as he talked. Then he might go east, he thought. There was so much to see. He wasn’t staying around here, no way. Amber had barely wiped the sleep from her eyes. All she noticed was that he kept looking furtively at her rucksack in the corner, panic on his face. Like it was going to rise up and tie him down where he was on the bed, forever. Not once did he mention the possibility of her going to America too, of them buying stuff cheap and shipping it back together.

  Amber didn’t need to be told twice.

  They got up and had breakfast with his mum. She remembered Carole asking, ‘How’s your mum, Amber?’ And Amber had said, ‘Oh she’s fine. She’s just gone on holiday actually. Back in a fortnight.’

  Carole looked uncertain.

  Amber’s expression was too neutral to challenge. But she knew Carole knew that she was lying.

  ‘That’s nice,’ Carole said in the end. ‘Very lucky.’ She glanced at her son. Amber had seen her mouth, ‘Have you told her?’ And Lovejoy nod as unsubtle as ever. Carole had turned back to Amber and said, ‘I know Lovejoy’s going away, but there’s a home for you here, always, you know that?’

  ‘Alright, Mum, I’m not going till next week, you can’t rent my out room yet.’

  And Amber had smiled almost quizzically, as if even the mere mention of her needing a place to stay was completely unnecessary – she had a home, a mother, a place to sleep.

  As soon as she could leave, without seeming too hurried, Amber had picked up her massive rucksack, as if it were no big deal, and with a casual ‘See you at the pub later’ to Lovejoy, she strode off down the biting, wind-tunnel corridor. Then she had got into her dad’s battered old van and driven off to nowhere. That night she slept in the back. Shivering in a car park.

  And here Lovejoy was, at an antiques fair in France, with that same off-hand, bright-eyed emotionless expression on his face. It made Amber feel sick. It made her take those few final strides towards him, snatch the phone and say, ‘It’s not Lovejoy who’s your father, Billy. I told you that. If you must know, it was a guy called Richard. He was in a band called something like Open Water or Something Ice, I can’t remember. I don’t know where he is. He’s probably dead from all the drugs he was taking. Alright? There you go. That’s all I can tell you.’

  On the other end of the phone, Billy was silent for a second, then he said, ‘Richard. Something Ice or Water…’ slowly as if he was writing it down.

  Amber exhaled. ‘Billy, you don’t need to do anything about it now. OK. We can talk about it properly when I get home.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, completely unconvincing. ‘Bye, Mum.’

  ‘Bye, darling,’ she said, but he’d hung up.

  Lovejoy looked vastly relieved. Like the status quo had resumed.

  When Amber handed him back the phone he said, ‘Well that was interesting. I never knew Ned wasn’t his real—’

  But Amber wasn’t listening. Every part of her body was telling her she had to leave. She had to get as far away from him as possible. She couldn’t cope with any questions. She couldn’t look at the expressions on his face. She couldn’t cope with the tendrils of him curling into her world. ‘Come on, Julia. We have things to do.’

  Julia hurried to catch up as Amber started to stride away from the shade of the trees.

  ‘Amber?’ Lovejoy called after her.

  But she ignored him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Where are we going?’ said Julia, having to trot to keep up as Amber pushed blindly through tourists and traders.

  ‘To the van,’ Amber said without turning round.

  ‘The van?’ Julia said, surprised, but didn’t argue. Amber was almost radiating fury.

  When they broke out of the main crowd and hit the road leading up to the hotel, Julia finally caught up with her side by side. ‘Was it true?’ Julia asked. ‘What you said about that guy Richard in the band. Is that true?’

  ‘Course it’s true,’ snapped Amber.

  But there was no ‘of course’ about it in Julia’s mind. It seemed it was impossible to trust Amber from one thing to the next.

  They got to the garage of the Hotel Croissant. Inside it was freezing. Dark and gloomy. One of the fluorescent lights flickered. Amber opened the back doors of the van and checked everything was packed properly. The taxidermy fox stared out at them, beady yellow eyes making Julia jump.

  ‘Are we leaving?’ Julia asked, confused as Amber slammed the doors.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But we still have the north side of the fair to do.’

  ‘Just get in the van, Julia,’ said Amber, who marched to the driver’s side, yanking the door open.

  Julia hauled open her door as Amber was starting the engine, her wild eyes making Julia panic. She didn’t want to drive off into nowhere with Amber. If she was honest, she quite wanted to go home even if her husband wasn’t talking to her and everyone on the street knew her humiliating business. This fiasco wasn’t much better. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Away from here.’

  ‘But where?’ asked Julia, looking around unsure. They couldn’t just leave the fair.

  ‘I’m thinking,’ said Amber, sighing, trying to concentrate while also crunching her gears to find reverse while reaching across to get her bag from the footwell.

  ‘What do you need?’ Julia asked, taking it from her.

  ‘About a hundred Nicorette patches.’

  Julia handed her the box. ‘Amber, why don’t you just wait a second,’ she urged, hoping she might pause and calm down rather than just peel multiple patches off and thwack them onto her arm. ‘Why don’t we get a cup of coffee or something and then you can talk to Lovejoy.’

