One Last Summer

by Connelly, Victoria

  ‘Don’t you ever think about things like that?’

  ‘I don’t,’ Audrey said. ‘I’m happy with all my decisions.’

  ‘All of them?’ Lisa asked sceptically.

  Audrey looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘I’m kind of regretting buying these shoes,’ she said, looking down at her feet. ‘They’re a bit on the tight side.’

  Harrie laughed again. ‘Why don’t you take them off? Go barefoot. The grass feels so good.’

  Audrey looked under the table and Harrie wiggled her bare toes at her. Audrey kicked her shoes off and breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Wine and bare feet. It’s the antidote to most things,’ Harrie revealed. ‘Actually, we could all walk around naked here and nobody would see us. Erm, except there’s a gardener twice a week and some guy coming to do restoration work.’ She’d thought that would get Lisa’s attention, but she was still looking serious.

  ‘Lisa?’ Audrey said, also noticing the sad expression on her face.

  ‘Do you think I’ve messed my life up?’

  ‘Of course not!’ Audrey said.

  ‘But you’ve always thought I’ve just drifted through it, haven’t you?’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘Don’t lie to me. You think I’ve wasted my time with this acting business, don’t you? You think I should have focused on my teaching and been a head of department by now.’

  ‘I’ve never said that. I might have worried about you, but I’d never dictate your life. You have to make your own decisions about what you want.’

  ‘But what if I’ve made the wrong ones?’

  ‘Then make new ones,’ Audrey said. ‘That’s what I did. When I’d finally had enough of the classroom, I set out to start up my own school. It’s a lot of work, but it’s so rewarding. I’ve discovered so many things about myself. You could do that too. It’s not too late, is it? I mean, it isn’t as if we’re done yet. Look at us all – in the prime of our lives.’

  ‘Oh, she’s gone all Miss Jean Brodie on us,’ Lisa joked.

  ‘I mean it,’ Audrey said. ‘They say life begins at forty and we’re all still young and gorgeous and ambitious, aren’t we? There’s plenty to look forward to. We’re only just getting going. I really believe that.’

  Harrie downed the last of her wine and stood up.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Audrey asked.

  Harrie looked at her friend, trying to control her emotions and formulate a response.

  ‘To get more wine, I hope,’ Lisa said with a laugh. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’

  Harrie nodded and smiled in relief. ‘That’s exactly right.’

  Chapter 3

  Harrie didn’t sleep well that night. Thoughts of their conversation kept going round in her mind, and Audrey’s assertion that they all still had so much ahead of them to look forward to had hurt her deeply. Harrie had cried silent tears into her pillow. The thoughts that ran through her mind had visited her before, of course. They tortured her on a regular basis and it took all her willpower to bury them. But who in her situation wouldn’t think about all the things that they were going to miss in the future? There were the big events like seeing her daughter get married and settle down. Harrie was quite sure that Honor was the marrying kind and it pained her that she wouldn’t be there for that special day. Children would follow. Harrie’s grandchildren. Little people that would carry her genes and yet never know her. What would they look like? What would their names be? What jobs would they grow up to do? The future tormented her with such questions.

  Then there were the little things which seemed to sting just as much. The knowledge that she would most likely never see another Christmas, never reach up into the dusty loft to take down the boxes of decorations. There was the agony of knowing that she had seen her last spring – that she might not be there to greet the first snowdrops of January or see that marvellous row of cherry trees blossom in her neighbour’s garden. There was also the hugely annoying fact that the latest US TV drama she’d become addicted to would go on without her and she’d never know if the hero and heroine would get together. She suspected that they would, but when and how? She’d given some serious thought to writing to the producers and asking them if they could give her a little insight, and she laughed now at the letter she had penned in her head.

  There were so many things she would miss. Her job, her pupils, her friends and family; all would go on without her, leading good and happy lives, she hoped. She didn’t begrudge them but, in her darkest moments, she wondered how often those people would think of her. Would they stop in their daily routines and pause for a moment, to recapture her face or to recall something she had said? Could she hope to still live in the memory of those she had known?

  And then there was Audrey and Lisa – her dearest friends. Seeing them again and enjoying their company once more made her realise just how very precious they were to her and she berated herself for not having spent more time with them recently. That was something that being ill made you so aware of – how you had chosen to spend your time in the past. When time started to run out, you really began to question every single second that passed.

  She closed her eyes as she recalled the dreadful day of her last diagnosis. It was all so clear in her mind and she couldn’t help playing it again like a film she had become obsessed with.

  Honor had been with her in the hospital – her dear daughter had never missed an appointment – and they’d waited patiently for over an hour. Harrie had wanted to rail against that. Sick people shouldn’t be made to wait – not when they didn’t know how much time they had left. When life was suddenly running out, the last place you wanted to spend it was in some dreary hospital corridor.

  Finally, their time had come and they’d been ushered into a room where Harrie’s doctor had given her the news in a slow and even voice, her eyes soft and apologetic as if she herself was to blame.

