A Second Chance Summer

by Katharine E Smith

  “Do you want to come and see her?” he asks Julie, taking her by surprise. I see her look up, slightly shocked and quickly trying to recompose her features.

  “Me? Would you really like me to? Would she mind? And your dad? Doesn’t she want to settle in first?”

  “They’d be very happy for you to come. I told Mum that we’d got together, in one of her more lucid moments. She was happy. And you know they both remember you from way back – you too, Alice.”

  “If you want me to come, of course I will,” says Julie, but I can see she’s not one hundred per cent comfortable with the idea. This seems to go over Luke’s head, however.

  “Thank you,” he smiles at her, lifting her hand and kissing it.

  I decide to leave them to it. “I’m just going to the bathroom,” I say.

  “OK,” Julie says, shouting after me, “Let us know what he says!”

  Damn her. My hand is admittedly already on my jeans pocket, itching to see if Sam has responded. In the shade of the house, as I head up the steep staircase, I see I have three messages.

  One: Sam Branvall. Oh my god. My heart starts beating and I have to stop halfway up the staircase to steady myself.

  Hi Alice, thanks for your message. A beer sounds good. Beach Bar at 8? Sam

  Aaarggghhhhh!! He has actually said yes. And he wants to meet tonight. This is real!

  I check the next message, in case it’s him again with a change of mind. Another text from Casey, I haven’t had a chance to check her first yet. I see what she has to say.

  Hi, fancy coming to mine instead, for wine and a girlie film tonight? He’s busy KCx

  Who is ‘he’? Has Casey got a man she hasn’t told me about? I scroll back to the first message from her.

  Hi, gr8 nite last nite. Fancy doing it again tonite? I’ll see if S’s dad can come round KCx

  Ah, so she’s been let down by Sophie’s dad. Poor Casey. I wish I’d replied sooner. But I suppose I didn’t know I was seeing Sam until just now. And if I’d agreed to go out with her, I’d have either had to dump her or tell Sam I’m busy. And after my morning’s resolution, I am not willing to wait another moment, selfish though that may sound. Ten years is long enough.

  I’m really sorry, but I can’t make it tonight. Maybe we can have a drink after Pilates on Monday? Hope you enjoy the rest of your weekend x

  OK

  There it is again. The ‘OK’. I am now sure that is her being pissed off via text message. I can’t say I care for it much. I hadn’t actually arranged anything with her – and we only went out last night! I’m not going to apologise. I feel sorry for her because it must be hard being a single mum, but it’s not like I owe her anything. Anyway, I have to concentrate on this evening, with Sam. I can’t believe it. After all this time, we’re going out together. I keep telling myself it’s nothing; two old friends catching up after a long time apart, but somehow I can’t quite convince myself of that.

  “We’re going out for a bit,” Julie calls up to me. “I’ve left the lunch stuff in David’s kitchen, do you mind bringing it up in a bit?

  “OK!” I shout back.

  I hear their footsteps, the front door open and close, then the house is mine. What shall I do? I check my watch. It’s 2.57pm. I have five hours and three minutes until I am meeting Sam. But who’s counting? (I am). First thing’s first. I trek back down the stairs to collect the stuff from the kitchen. I know David is meant to be out at Martin’s all weekend but I don’t like leaving his place a mess anyway.

  As I come back up the stairs, I formulate a plan. I need to decide what to wear. I need to have a bath, wash my hair, and, if at all possible, have a siesta. I have been up since ridiculous o’clock this morning and I don’t want to be yawning all over Sam.

  I set the bath taps going; clouds of steam rising in the bathroom. Opening the porthole, I peep out at the town. There is a light mist coming in off the sea, and the sky’s greying. I hope it isn’t going to rain all afternoon and evening. Although it could be nice, if we manage to grab one or two of the beanbags in the Beach Bar, and get a place to sit and watch the mist drifting in over the waves, the rain pocking the sand. I allow my imagination to run away with itself; if there is just one giant beanbag, and Sam and I are forced to share it. Our bodies close together, his arm slipping around me, his mouth brushing my bare shoulder…

  Enough! I tell myself. I have until the bath is full to decide what to wear. I pull out my beach dresses. No, they’re not right. I need Sam to see me as I am, and I’m not really a dress kind of person. I never was. I find my knee-length denim shorts, bought from FatFace on Fore Street, and a long spaghetti-strapped top, cut on the bias, in chunky, multi-coloured stripes. I’ll take my shoulder bag and a hoodie in case it gets cold. Perfect. If he is the Sam I remember, he won’t expect me to dress up anyway. And besides, I remind myself, this is not a date.

