Summer of no Regrets

by Kate Mallinder

  ‘Papa John,’ I said, out of puff. ‘Can we borrow the boat?’

  There weren’t any customers in but despite that he didn’t answer me. He just gawped.

  ‘Hello?’ I said, waving my hands in front of his face. He’d finally lost it.

  ‘Sorry, love,’ he said. ‘Momentarily shocked into silence by your, um, your hair.’

  I’d completely forgotten.

  ‘So? What about the boat?’

  It was like I’d not said anything. ‘Very … nice,’ he went on, looking at my hair from different angles. ‘Guess they don’t call it shocking pink for nothing.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ I said, bristling.

  ‘It’s smashing, Cam. Don’t mind me. I’m just old-fashioned in my choice of hair colour, that’s all. So, what do you want to do with the boat?’

  Three years ago, a month after he bought the hardware shop, Papa John had bought a boat. Jackie had argued that they didn’t have the money, what with the new business, but he had bought it anyway. Since then, most weekends he’d taken me out and taught me how to sail, how to moor up safely, the rules of the estuary and countless little tips on how to control it.

  ‘Sasha is off to Geneva tomorrow…’

  Papa John’s eyebrows shot up.

  ‘Long story. But anyways, we want to do something fun all together today, so could we borrow it? Please.’

  I dug deep and pulled the puppy eyes on him. Despite the handicap of my pink hair, he caved.

  ‘Alright then, but be safe. Remember everything I’ve told you. And no messing about. It’s a serious responsibility skippering a boat. Don’t let me down.’

  I crossed my heart and hoped to die. Not literally – who hopes to die? Then I texted the others. This day was turning out to be the boss.

  Half an hour later, with plenty of snacks, swim stuff and suncream, we walked along the jetty until we’d reached The Sundance Kid. They’d all been on it before, so they knew how it worked. I started the outboard and manoeuvered the dayboat away from the moored boats, before setting our sights out along the estuary towards Salcombe.

  We were lucky that high tide had fallen in the early afternoon. A few hours different, and The Sundance Kid would have been beached and going nowhere.

  Following the estuary out, we passed the mouths of small inlets, tucked along the shoreline. Houses with shutters and little boats tied to private moorings lined the water’s edge.

  ‘Wow, it’s hot,’ said Nell, her face flushed. She pulled her hoodie over her head, showing off a polka-dot vest top underneath, the colours bright against her dark skin. ‘That’s better,’ she grinned, and took the suncream Sasha was offering.

  Nell never wears short sleeves except when it’s just us. I think it’s because of her accident, but I can’t really remember whether she wore short sleeves before that, so I can’t be sure. One thing I know though. She’s seriously tough. I mean, if I’d lost half an arm in a boating accident, everyone would know about it. And I would have taken it all out on that idiot boat skipper who wasn’t wearing the kill cord and who definitely should have received more than a stupid caution. Nell had been swimming and, when the skipper of the boat fell in, the boat kept going. Ploughed right into Nell before hitting the rocks. She was lucky to be alive. But I’ve never heard Nell complain. Not once. And that’s hard core.

  ‘I can’t wait to be in that water.’ Sasha looked warm too and was gazing out across the water. It made me want to dive in right there.

  We raised the sail, and I helmed. The little boat glided along, the breeze brisker than in the harbour. The sun shone down, the light bouncing off the water like it was a million mirror fragments. When we’d got to our spot, Hetal lowered the sail and I secured the anchor, feeling it take on the soft sandy riverbed.

  We changed into our swim stuff and dived off the boat. I swam down and down, as far as I could, until my lungs felt like they were going to burst. I touched the bottom then pushed back up to the surface, the sun seeming extra bright after the dark silty water of the estuary. Some people don’t like the feeling of deep water; they say it’s like the opposite of being up high, but I love it. It gives me a feeling of absolute and total freedom.

  ‘I’ve got some news too,’ said Hetal, as we sat around the boat on the bench seats, drip-drying and munching on crusty fresh bread.

  ‘Really?’ Nell looked startled. ‘Don’t say you’re leaving too.’