  Harrie hadn’t been able to speak, but had sat with her lips parted as if a silent scream was trying to exit, but Honor had been anything but dumbstruck.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she’d told the doctor, her eyes flaming. ‘What’s going on? My mum’s been well for years now. Years. She’s full of energy. We’ve just been walking in the Peak District, for god’s sake! She was fine then so it can’t have come back, can it? Things can’t change that quickly. You’ve made a mistake.’

  Harrie’s heart had swelled with love for her fierce little warrior daughter and she’d quietly reached across the space between them and taken Honor’s hand, noticing how hot it was in her cold one. She could almost still feel it now, she thought, as she swung her legs out of bed and got into the shower, hoping that the water would wash away some of those appalling memories. She really wasn’t sure how she would have coped without her daughter. Honor had been so strong for her. There’d been tears too – of course there’d been. So many nights had seen them sitting on the sofa together at Harrie’s, crying until they’d felt completely hollow.

  Harrie thought back to one of those nights now after the last diagnosis. They’d been watching one of their favourite films together – a lovely old black-and-white one with a young Judy Garland called The Clock. They’d laughed once again at the long-beloved scenes and their eyes had misted with tears at all the usual places and, by the end of it, when the camera slowly zoomed out and Judy Garland was swallowed up in the New York crowd, Harrie and Honor were bawling.

  ‘I don’t want to lose you,’ Honor had cried, and Harrie hadn’t been able to say anything. What did you say to something like that? And so she’d held Honor oh-so-tightly until the tears had stopped.

  Harrie blinked her own tears away now as she switched off the memory. She combed her hair and chose a turquoise shirt dress in a soft linen. It was already hot and it wasn’t even eight o’clock. Going down the stairs, her hand outstretched as she was still unused to the spiral steps, she decided to walk through the cloisters. It would be cool there.

  It was as she w
as crossing the courtyard that she spotted the van in the driveway and frowned. It seemed early for somebody to be there, and then she remembered. When she’d booked the priory for the summer, she’d been told that there was a discount – not because she’d booked it for six straight weeks, but because during that time there’d be a man working on the tower. Important restoration work, she’d been told, which might occasionally mean a little noise. Was that okay? Harrie had said yes. After all, there was plenty of space both inside and out. Surely there’d be a quiet corner they could escape to. Besides, restoration work had always fascinated her and she’d felt sure it would add to the interest of staying in an old building.

  The van door was open and she could just make out the back of a man. He was tall with broad shoulders and hair the colour of dark sand and, as he turned to face her, she saw that his skin was dark as if he spent a lot of time outdoors.

  ‘Did I disturb you?’ he asked as he approached her.

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘There will be some noise, I’m afraid.’

  ‘That’s okay. I mean, I was told when I booked the place.’

  ‘Good.’ He gave a curt little nod and moved on. Harrie followed him.

  ‘Can I watch?’ she asked.

  ‘Watch what?’

  ‘What you do.’

  He looked confused.

  ‘I’m interested,’ she went on.

  ‘I generally don’t have an audience.’

  ‘I’ll be very quiet. You won’t know I’m there. I promise.’

  He didn’t look convinced and ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘I can provide tea.’

  ‘I bring a flask.’

  ‘Oh.’ She waited for him to say something else. An apology at his abruptness, perhaps. But none was forthcoming. ‘I’ll – erm – leave you to it, then.’

  He nodded and walked towards the tower.

  Harrie watched him for a moment, disappointed that her dream of seeing an interesting restoration over the course of her summer had been scuppered by this very rude man.

  Well, he might not want her to make him a cup of tea, but she could jolly well make herself one, she thought, going to the kitchen and putting the kettle on. She looked at the great trestle table with its two long benches either side. It was an extravagance, booking such a huge place for just the three of them. They could have easily managed with a modest cottage somewhere. But where was the fun with modest, she thought? Modest was for amateurs.

  Or people with more time.

  No, she had wanted to be outrageous – to book something so spectacular that her friends would never forget it.

  Or ever forget her.

  Once again, her fears surfaced and it was that one – that fear of being forgotten – that affected her the most. She didn’t want to leave behind a life with no meaning. She wanted – no, she needed – to be remembered.

  An overwhelming sense of grief threatened to obliterate her, but she refused to allow it.

  ‘Tea,’ she said to herself. Tea was good. Tea made things better.

  She was just sitting down at the trestle table with her cup of peppermint tea in hands which had finally stopped shaking when there was a gentle knock on the kitchen door and a sandy head popped round a moment later. It was the rude restorer.

  Her mouth dropped open, but she closed it again. She wasn’t going to say anything to him, she decided. She wouldn’t let him rebuff her again.

  He looked at her and she thought she detected something approaching an apology in his expression.

  ‘I – erm . . .’ he began hesitantly.

  ‘What?’ Harrie prompted when she was quite sure he wouldn’t continue without a tiny bit of encouragement.

  ‘I forgot my flask.’

  Audrey never slept in. She didn’t have the luxury of lie-ins, not when she was the boss of a new company. Even at weekends, she was up and working by eight o’clock at the very latest. But that first morning at the priory, she’d woken with a start and had stared at her bedside clock in horror. It was ten to nine. Ten to nine! Never before had she slept so late. Never had she not set her alarm clock, but a tiny rebellious streak had overtaken her the night before and she’d switched it off, knowing full well that she’d wake up at her regular time. How could she not? It was ingrained. Only she hadn’t woken up then. She’d overslept. Horribly.