  Amber finally slammed the van into reverse. ‘Why?’ she said, off-hand, checking her mirrors as she pulled out of the space at speed.

  ‘Well because…’ Julia started as if it were obvious, then paused because Amber didn’t look as if it were obvious. Julia was suddenly torn. She wanted to say nothing but Amber was glaring at her in challenge.

  ‘Why?’ Amber said again. Outside the garage, the roads were still blocked by market traders. Amber had to weave the van through the traffic diversion of narrow back streets.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Julia.

  ‘No, go on,’ pushed Amber. ‘You want me to talk to Lovejoy because…?’

  When Amber frowned she looked like Billy. When he was all earnest with Julia, diligently following her cooking instructions. Pushing his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose. His studious, geeky seriousness.

  But it wasn’t just Billy that Julia was thinking about. Part of her was let down because she thought Amber was so strong and so together and now they were running away. From Lovejoy of all people. It was that which made her say quietly, ‘Because you’re lying to them,�
�� as the van was heading up towards the main road. And then to quickly make amends, to make it seem said more out of concern for Amber, added, ‘It’s only going to make things worse, I think, lying. Maybe you should just be honest with them? I don’t know.’ She shrugged. Wishing she’d never said anything. Beside her Amber’s face was setting, hard and sharp.

  ‘No you don’t know!’ Amber snapped, like a whip. ‘And who are you to talk, anyway?’ she said, almost visibly puffing up, like a cat backed into a corner, instantly ready on the attack. ‘Be honest – that’s a laugh! You can’t even be honest with yourself.’

  Julia gripped her seat belt, wide-eyed with surprise.

  ‘Don’t look so shocked,’ Amber scoffed, pulling out at a roundabout even though it wasn’t her right of way, sneering at the angry on-coming driver. ‘You have this nice husband. Well he seems nice enough, bit scrawny but nice enough. A nice house. You’re clever. You don’t have one problem in the bloody world. But there you are decked out like Lexi bloody Warrington and her minions. Constantly mooning over her Instagram.’

  ‘I am not,’ said Julia, defensive.

  But Amber wasn’t listening. ‘Fantasising about her idiot of a husband. Moaning at your husband that he’s not making grand enough gestures to keep you. I mean, what the hell? Just open your eyes and admit you’ve fallen into the trap,’ she went on. ‘Take some bloody responsibility.’

  Julia swallowed. She felt like she had scratches on her arms.

  Amber was flooring it up the street out of the town. She shook her head, despairing. ‘You’re so busy blaming your husband, you’re incapable of taking any blame yourself. Maybe you’re driving him bananas! Always bowing to other people, pleasing them. I mean, who the hell agrees a deal on the most amazing trolley ever and then takes a phone call from their mother rather than paying? You want to know about lying. Look in the bloody mirror, Julia.’

  Julia was clutching tight to the seat belt now. ‘Why are you being so mean?’

  Amber huffed. ‘Because you’re so frustrating!’

  ‘Well so are you!’ Julia found herself snapping back, hurt. Almost shocking herself. She immediately wanted to suck the words back in, feeling not quite up to the challenge of taking on Amber. Like a duckling waddling into a boxing ring.

  ‘Oh really?’ Amber drawled.

  ‘Yes,’ Julia replied, a touch less confident.

  ‘Why?’

  They pulled onto the motorway, the sun ahead of them pooling out over the rolling hills, horses in fields and giant white windmills looming still and silent in the thick muggy heat.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Julia asked as the van powered along in the fast lane.

  ‘Don’t change the subject,’ Amber snapped. ‘Tell me why I’m frustrating.’

  ‘No,’ said Julia shaking her head.

  ‘Go on,’ Amber baited, clearly gunning for a fight.

  ‘I don’t want to,’ said Julia fiddling with her skirt pleats.

  ‘Go on, tell me why. I’ve told you. You can’t, can you?’ She laughed. Julia flinched. ‘Come on,’ Amber went on. ‘Stand up to me, Julia, I can take it. Tell me what’s so frustrating.’

  ‘OK, fine,’ Julia snapped. Feeling the tension of the day wound up inside her, the humiliation of Amber’s words. ‘You blame everyone but yourself, too. You act like you’re so right but you’re not. You should have told Lovejoy and you know it. However bad he was. It’s people’s lives. Not just yours. I agreed before but I actually think you’re wrong. He has a right to know. Billy has a right to know. You’re just afraid of getting into trouble.’

  ‘It’s not school, Julia!’

  ‘I know it’s not school. You know what I— I mean.’ Julia was stuttering now. She’d lost her train of thought. She was panicking. ‘I just think you’re afraid of them getting angry, maybe. Because—’

  ‘Because what? What?’ Amber snarled, blowing her hair out of her eyes. Driving faster now. ‘Because you think it’s all my fault? That I denied him the right to a child when he wouldn’t have stuck around for a child in a million years. It’s me that’s angry.’