  I check the bath, adding more bubbles, which puff up into cloud mountains. Slipping off my clothes, I slide between the cool bubbles, into the hot water below. It’s just the right side of too-hot, it feels like it will scald the dead skin cells from me, and I will emerge red and raw and new, ready to face the world. Leaning back, the bubbles fizz in my ears and all over my hair. I feel excited and relaxed at the same time. Sam’s words run through my head, but there is much to be gleaned from his text: A beer sounds good. A beer sounds good. What could it mean? Oh yeah; that a beer sounds good.

  I remember the night I met Sam, that first golden summer. I’d actually seen him earlier that day at the beach, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. He was with Luke, and some of their other mates, playing a pretty informal game of volleyball. He was wearing his long swimming shorts, and nothing else. I remember his tan, and those shoulder blades gliding up and down his beautiful back as he jumped and reached and fell into the sand, laughing. I could see how well he got on with his friends, and how good-natured he was; and also that he was absolutely gorgeous. Sitting at the café table with me, Julie had seen me looking. “Oh yeah,” she’d said, “he’s nice.”

  “I saw him first,” I’d half-joked, but there was a part of me which meant it because I had been so drawn to him and, unlike Julie, I didn’t go round snogging half the boys we met. That sounds bitchy and it’s not meant to. It’s just that, as we have already established, Julie is a bit more gung-ho about things than me. We’d been in Cornwall about three weeks, been to lots of parties, pubs and clubs, and Julie must have got off with at least four different boys in that time. I was more reserved, even then. But something clicked when I saw Sam. Which perhaps makes me a bit mental more than anything, but I knew that I wanted to get to know him better.

  Julie, being Julie, went up to the boys once their game had finished and asked Luke their names and where they’d be that night. I saw him looking after her as she walked back to me. She sat back down and said, “They’ll be down the beach tonight, they’re all skint.”

  “OK,” I was grateful for her forwardness and determined to try and become a bit better at that side of things.

  When we’d got to the beach that evening, there was nobody there save for a large family group packing up after a barbecue. I’d sat heavily on the sand, disappointed, but Julie had said it was early, and she was right. As the family moved off, a few of the lads from earlier began to appear but it was a while before Luke and Sam got there. “Hi,” Luke had said, waving, and they’d come over. He sat next to Julie, and Sam had sat on the other side of them to me. Julie and Luke had begun chatting and we’d passed a bottle of cider back and forth along the row. I didn’t know what to do. I could hardly lean forward and make subtle, relaxed conversation with Sam across Julie and Luke, could I? Then I surprised myself. “I’m going in,” I said. I had my bikini on under my clothes and I just decided to hell with it. I kicked my things off and Julie, laughing, said she’d join me. That was enough for Luke; he was pulling off his clothes, too. It didn’t take long for Sam to do the same. They weren’t in their swimming thin
gs so they emptied their shorts pockets and we ran, holding hands in a line, down into the sea, laughing and shouting as the cold water reached up our limbs and I fell, bringing Julie down with me. The boys helped us up; Luke had Julie and so Sam came to me. I could see his smile through the salt water tears which were stinging my eyes.

  We mucked about a bit more; splashing each other, and then I decided to show off, swimming out to a buoy and back. “Careful,” Sam had called, but I’d just smiled. I was a strong swimmer. I knew I shouldn’t really be swimming after drinking but we hadn’t had that much. As Julie and Luke headed back up the beach, Sam waited for me. I got to the buoy, turned, and focused on getting back, trying to look elegant and graceful as I moved through the waves.

  He waited for me, watching me, and I could see he was concerned. I liked that. And I was fine; I made it back to him, but he told me off. “You shouldn’t take chances with the sea. We’ve been drinking. It’s dangerous.”

