A Second Chance Summer

by Katharine E Smith

  “You can’t! There’s a really hot couple in Room Three, and I think I’ve worked my charm on him. I’m pretty sure they’re going to split up over me.”

  “Well, all the more reason for me to go in and make sure they patch things up. You can’t just go turning straight men gay all over the place, you know. What will happen to the human race? And what about Martin?”

  “He knew what he was getting into when we started going out. You can’t be in a relationship with somebody as gorgeous as me and expect to be the only person who falls for me.”

  “You’ve got a point,” I concede. “Still, I think I’d better get back to earning my living. Otherwise your sister might think I’m not worth employing anymore.”

  “Oh, OK. Be like that. Glad you’re feeling better,” David had hugged me. “Don’t forget what I said about me and Martin being here for you if you need a bit of extra company.”

  “Thanks, David, I won’t. I’d love to hang out with you guys, maybe we can go out next week?”

  “Or you can come down here, for dinner, one night. See if you can drag Julie away from Luke, too.”

  “Ha! Actually, I’m sure he was only planning to be here for a couple of weeks this time so maybe he’ll be back in London next week.”

  I ask Julie about this as we walk through the town to the Sail Loft.

  “Oh, well he’s decided to stay here… he says he can work from Cornwall at the moment, and he doesn’t want to leave his mum.”

  “Oh,” I say, “well I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to be away from my mum if she was ill.”

  “No. And he says he doesn’t want to leave me, either!”

  This was more like it. Not that I’m doubting Luke’s devotion to his mum although, between spending time with his parents, and Julie, I’m not sure how he’s getting any work done. Maybe he doesn’t sleep. It’s none of my business, though.

  “I’m sorry,” Julie looks at me.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve abandoned you.”

  “You haven’t.” She has.

  “It’s just… I feel like I’ve known him forever.”

  I remember those exact words coming from her mouth when she got together with Gabe. I wonder if the two of them have been in touch again. I can’t believe she could just leave their relationship, up sticks, and never give it a second thought. They were meant to be getting married, for god’s sake.

  “I know,” I smile thinly, and pull myself up the steps into the Sail Loft, using the banister.

  “Are you going to be OK?” Julie asks.

  “What, with my ankle, or being abandoned by my friend?”

  “Both,” she smiles at me and I can see she wants me to smile back. She’s not quite sure what mood I’m in, but neither am I. I walk through to the kitchen to find Bea, leaving Julie to follow.

  Work is busy and I don’t get a moment to chat to Julie, which I am meanly pleased about. We do, however, have lunch together: fish and chips for Julie, and a sandwich for me, sitting on the harbour wall in the sunshine.

  “I am sorry,” she tells me again.

  “Oh, you don’t have to be,” I cave in. “Not on my account. I’m OK, you know I’m happy in my own company.”

  “Yeah, but we came down here together. You wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t suggested it.”

  “That’s true, but that doesn’t mean we have to spend every waking minute together.”

  “I feel like Luke needs me, too,” she says. “He’s heartbroken about his mum. She’s going into a hospice, you know. They’re just waiting for the place to be confirmed.”

  “That’s really sad,” I say.

  “Yep.”

  We both sit quietly, staring into the dark green water of the harbour, which gently splashes against the hulls of the boats.

  “I don’t want to ask this,” I say after a while, “and I promise I won’t again, but are you really sure about you and Luke? It’s not just a reaction to splitting up with Gabe?”

  “No, it’s not.” I know Julie so well, I can tell she’s making an effort to answer calmly and rationally. I know my question has annoyed her, but I can’t help feeling that with Luke already in such a sad position, the last thing he needs is to be used as a pawn in Julie’s relationship with Gabe. Not that I’m suggesting she’d do that knowingly, or cynically. She’s far from a nasty, calculating person. But she has a tendency to act before thinking.

  “I really like Luke,” she continues, “I couldn’t believe it when I saw him again, and how lovely he is now.”

  “He was always lovely,” I say.