  Her instinct was to get up as fast as she could and make amends but, instead, she wondered what it would be like to not get up for once in her life, but to luxuriate in a lie-in – to deliberately crawl back under the covers, sink her head into the pillow and close her eyes again.

  No, she couldn’t! It went against everything she held dear and yet the temptation was there all the same.

  You’re on holiday, a voice whispered.

  Well, she kind of was, only she had a heap of work to get through. But surely ten extra minutes wouldn’t do any harm. Although she couldn’t quite silence the nagging voice that told her that it was all the little groups of ten wasted minutes that made a difference to getting ahead.

  She settled back down onto her pillow and experimented. The bed was certainly comfortable. She’d slept exceedingly well. The room had been cool but not cold and it was so peaceful. The curtains could have benefitted from being a tad thicker, but she quite liked the way that the morning light was slipping into the room, colouring her vision even though her eyes were resolutely closed.

  But it was no good. With a sigh of exasperation, she sat up in bed, pushed her hair out of her face and took a deep breath. She’d left one of the windows open overnight and the clean Somerset air smelled glorious to her suburban nose. They couldn’t leave the window open in their London home because of the noise. She lived in a terraced house from where she could see at least fifty other houses and, at any given time, there was noise coming from at least ten per cent of them. To save her sanity and preserve her sleep, Audrey had taken to wearing wax earplugs. She also wore an eye mask because of the intrusive beams from neighbours’ security lights which would pierce right through their bedroom curtains.

  But here at the priory, she had slept with her ears and eyes unencumbered and she felt all the more refreshed for it. Now she could see why Mike was always trying to persuade her to move to the country. He’d been brought up in rural Norfolk and was always singing the praises of village life.

  ‘It’s quiet in the country,’ he’d tell her when a neighbour’s noise was getting her down.

  ‘I’d be unemployed,’ she’d rebuff.

  ‘You’d find something,’ he’d tell her.

  ‘But my business is here,’ she’d say. She’d worked long hours to get her new school up and running. They might only have thirty-two pupils on their books, but it was a start. She’d secured a suitable building which was handy for a tube station, had signed on two other teachers and hoped to see a healthy profit very soon. Which reminded her, she needed to check some spreadsheets.

  She got out of bed and, before even allowing time for a quick wash, she’d switched her laptop on. The familiar whirr and flash of light felt out of place in the pale serenity of the priory bedroom. She couldn’t help wondering if the ghost of a long-departed monk who may have slept in this very room was frowning down upon her from heaven, shaking his head in despair at her addiction to modern technology. Still, the pull was too great to ignore.

  She grabbed her mobile phone and plugged it into the nearest socket to recharge, checking her messages and responding to half a dozen quickly, and then she made a start on the spreadsheets. She had surprised herself at how good she was with figures and she’d found that she enjoyed the challenge of running her own business and making all the decisions. It certainly beat being a humble team player in a school. She didn’t miss that at all.

  If only she didn’t get so tired. Her long hours were catching up with her, she thought as she rubbed her eyes. She seemed to have a constant headache, permanent backache and regular eye-strain. Perhap
s she needed new glasses and a decent office chair. That would be it. Then she could work even longer hours and really get ahead.

  As was always the way when she turned her laptop on, she got sucked into her work. It wasn’t until her belly rumbled that she realised she could do with some breakfast. Audrey sighed. If they’d invented a pill one could eat to replace meals, she would be a happy woman. Still, eating with her friends would be fun and, with that in mind, she closed her laptop and took a quick shower, pulling out a summer dress which she thought was pretty, but which Lisa would probably still think of as office-worthy.

  Leaving her room, she headed towards Harrie’s. The door was open, but it was obvious Harrie wasn’t in there. Audrey smiled as she saw a photo frame standing on the bedside table. Instinctively, she walked towards it. It was of Harrie and her daughter Honor. How grown up she was now. Like her own son, Jack. Smiling, she thought back to the first time she’d met Harrie at university. They’d bumped into each other in a corridor, desperately trying to find their way around one of the enormous buildings. They’d struck up a conversation and had been part of each other’s lives ever since. And now they both had grown-up children who’d flown the nest. How on earth had that happened? Sometimes, Audrey still felt like that inhibited student, wandering lost through the corridors.

  She looked around the room and caught sight of a row of bottles on a dressing table. Nosiness got the better of her and she went to see what they were. Harrie, it would seem, had turned into a health freak. They were all vitamins and supplements, but there was something else too. She didn’t recognise the name when she picked up the bottle. How on earth could anyone be bothered to take so many pills each day? Audrey just didn’t have the time for anything like that. She replaced the bottle, thinking no more of it, and decided to head downstairs in search of her friends.

  In the kitchen, Harrie was reboiling the kettle.

  ‘How do you like your tea?’ she asked the rude restorer.

  ‘Black, no sugar,’ he said.

  ‘Or would you like herbal? I have all sorts with me. Peppermint, camomile, ginger—’