  Hetal chewed her lip. ‘It’s only for a couple of weeks.’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t going to. It’s only Wales. And it’s not tomorrow like Sasha’s trip.’

  ‘What’s for a couple of weeks?’ I asked.

  ‘Science camp,’ Hetal said.

  ‘Science camp? You’re kidding me,’ said Sasha. ‘I thought they only have stuff like that in America.’

  ‘No.’ Hetal looked embarrassed. ‘It’s quite an honour, actually. It’s invite only. You have to be pretty good to get asked.’

  ‘Pretty good?’ I asked.

  Hetal grinned. ‘You have to be in the top one per cent of science grades in the country.’

  ‘Hm, so above average then,’ said Nell. ‘Well, congratulations – that’s such an achievement. Why weren’t you going to go?’

  ‘I didn’t want to be away from home. And you guys, obviously.’

  ‘But miss out on science camp?’ Sasha was struggling to keep her voice straight.

  Hetal laughed. ‘You might not fancy it but, honestly, if it was here in Devon it’d be my dream holiday. They’ve got some really cool experiments planned, they have scientists coming in to talk about their research and there’s tons of ace stuff going on. The lodges are all named after famous scientists and the teams are elements from the periodic table.’

  ‘Nice one, Hetal. That sounds like … just your thing.’

  Hetal smiled. ‘I am a bit nervous, though. I’ve never been away from home before. I missed the French trip cos I had that bug, remember?’

  I tried not to but couldn’t help catching Sasha’s eye. Hetal noticed the glance that passed between us.

  ‘Did you know I didn’t really have a bug? Why didn’t you say anything? Now I feel stupid. But I just couldn’t face going. And I feel the same about science camp. What if I hate it? I don’t know anyone there. What if the food is awful? What if there’s something even worse that I haven’t even thought about? These are only the things I can imagine.’

  ‘You’ll be great.’ Nell gave her a hug. ‘Better than great.’

  ‘You’ve got to give it a go, Hetal,’ said Sasha, towelling her hair. ‘You never know, it might be better than you expect.’

  Hetal grinned at Sasha. ‘No regrets, huh?’

  Sasha nodded, smiling back.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘So, you’re off to Switzerland, Sasha, and Hetal, you’re disappearing to deepest, darkest Wales. Nell? Have you got any plans you haven’t told me about? Not popping over to Australia this summer?’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ said Nell. ‘As if my mum would let me out of her sight.’ Nell’s mum is an uber-control freak.

  ‘But she lets you come out on the boat with us,’ Hetal pointed out.

  Nell raised an eyebrow. ‘Who says she knows.’

  Chapter 3

  Sasha

  The heat engulfed me as I stepped onto the metal steps leading off the plane. Excitement fizzed as I looked out over the shimmering tarmac. I straightened my top, pulled my sunglasses down over my eyes and ran a hand through my hair. Watch out Geneva, Sasha Wilson has arrived.

  Geneva’s airport was busy with people and planes and fuel trucks, but I could see the mountains rising above all that, grand and impressive even at this distance. I breathed in the air, thick with aviation fumes.

  Mum had put on her brave face when I left. Told me to have a great time. That it would be good for me to spend some quality time with my dad. That she had loads of plans for while I was away and I wasn’
t to worry about her. Even so, the brave face never lies.

  But I was here and she was there, so I put Mum out of my mind and went along with the crowd, collected my suitcase from the baggage carousel and walked through the airport to the arrivals lounge. Everywhere stunningly dressed women strolled with a casual chic, appearing completely unruffled by the searing temperatures. Tanned men in cream suits and open-necked shirts clutched leather attaché cases and immaculately folded newspapers. My shorts and T-shirt, which had felt perfect in Devon, were out of place here. And how did they do it? I felt a hot, melting mess compared to everyone else and I was wearing a fraction of the clothes. Every time the doors opened, new waves of hot air rolled towards me. But who cared? I was here on holiday, not to win some ‘who can wear the most clothes and still look totally chill’ award.

