One Last Summer

by Connelly, Victoria

  It was on a hot sunny morning when Lisa and Audrey had gone for a dip in the pool that Harrie decided to go and see the surly stonemason again. She was as genuinely curious about his job as she was about the man.

  Scaffolding had been set up in the tower before Harrie had arrived and Samson was somewhere up there as she approached. She heard him before she saw him – the light sound of his chisel on the ancient stone.

  ‘Good morning!’ she called.

  He paused in his work, but he didn’t turn around. Perhaps it was his profession which made him so unfriendly, Harrie thought. Spending most of your life with your back to the world wasn’t exactly conducive to conversation, was it?

  ‘My friends are in the pool, but I didn’t fancy it,’ she told him, undeterred by his lack of interest in engaging with her. ‘I wanted to see how you were getting on.’

  ‘Don’t stand there!’ he called down.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You’ll get covered in dust.’

  ‘Oh!’ Harrie leapt back and discovered she could see him better from that vantage point anyway. She couldn’t make out exactly what he was doing and wondered, for a brief moment, if she should climb the ladder up the scaffolding, but it was probably best to be invited first.

  She looked around and spied Samson’s denim jacket neatly folded on an old wooden chair, and there was a large toolbox and his flask. She sighed. So, he didn’t have plans to bother her for more tea then. That was a shame. She’d have liked him to bother her again. Still, she could try another tactic.

  ‘I’m going to make a cup of tea. Would you like one?’ she called up to him.

  ‘I’ve got my flask.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that, but I think tea tastes better out of a china cup, doesn’t it?’

  He stopped banging for a moment.

  ‘Shall I take that as a yes?’ she asked, peering up. She still couldn’t see him properly.

  ‘Only if you’re making one.’

  ‘I said I was.’

  He started banging again and Harrie left to make the tea.

  While waiting for the kettle to boil, she ruminated on what it was that made a personality. Why, for example, was Lisa naturally exuberant? And why was Audrey’s default setting anxious? They say you should never judge a person by first impressions, but Harrie had to admit that these were often a very good indicator. Many times, she’d taken just one look at someone and decided that they were either going to feature in her life or that she wanted nothing to do with them. You could so often tell by the way a person’s features were set in their face. It wasn’t anything physical. Beauty counted for very little when it came to personality, but there would often be an expression in the eyes or something in the way the mouth was set which would mark somebody out as either friendly or not.

  Harrie believed that you could tell immediately if a person was kind. Kindness. That was the trait she’d come to value most in recent years. You realised that as soon as you became ill. Kindness trumped absolutely everything else. You couldn’t live without it or, at least, it wouldn’t be an existence worth very much at all. And, even though Samson hadn’t shown any kindness in his manner, she truly believed there was kindness behind the gruff exterior. She’d seen it in his eyes, she was sure of it.

  Having made the tea, she took the cups through to the tower on a tray, a packet of cookies on it too. He was still banging away. She smiled. He probably wouldn’t appreciate his carefully skilled restoration work being referred to as banging away.

  ‘I’ve got the tea!’ she called up to him from the bottom of the scaffolding. The banging stopped and she watched as he slowly climbed down the ladder, returning to earth once more with a gentle thump of his steel-capped boots. She’d forgotten how tall he was and felt practically dwarfed standing next to him, especially as she was wearing the flattest of sandals.

  He nodded, taking a cup and a cookie. She smiled at that. She had found a weakness.

  ‘So, what exactly are you doing up there?’ she asked, genuinely interested.

  He craned his head back to look up at the wall he’d been working on. ‘Mostly repointing. Replacing the old cement with new.’

  Harrie nodded.

  ‘There’s a whole section of wall that needs attention, but then I can move on to the fun part.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The angel.’

  ‘There’s an angel up there? Can I see it?’

  ‘Not yet. Too dangerous.’

  ‘Oh.’ Harrie couldn’t help but be disappointed. She took a sip of her tea. ‘Are you working on anything else besides our tower?’

  ‘I’m working on a few projects, yes.’

  ‘Anywhere interesting?’

  ‘Wells.’

  Harrie frowned. ‘The cathedral?’

  Samson nodded.

  ‘How wonderful! That’s one of the most beautiful buildings in England,’ Harrie said. ‘So tell me about it. I mean, what’s it like holding your chisel so close to something so ancient and wielding that kind of power?’