  “You know what I mean,” she shoots a semi-sharp look at me. “Yes, he was a lovely boy, but he’s found his feet and grown into himself, and yes, I do mean physically. I know that sounds shallow; it’s not meant to. But I didn’t fancy him ten years ago, and I do now.”

  “OK,” I say, “I’m sorry. And I know I said I wouldn’t interfere again. Luke’s going to need a lot of support, though.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?”

  “No, sorry. Of course you do.”

  “Look, Alice, I know what you’re thinking. I haven’t thought this through, I’m too impetuous. Well maybe I am a bit, but life should be an adventure. Not some tedious treadmill of work, Pilates, running club…” she looks at me as if slightly unsure of how much she should say but she goes on. “Look at you. You’re hung up on Sam, but you haven’t spoken to him properly in ten years. He might be a totally different bloke. You might not feel the same at all about him now; you were only eighteen back then. I feel like Geoff has ruined you, stopped you taking a chance on anyone else and so Sam is your little escape clause. Your reason not to meet anybody new. But you’re – we’re – nearly thirty, and I know Geoff was a twat, but he’s long gone. If you want to get together with Sam, go for it. Go and find him, and speak to him. But if you’re just using him as an excuse, it’s time to get over it, and move on.”

  I feel my face growing redder and redder as she speaks. Partially from anger, and also from embarrassment. She is right to some extent. I’ve become boring. I’ve let myself be that way. Geoff scared me, and I feel stronger and safer on my own. But I am also sure that I’m not imagining my feelings for Sam; he is not just an excuse. Still, if I’m not going to do anything about it then I really do need to move on.

  “Right.” Is all I can think of to say.

  “I’m sorry, but it needed saying.”

  We finish our lunch in silence then walk back to the flat. I ask Julie if she wants to go for a swim but she says she’s going to have a siesta instead. I inwardly shrug but outwardly offer a bright, unconvincing smile. “OK, see you later.” I change into my bikini and stuff a towel and a book into my bag, grabbing a handful of change so I can get a coffee after my swim.

  Stepping out into the sunshine is a relief. There is an atmosphere between Julie and me now, and I am not quite sure how to change it. I won’t interfere again, but it’s clear what I think and I can’t take it back. She knows it, and a part of me wonders if she’s annoyed because there’s some truth in it, but I really have to say no more. I have to trust her that she’s not going to mess Luke about now, when he most needs some stability in his life.

  I decide to head to the more sheltered beach, on the west side of the town, where the waves are smaller and I can have a proper swim, without being swamped by a breaker or knocked out by a surfer. The early afternoon sun beats down, heat rising from the tarmac of the road. I move into the smaller streets, lined with fishermen’s cottages, stable doors open at the top, the sounds of music, TV and conversation drifting out.

  In contrast to the quiet streets, the beach is busy. The tide is a long way out but even so, the vast expanse of sand looks gridlocked. All the tables under the awning of the café are taken. I move past them, along to the rocks where I sat the other day. A large family group have already commandeered the sheltered side, with beach tents, blankets and windbreak making their camp for
the day. I move on.

  At the far end of the beach it is quieter and I find a spot where I can leave my bag. Without hesitating, I pull my dress off and head straight for the water. It closes its cold jaws around my ankles but I ignore it and plunge on in, soon acclimatising. I swim out, away from the children who are having a whale of a time with their dinghies and body boards. It’s not long before I am out almost on my own; this is it. Heaven, for me at least. I swim back and forth, the salt tingling on my skin and stinging my eyes. This is what it feels like to be alive. I am put in mind of Luke’s mum again, who is never far from my thoughts. I can’t remember if she was a swimmer but I wonder what it feels like to live here and know that you can’t get to the beach; that you will never again step on the fine sand, or paddle in the shallows. The hospice is in a nice spot, and probably has some good views of the bay, but is it better or worse to see what is out of reach? I really don’t know.