  I searched all around me. Dad had said he would meet me here but I couldn’t see him anywhere. A fit boy leaning against the wall caught my eye. He smiled. I held his gaze. No harm in looking.

  ‘Natasha, over here.’ It was Dad, looking a little greyer than when I’d last seen him. When was that? A year ago, at least. I noticed he was in the smartly-dressed, suit-wearing chic crowd. And I was in Devon’s finest flip-flops.

  ‘Ma belle fille,’ he said when he got to me. I went to hug him as he leaned to kiss me on the cheek. Totes awkward. Behind Dad I could see the boy grinning.

  ‘Which way is the car?’ I asked, wanting to move this cringe-fest out of public view. Well, out of that boy’s view. But Dad wasn’t listening.

  ‘It has been too long. Let me look at you. I think you have grown, n’est-ce pas?’

  ‘I guess so. It’s good to see you too.’ The words ‘let’s get out of here’ were on the tip of my tongue but I couldn’t make myself say it. I would have with Mum. But Dad? It was different somehow.

  Finally, he picked up my suitcase and linked his arm into mine, which felt odd. I’d not seen him in ages and then he’s all father/daughter intense? I’d never really noticed it before he’d left, but Dad was way more huggy and kissy than Mum. Perhaps that was a French thing, or maybe that was just him. Either way, it felt like we were all out of step, like there was music playing but neither of us could find the beat.

  ‘So, ma petite, tell me all your news. How were the exams? And how are your friends? And your mother?’

  Huh. Where to start with filling my dad in on a year of my life. ‘There’s no rush, Dad. We’ve got ages to catch up.’

  He squeezed my arm. ‘This is true, but I want to hear about it all. I feel I don’t know this young woman before me.’

  Which I guess he didn’t. I was a kid of ten when he left and, apart from a handful of short and infrequent visits, I’d not really seen much of him since. How could he know who I was now?

  ‘So,’ he said with a flourish, opening the door to the apartment, ‘this is our humble abode for the summer.’

  I walked into the open-plan kitchen-come-sitting area. Shutters across the windows threw stripes of light across the dark room. Dad moved to put on the air conditioning, setting off a soft hum and a cool breeze. He opened the balcony windows and pushed back the shutters, letting sunlight flood in. Out of the window I could see roofs, stepping down to the lake. Lake Geneva. A vast, glittering blue stretching out into the distance with mountains towering above the opposite shore.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It’s … it’s beautiful.’

  Dad grinned. ‘I’ll put your case in your room.’

  I pushed the windows wider and stepped out onto the balcony. A couple of chairs stood to one side, the metal burning hot when I tried to sit down. I leaned on the wooden balcony instead and looked and looked. It felt like my eyes were superglued to the view.

  I texted the others.

  Me: Arrived OK. Staying in a village just outside of Geneva. Freaking gorgeous! #NoRegrets

  I attached a photo and sent it.

  The streets below the apartment were nearly empty. They shimmered in the heat. A moped buzzed past. I daydreamed about maybe a local boy, with a moped, with room for an extra on the back. In the distance a dog barked. The air was warm and smelled of fresh coffee and a flower of some kind. I sighed. Perhaps this was going to be a good holiday after all.

  The sun was so hot, I could feel my skin burning, so I walked back into the coolness of the apartment to find my suncream. As I rummaged through my bag, I could hear Dad on the phone, talking in rapid French.

  Dad had said this holiday would be brilliant for my French, especially as I was planning to study it next year, so I tuned my ear in and listened. I couldn’t catch every word. He was talking to someone called Clarisse. Perhaps someone he works with. He was speaking really quickly, but he seemed to be saying she couldn’t arrive yet. It was too soon. He needed more time. Time to explain. She must be someone on the same contract as Dad. Perhaps she’s not needed yet.

  Then I heard my name. And although my French isn’t perfect, I was pretty sure he said, ‘Stop worrying. Once you arrive I’m sure Natasha will love you.’

  For someone who’d not seen me for a year, he seemed pretty damn sure that I was going to love whoever the hell this Clarisse was.