  I felt silly; I’d thought it would impress him. “Sorry,” I said, and thought he’d never be interested in me. He’d see me for the idiot I was. But as I started trudging through the shallower water towards the beach, I heard a huge splash behind me and felt myself soaked once more. I turned, to see Sam grinning. “Hey!” I said, starting to smile too. I kicked at the water, sending droplets flying into his face. Soon we were in a full-on water fight and my embarrassment was forgotten. I could see Julie up the beach, laughing at us. I ran from Sam, and he ran after me, pulling me down into the warm shallows. At this moment, we were panting, face to face, and if we’d have been braver and more confident, it would have been the perfect time for our first kiss. But we looked away, shyly. “Shall we go and dry off?” I asked him. He nodded. But he didn’t have a towel, so I let him share mine and, while our friends began building a fire, we sat huddled together under it, our damp legs sticking to each other, and our bodies growing warm and dry together. As darkness moved in, and stars began to prickle the sky, Sam offered me his jumper, and we moved closer to the fire. More kids came and joined the group, and we sat and sang songs while someone played a guitar. I didn’t want that night to end. We walked back to the flat in the early morning; Luke walking with Julie while Sam and I lagged behind. I felt his hand reach for me, his warm, soft fingers interlacing with mine.

  We stopped at the top of a steep flight of steps, under a streetlamp. Before I could say anything, he lifted my chin, looked into my eyes, and he kissed me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When I get out of the bath, leaving little clouds of bubbles in my wake, I wrap a big fluffy towel – which is actually Julie’s but she’s not here to complain - around me and I pad into my bedroom. I switch the TV on, wrap a smaller towel around my hair, and lie back on my bed. The local weather forecaster is predicting another humid evening. I smile. I love summer; not having to get wrapped up in sweaters, coats, gloves, scarves, and boots. I love the fact that even when it rains, it’s warm, not miserable and cold-inducing. When the weather map on TV is a mixture of yellows and oranges, I’m a happy girl.

  There follows some sort of daytime made-for-TV film, which I leave on, though I’m not concentrating on it. I feel my eyelids become heavy and I turn to make myself more comfortable on the bed. Sleep comes and goes, and I’m aware of a small pool of saliva dribbling from my mouth to the pillow. I know I am seeing Sam this evening, but I also know I am tired and I want to sleep. I push thoughts of Sam away, for now, and let myself float into a deep afternoon slumber, punctuated by sounds from the street below and odd dreams. Mum and Dad stuck in a car which is in turn stuck in some mud, but they’re laughing. They won’t stop laughing. I’m getting annoyed with them. I wake up. Some of my hair is plastered to my face, and my skin is damp with sweat. My mouth tastes strange and I have that feeling of needing something sweet, which I always get when I sleep in the daytime.

  I wander to the kitchen and get the orange juice out of the fridge, filling a glass and gulping it down. The clock on the microwave says 6.37.

  6.37!

  How did that happen?

  I’m meant to be meeting Sam at eight. I need to eat – and I feel like I really need a shower after that sleep – and I need to get dressed, factoring in the fact that I will probably change my mind about what to wear, try on lots of different things, and end up coming back to my original choice.

  Ten minutes to walk to the Beach Bar. Should I be late, or early? Or on time?

  I check my phone to make sure he hasn’t cancelled. There is just a text from Julie:

  L and I going to hospice. Any word from Sam?

  So she’s going to see Luke’s mum. I hope she knows what she’s doing. Luke will be pleased, but it feels like a commitment to me, if she’s going to visit his dying mum with him – which is of course why Luke will be pleased. No time for me to worry about somebody else’s mess, though. It’s already 6.41. Where did those four minutes go?

  Yes! I’m going to meet him, at eight. Arghhhhhh.

  I get in the shower, pulling my shower cap on as I really don’t have time to wash my hair again, although it’s dried at some interesting angles thanks to my unplanned sleep. I feel much better, more awake, now, and I get another fresh, fluffy towel – Julie is going to kill me, she only went to the laundrette yesterday – and wrap it round myself. 6.53. No time to eat a proper meal. I push two slices of bread into the toaster and go into my room, selecting matching underwear, because it feels like I should, and pulling on my top and shorts. I look in the mirror. OK. OK. I’m going to be strict, I am NOT going to try on other outfits. I don’t have time for that.