  I think of Julie again. I do feel bad. Maybe I’m letting my personal situation make me bitter, cloud my judgement. Maybe I’m jealous. It’s very possible. I must admit, I envy her ability to just go for it, see how things turn out. Maybe it’s not the most sensible way to behave, but she’s not over-cautious, or scared to give something a go. I hope that she’ll still be in when I get back to the flat, and we can have a chat – or just have a drink together, and forget about all that. I’ll see if she wants to come out with me and Casey, in fact.

  I move onto my back, adopting my favourite position. The water is cold as it rushes into my ears, but it fills them with a welcome whooshing sound, so that once again it is the sea, the sky, the sun and me. I feel the goose pimples softly prickle my belly where it is exposed to the air. I lie as still as I can, just gently circling my hands from time to time, and I float, letting it all wash over me.

  When I start to feel cold, I know it’s time to return to shore. I look at my position and see I’ve drifted a little way, but a few strong strokes soon have me heading back in the right direction and I enjoy the feel of my limbs slicing through the water until it’s too shallow and I walk the rest of the way, smiling at the kids I pass as I head back to dry(ish) land and return to my bag. I towel myself dry then wander to the café, in search of coffee. Instead of staying on the beach, I take my drink and my book, and I climb the steep steps at the other end of the sand, up onto the clifftop, where benches are spaced around a large lawn, interspersed with well-kept flowerbeds. An older couple sit on my favourite bench - the one facing away from town - but there is plenty of space for me and I sit along the length of the seat, legs stretched in front of me, sipping my coffee and reading, occasionally distracted by a bird or the sight of the miles of twinkling sea in front of me.

  I haven’t brought my phone with me; if I had, I’d text Julie and see if she wants to meet up. We’ll be OK, I know that, but I’d like to make sure we’re OK sooner rather than later.

  When my coffee is finished, I pack away my book, toss my cup into a bin and head towards town, keen to get back to Julie. But by the time I return to the flat, she’s gone. She’s left a note saying she’s staying at Luke’s and will see me at work in the morning. I try to read the tone of the note but it is flat, perfunctory.

  Alice,

  Gone to Luke’s, I’ll be staying there tonight. See you tomorrow at Sail Loft.

  J

  There is no kiss, in the style of Casey, but Julie’s not really like that. It’s a perfectly functional, factual note but I can’t help feeling that it bears the undertones of somebody who is not happy with me.

  Still, there is nothing more I can do now. I check the time. It’s half-four; later than I’d thought. I decide to have a bath, then I can phone Mum and Dad, and get a salad ready for tea, in a bid to be healthy.

  At half-past seven, my phone goes. It’s Casey. “I’m outside.”

  “Oh,” I say, “right.” Didn’t she say eight o’clock? Maybe we got our wires crossed, or she forgot. “I’m still getting ready. I’ll come and let you in, if you don’t mind hanging on a few minutes.”

  “No, that’s fine.”

  I dash down the stairs, and open the door to see Casey wearing a very short, very tight blue dress. She can certainly get away with it, with her Pilates-toned body, but I was planning to wear jeans and a top. Now I feel distinctly underdressed.

  “You look nice,” she says, kissing my cheek. I see she is holding a bottle of Prosecco. “I know I’m early,” she says, not exactly apologetically, “but I thought we could drink this before we go. Is this whole place yours?”

  She looks admiringly into the cool, dark hallway which David has painted Farrow & Ball Stone Blue (“Martin said it would look cold, but I think it’s just cool… and kind of nautical.”). The floorboards are bare, and the wooden staircase stripped and polished. It is a beautiful house.

  “No,” I say, “sadly not. Julie and I are at the top of the house.”

  “Julie’s your friend from home?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. She’s not in tonight, though, otherwise I’d have seen if she wanted to join us.”

  “I don’t mind, it’ll give us a chance to get to know each other better. Where’s she gone?” Casey follows me into the hallway and up the stairs.

  “Oh, she’s out with her bloke,” I say vaguely. I may not be on the best terms with Julie but she’s still my best mate, and I don’t really want to talk about her with Casey.

  When we get to the top, I say, “We’ll have to hang out in my room, I’m afraid, there isn’t really a lounge to speak of. Or at all.”