  That evening we went out for dinner to a restaurant on the lakeside. The temperature had dipped as the sun set, and the village buzzed as the locals came out to socialise. The breeze was full of the chatter of the diners, the quiet lapping of the water against the wall and the loud chirping of crickets. Dad had gone to order drinks from the bar and I sat looking out over the lake. The air felt as if it was made of something different here, like there was excitement and possibility mixed into it. Despite having travelled all day, my body itched to explore the lake, walk along the bank, breathe in the air.

  ‘Bonsoir, mademoiselle.’ I turned to find the most beautiful person I had ever seen. Literally. No. Exaggeration. Olive skin, dark eyes and black hair that would have fallen in his eyes if he hadn’t pushed it back. You know how you get winded if you fall funny on a trampoline and all the air gets knocked from your lungs? Well, that. Totally.

  I must have been gasping for air, because he brought me a glass of iced water. He left it on the table and smiled. Which, honestly, if he was trying to help me get my breath back was not working. Another table called for the bill, and he went to serve them, leaving me gripping the table legs under the tablecloth and wondering why my body and mind had let me down so completely when it was clearly crucial I pulled off the charming and sophisticated thing.

  Over dessert Dad quizzed me about exams. There was no more sign of the waiter. I kept my eyes fixed on the candle in the centre of the table, picking away the dried drips of wax that had rolled down the edges on previous evenings and had got stuck to the wickerwork candle holder. I answered all the questions, but couldn’t get Clarisse out of my head. Who was she? Why would I be meeting her? And why would I love her? I tried to tell myself it could be something really innocent – it could be a housekeeper, someone to keep an eye on me while Dad was at work. But my brain’s not that easily fooled.

  ‘Natasha?’ I heard Dad say. ‘Did you hear me?’

  ‘Sorry. Miles away.’

  Dad smiled. ‘It’s been a big day, a long journey, lots to catch up on. Perhaps we should call it a night.’

  Perhaps, I thought. But I knew why I wasn’t listening.

  ‘Dad,’ I said, ‘I heard you on the phone earlier. Who’s Clarisse?’

  Dad’s face fell. ‘What were you doing listening?’

  I frowned. ‘You were only in the next room, Dad. You were hardly quiet.’

  ‘But I was speaking French.’

  ‘Newsflash, Dad, I can speak some French too. And that’s only some of the stuff I’ve learned in the last few years.’ I couldn’t have been more pointed if I’d said, ‘You left, and I’m not the same as I was when I was ten.’

  Despite himself, Dad was impressed. He chuckled, then remembered what I’d overheard.

  ‘Look, ma belle,
this isn’t how I wanted to tell you.’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘Clarisse is my girlfriend. We live together in Marseille. She wants to come out to Geneva. She’s dying to meet you.’

  Chapter 4

  Nell

  I didn’t mean to be selfish but Hetal being away for the summer was a royal pain in my ass. Not so much Sasha. I mean, I’d miss them both equally, but Hetal was on my mum’s list of approved friends and Sasha wasn’t. Neither was Cam.

  So now my main focus for the summer was how to get out of the house, preferably while keeping Mum happy. But also, what was I going to do with my time? Hetal’s away, Sasha’s away and Cam was (unhappily) stuck in a hardware store during normal opening hours. Did I rely too much on my friends for my life? So what? Lots of other people do and that’s not unhealthy right? But I needed to think up something. Anything.

  My mind often races from the moment I wake up. Sometimes I feel like it’s been galloping along while I’ve been asleep as well, so I wake up feeling tired and go to sleep feeling tired and can never seem to quite escape the thinking. Always thinking. Always worrying. Mum’s got that saying, you know the one: worry is like a rocking chair, it never gets you anywhere but it gives you something to do. It’s on a sign above the hob in the kitchen. I’m not sure I really get it. I mean, it’s not like I need something to do. It feels more like I’m strapped into the rocking chair and someone is pushing away on the curved foot, forcing my mind to fly along at a hundred miles an hour. I feel like screaming, ‘Stop the chair, I want to get off!’