  He shrugged. ‘Pretty good, I guess.’

  Harrie laughed. ‘You don’t give much away, do you?’

  ‘Should I be? Is this some kind of interview?’

  ‘No, just a conversation. I’m interested in what you do. Tell me a bit about it. What’s your favourite part of the job?’

  He paused before answering. ‘I don’t know. There are lots. I like handling the tools. A stonemason’s tools are like an extension of himself.’

  Harrie smiled. She liked that. She liked the way he talked too – it was slow and careful, as if he were measuring each word.

  ‘Go on,’ she encouraged when he paused.

  He took a sip of his tea.

  ‘I like the stone I work with – the colours, the different weights and textures. I like seeing all the thousands of fossils in the limestone we get to work with, and spotting the stonemasons’ marks from centuries ago, knowing that somebody else from a different time was here before me. And I like the finished job – when you revisit a place you’ve worked on and all the scaffolding’s gone and people are coming and going and have no idea that a stonemason lived high above their heads for months at a time to restore the place they love.’

  Harrie listened, spellbound. It was the most Samson had said to her and she was enraptured by the beauty of his words and his obvious passion for his work.

  She was just about to ask him more when he drained his cup.

  ‘I’ve got to get back to work.’

  Before she could say anything, he was climbing the ladder back through the scaffolding and the light sound of his chisel was heard a moment later.

  After her morning swim, Lisa showered and then grabbed her yoga mat. It was a real treat for her to be at the priory and it was an even greater treat to be able to practise her yoga there. In the cramped space of her Leeds flat, she was forced to move her sofa and chairs in order to make room. Even then, her fingers would occasionally hit the horrible plastic chandelier that hung from the middle of the ceiling and, more often than not, she would just get herself comfortable and then some awful noise would start up, like roadworks or a neighbour’s music.

  As she made her way outside, she couldn’t help thinking of what Audrey had said. Her friend was right, of course. She shouldn’t still be renting – not at her age.

  Somewhere, something had gone horribly wrong with her life and she couldn’t help but cast her mind back to the heady days ten years ago when she’d starred in the successful daytime soap opera. She’d been dating Kyle Hanson, her co-star, and they’d sizzled both on the screen and off.

  What a whirlwind it had been. They’d been the golden couple, beloved by the tabloids and followed everywhere by hungry photographers and eager fans. They’d even talked about moving in together, but the relationship never got that far. Her character, the vibrant Suzie, had exited the show as dramatically as she’d entered it, killed off in a horrific accident. There’d been no coming
back from that, Lisa thought, and Kyle soon lost interest in her when she was no longer grabbing the headlines. He’d gone on to fall in love with his new co-star. They were married now with two children and there was a little bit of Lisa that couldn’t help thinking that it should have been her.

  Who are you kidding? she asked now. You – a mother? The role would not have suited her. That’s what she told herself anyway. She had far more than enough children in her life in her role as a teacher. Then there’d always been that doubt residing deep inside telling her that she could never be as good a mother as her own had been. Losing her mother had, perhaps, meant that Lisa remembered her with the sort of golden glow that reality might not have lived up to had she survived, but Lisa wasn’t going to take any chances. She simply had never wanted to be a mother herself. She was married to her career as an actress, such as it was these days.

  Her grandmother, who was a very robust eighty-nine years old, still had all her press clippings and regularly got them out for visiting relatives and friends. It was highly embarrassing because, if Lisa happened to be there, they would naturally question what she was doing now.

  ‘Oh, she’s just a teacher now,’ her grandmother would say, her face unable to hide its disappointment.

  So, here she was, a forty-six-year-old out-of-work actress and sometime supply teacher living in rented accommodation with only a yoga mat and a singing bowl to call her own.

  Count your blessings, she told herself. Focus on the positive. Meditate. But how hard it was to shut out all the noise. It was no mean task to ignore all those insecurities. Audrey seemed to have got it right. Everything she did seemed to work out. She was such a natural when it came to business and success. She could set herself any task and win through.

  Lisa shook her head. Jealousy was not a good way to begin one’s meditation, she told herself. Comparing oneself to others was a sure way to madness. One should glory in the success of others, she knew that. Hadn’t she wanted Audrey to be pleased with her when she’d had her moment in the spotlight? And she was genuinely thrilled now that Audrey was doing so well with her business. Still, one couldn’t help measuring one’s own mediocrity against another’s success. It seemed to be human nature.