  “That’s OK!” Casey says brightly. “You get some glasses, and I’ll open this baby up.” She sits on my bed, stretching her tanned, muscular legs in front of her. I momentarily consider getting changed but I think no, this is what I want to wear. And besides, whatever I wear, I will pale in comparison to Casey.

  The wine froths out of the top of the bottle and she expertly catches it in her mouth, giggling. I laugh, too, and hold out both glasses to catch any excess. She fills them up and taps her drink against mine. “To new friends.”

  “To new friends,” I agree.

  We polish off the bottle within an hour, and in that time I feel the bubbles fizzing to my brain. I sit on the chair under the window and Casey remains on my bed. At first, talk is fairly polite – where and why she studied Pilates (in Penzance, and because she wanted to make a living out of something she really believed in); how Sophie was getting on at school and what it feels like to have a daughter who’s approaching secondary school. From there, with the Prosecco oiling our thoughts and letting them slip more freely into the room, it’s talk of secondary school, first boyfriends, first kisses. I tell her about mine, with a boy called Damien Parker, playing Spin the Bottle at a party in Year 8. “He just stuck his tongue straight in my mouth,” I say, “I was absolutely shocked. I can still feel it now; sort of slimy and cold, like a dead slug.” I continue as Casey splutters with laughter, “I don’t think I kissed anybody else till I was sixteen! And then I was dreading it.”

  “I was a bit of a late-starter,” Casey admits, “I was really shy at school, and a bit overweight. But I made up for it. I was sixteen when I first kissed a boy, and he was my first real boyfriend. We were together till I was eighteen then he broke my heart. I didn’t really have many friends and I’d given them up for him, really. He went off with the girl who had been my best friend at school. Turned out they’d been seeing each other behind my back for a year.”

  “That’s awful,” I commiserate. “Are they still around here?”

  “He is, and she’s not far away, in Launceston I think. Her mum’s still in town, and he’s married for the second time, got two kids from the first wife and one from the second. They all go to Sophie’s school.”

  “That’s a bit weird, isn’t it?”

  “Not really, it’s quite normal here. If you grow up here and don’t leave, you see your exes all the time, and their wives, and their kids. I know somebody who’s marri
ed to her ex’s brother.”

  I laugh.

  “There’s not much choice, I suppose,” Casey grins. “And after Jon left me, I played the field a bit… well a lot, I guess. Until Sophie came along.”

  “And are you still with Sophie’s dad?”

  Casey goes quiet. “No.”

  “Oh, sorry. I wasn’t sure. I knew you were rushing off to meet him that time; I thought you might still be together.”

  “We were too young, really,” Casey says. “But I don’t regret having Sophie.”

  “Of course you don’t,” I say, and I try to imagine what it must be like being a young mum. Casey is only a couple of years older than me but she has a daughter who is nearly ten, and I have no idea when I might – or even if I will – have kids. I hope I do; I hope I can. But it has to be right.

  “Come on!” she says, draining her glass. “Let’s forget about all that stuff, and get going!”

  We head down the stairs, and out into the warm Friday evening. There are families and couples out; men in short sleeves, women in dresses and heels. Casey receives admiring glances as she walks confidently along the cobbles. I hurry to keep up with her long-legged stride, and she apologises when she remembers my ankle.

  “You should have told me to slow down!” she says. “Come on, let’s get one in at the Rack.”

  The Rack (full name: The Rack o’Lamb, not very veggie-friendly) is a locals-only pub, or at least it was when Julie and I were here the first time round; as we discovered to our dismay when we went in on the first night, giggling and pooling our coins for a couple of cider & blacks. They weren’t unfriendly, exactly, but a bit… well… stary. And we soon finished up our drinks, walking with relief into the more tourist-friendly harbour area where we spent our last pennies on a bottle of cider and a bag of chips, and sat on the harbour wall until it had long gone dark.

  Tonight, though, I am with Casey, who is greeted warmly by the barman. “Alright, K? Not seen you for a while.”

  “Yeah, you know, been saving up for Sophie’s school camp, and getting the business going.”