  Julia hesitated. ‘Yes, fine. Maybe you all have a right to be angry! It’s just I would be afraid of them getting angry and not speaking to me, because I had lied,’ she started to lose her fight, she was worried about how fast Amber was driving, ‘I think it’s going to get worse if this carries on. That they’re more likely to not speak to you. And you and Billy have such a lovely relationship. Oh I don’t know, I don’t know.’ She held her hands up like she was done. ‘I just— I think you should slow down.’

  Amber snorted with disgust at the idea, eyes fixed on the road, undertaking, overtaking.

  Up ahead, the sky was almost white, the heat engulfing.

  A beep from Amber’s phone cut into the tense silence between them. It was in the cup-holder and Julia could see it was a WhatsApp message from Billy.

  Amber reached forward and clicked on it.

  The message read:

  Was it this guy?

  And there was a photo, a screenshot from an old newspaper. Clearly the result of Billy’s obsessive googling.

  ‘Richard Shepherd, of band Thin Air, and girlfriend, Amber Beddington, brave the Glastonbury mud,’ the caption read.

  Julia craned across to see the photo better. The guy in it wore a black pork pie hat, a loose white T-shirt with a black eagle on the front, a rosary round his neck and skinny black jeans that were caked in mud up to the knee. A cigarette hung from his plump lips and there was another one behind his ear. His arm was draped casually over a very skinny, very young-looking Amber. Moody and beautiful in a sludge green mini-dress, low boho belt and mud-encrusted wellington boots. Her long platinum-blonde hair hung in a centre parting half over sullen, dark-rimmed eyes. She had the look of a child playing at being a grown-up.

  Amber smacked the steering wheel. ‘Shit,’ she muttered darkly. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

  Julia winced as the van accelerated. ‘Amber,’ she said, tone warning, trying to get her to pause, to calm down.

  But Amber was going faster now. Faster and faster in her stony silence.

  Then the sound of a siren pierced the air behind them.

  Julia had never been pulled over by the police before. She presumed for Amber it was a more regular occurrence because she sighed with annoyance rather than shook with nerves as she pulled the van over to the hard shoulder, the interior of the van lighting up with flashing blue.

  Julia was terrified.

  Other cars went past slowly rubbernecking.

  The tarmac sizzled with heat. The grassy verge was an arid mix of rubbish and mangy gorse bushes. A tall white windmill towered ominously over them. Up ahead was a wide expanse of patchwork field.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Amber said, turning to Julia.

  ‘We were going too fast,’ Julia said quietly. Then she added, ‘Do you have all that stuff you need to drive in France? All the yellow jackets and triangles?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Amber, all stubborn. Then she said, ‘No.’

  Julia exhaled.

  ‘Don’t sigh, it’s not helping. I don’t need your dad in the car with me.’ Amber was tapping her fingers on the steering wheel watching the police officer approaching.

  Julia was silent. She did feel like her father.

  Just as the police officer appeared at the window, Amber said, ‘Now play it cool.’

  Julia nodded.

  Amber beamed as the stern-looking policeman approached. ‘Bonjour, Officer.’

  He narrowed his eyes.

  Julia waved her hand. ‘Bonjour.’

  The officer was chewing gum, he had his arms crossed over his dark blue jacket. His gun in its holster. ‘English?’

  Amber nodded.

  ‘Madame, you know the speed limit?’

  ‘Oui,’ Amber replied, trying to look nonplussed. ‘I was going at the speed limit, wasn’t I – 140 kilometres an hour? Yes?’

  ‘Non,�
�� he shook his head, chewed his gum some more. Then he looked across at Julia, ‘You think she was driving at the speed limit?’

  Julia swallowed. She didn’t know what to say. ‘Maybe she was possibly a little above the limit, I’m not sure.’

  Amber rolled her eyes.

  The police officer raised a brow. He wrote something in his pad and walked back to his car.

  ‘What did you say that for?’ Amber snapped.

  ‘What? He knows you were speeding,’ Julia hissed back.

  ‘You just admitted guilt.’

  ‘Technology tells him you’re guilty, Amber. Lying isn’t going to help.’

  Amber scoffed, ‘You know the first rule of driving, Julia, is not ever admitting guilt.’

  Julia pursed her lips. ‘I don’t think that’s the first rule of driving, Amber.’

  ‘Just keep your mouth shut from now on, Julia.’

  Julia turned away and looked out the window, at the big white blades of the windmill static in the breezeless heat.

  The officer returned. He lifted up the speed gun he had bought back from the car with him. ‘The vehicle was travelling at 191 kilometres an hour.’

  Amber pursed her lips.

  ‘This is an automatic fine of seven hundred and fifty euro.’

  ‘What?’ Amber shrieked. ‘No way. It’s never been a fine like that before.’

  The officer shrugged.

  ‘I’m not paying that much.’ Amber reached over for her bag in the footwell. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘What’ll it take? A hundred euro?’ she asked, opening her purse and folding up two fifties ready to slip them to the officer.