  Twenty-five minutes later my White Stuff dress, my Sea Salt linen trousers, and about eight different tops are lying on my bed. I am back in my denim shorts and stripy top, as predicted, and I have toast crumbs round my mouth. I am trying to brush my hair into some sort of sensible style, and wondering what to do about make-up. I don’t often wear it but I feel like I should make a bit of effort tonight. I apply a bit of eyeliner, and use my extra-length mascara, noting that my eyelashes look exactly as long as they did before. I look in the mirror. I check the time. It’s 7.28. I will have to do.

  In the kitchen, I try to practice some deep-breathing, as I push a couple of ice cubes from the tray into a glass and pour a liberal helping of gin, with a dash of tonic and a squeeze of lime.

  “Chin, chin,” I say to myself, and I drink slowly and steadily, leaving the flat at 7.42. I may be a few minutes early but I will take my time.

  As I walk down through the town, I feel like everyone must know. It is written all over my face. I am so nervous and so excited. It’s just a beer, it’s just a beer, I keep telling myself, but who am I kidding?

  When I get to the wall above the beach, I scan the length of the sands, to see if Sam is walking across, but there is no sign of him. Great. I get to watch him arrive. I can get to the bar, order a drink, and sit looking sophisticated when he comes in.

  I walk down the slipway and this time leave my sandals on to cross the sand, which feels weird. The music from the Beach Bar is mellow and trancey; maybe Chicane. I feel myself drawn towards it and wonder if I was in this spot exactly ten years ago. It’s a distinct possibility. I imagine eighteen-year-old me heading excitedly across the beach. Did I used to feel as nervous as I do now? My stomach is twisting like somebody trying to wring out a dishcloth.

  “Alice!” I hear a voice as soon as I step onto the decking. Sam is already at the bar, a half-drunk beer in front of him and an empty stool next to him. No going back now.

  “Hi,” I say, trying to sound perfectly calm and collected. He stands up and gives me a slightly awkward hug. He smells nice and his navy shirt is soft, open to reveal just a tempting glimpse of that tanned chest with its dark curls.

  “What are you having?” he asks, smiling at me and gesturing to the stool next to him.

  “Can I have a gin and tonic, please?” I ask, fumbling in my bag for my purse.

  “I’ll get this,” he s
ays and smiles.

  “But I owe you a beer!” I say, and I can’t help smiling back at him, I’m so happy to be here.

  “Well, you can get the next round.”

  So there’s going to be a next round, I think excitedly. I know, I know, I’m so pathetic. I am truly channelling eighteen-year-old Alice Griffiths tonight.

  Sam calls to Andrew, who brings over another bottle of beer and pours a generous gin and tonic. I’m pleased to see him add a squeeze and a wedge of lime.

  “Cheers,” Sam says, and we push our drinks together then both take a big swig.

  “Thanks for helping me out the other day,” I say.

  “That’s no problem,” Sam smiles, “it was my pleasure.”

  I remember his arm around me and I think it was actually my pleasure.

  “How’s the ankle?” he asks, gesturing towards my leg.

  “Oh, it’s fine now,” I say. “Do you remember David? We’re staying at his place again this year,” of course he probably already knows this, “well, he did my shift for me the next day, bless him.”

  “He’s a good bloke. I see him around a bit, with his… boyfriend? Partner? I never know what to say.”

  “I think he’s happy with boyfriend – although I think he’d be happier if it was husband.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah, I probably shouldn’t say that, should I? He’s over there every weekend, though, which is cool because it means we get the house to ourselves. Although actually, as Julie is pretty much with Luke full-time, the house is mine…” I trail off. Does this sound like I’m suggesting something? Sam doesn’t seem to notice.

  “He’s having a hard time, Luke,” he half-frowns.

  “I know. It’s so awful, about his mum, I can’t imagine.”

  Sam’s mum lives in Spain; she moved there with Sam’s little sister Janie when Sam was sixteen and he stayed on in Cornwall with his auntie, Lou. His dad left years ago, not that long after Janie was born, but I think is still in Cornwall somewhere, or at least he was when I last knew Sam. I used to get the feeling that Luke’s family provided a second home to Sam, and he always used to tease May in a nice way; it was obvious he really liked her. He must be very sad about her illness too.