  But I’m going shut all that out now, she told herself as she unrolled her mat. She had found a very special space in the herb garden which was glorious in the morning when the first rays of sunlight would find their way there. It was still sunny there now after her morning swim and she got herself comfortable, crossing her legs, lengthening through her spine and resting her palms facing upwards on her knees.

  She closed her eyes, seeking that moment of stillness and clarity which came from emptying the mind of its worries. She took a few deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, feeling the natural rhythms of the body that one so often forgot in the daily rush of life. It was so important sometimes simply to breathe, to remember that vital link between the mind and the body which could make all the difference. Breathe.

  Slowly, Lisa felt her body relax and her mind began to drift.

  She frowned. The drifting had been interrupted by an appalling noise.

  Reluctantly, furiously, she opened her eyes, momentarily dazzled by the light as she tried to identify the noise. It was a strimmer – there was no question about it.

  ‘You have got to be kidding me!’ she said through gritted teeth as she stood up from her yoga mat and left the herb garden.

  As she walked across the lawn, the noise became louder. She could feel the peace she had been reaching for quickly drain away to be replaced by anger.

  As she rounded the corner, she saw him. The man with the strimmer. His back was to her and he obviously didn’t know that she was standing behind him, her hands on her hips, ready to erupt.

  ‘Hey!’ she shouted, trying to make herself heard above the horrendous noise. ‘I said—’

  He turned around and almost jumped out of his skin as he saw her.

  Finally, thankfully, the machine was switched off and she found herself looking at a man in his early twenties with dark curly hair and piercing blue eyes. As handsome as he might be, he had still disturbed her peace.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asked her.

  ‘You can help me by not making such a bloody awful noise,’ she said, the words spilling out of her before she could stop them.

  His mouth dropped open and he looked sincerely sorry. ‘My noise disturbed you?’

  ‘I was trying to meditate.’

  ‘Meditate?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘This is my holiday. I’ve come here for some peace and quiet. Is that too much to ask?’

  ‘Of course not. I’m sorry.’

  Lisa nodded, feeling as though she’d got through to the man. ‘Well, good.’ She turned to leave.

  ‘The thing is,’ the man continued, ‘I’m being paid to take care of this place and that means keeping on top of the grass. It won’t take me long.’

  She turned back to look at him, willing herself to be patient.

  ‘I’m Alfie,’ he added, taking a step forward and extending a hand.

  ‘Lisa,’ she said, shaking it.

  ‘I promise I’ll be as quick as I can,’ he told her.

  ‘Right,’ she said.

  He nodded then turned his back on her and began strimming once again. Lisa watched him for a moment longer. How annoying he was. And how very handsome.

  Audrey looked out of her bedroom window onto the garden below. They had been there a whole week now and she’d made a real effort to relax and not work, she really had, but her fingers were itching to hit her keyboard. She turned around and looked at the laptop sleeping on a chair in the corner of the room. Harrie had told her she would change her password and lock her out if she caught her working on it and Audrey believed her.

  Dear Harrie. She meant well and Audrey really appreciated her care, but she simply didn’t know the pressure she was under. Starting a new business from scratch was no mean feat. Taking on staff, being responsible for thirty-two pupils, paying the exorbitant London rates on a building, organising lessons, and the myriad other jobs that went with it, all could sometimes take their toll. Some months, Audrey didn’t even know if they would make the payroll.

  Mike had repeatedly told her that she’d taken on too much, but this was something Audrey felt she had to do. She smiled at that, remembering a conversation she’d once had with a colleague at her school.

  ‘Middle-child syndrome,’ her colleague had told her. ‘You are a middle child, aren’t you?’

  Audrey had nodded.

  ‘I thought I’d remembered that right. You see, you weren’t the firstborn – you never carried that accolade – and you weren’t the youngest – the one who was mollycoddled, the baby of the family. You were the one in the middle, the forgotten one, and middle children often go on to be overachievers. They push themselves for recognition.’

  Audrey had dismissed her colleague’s summation of her life as psychobabble, but she’d never forgotten it and it was true that she had always striven to do better and to always be moving forward. Perhaps that’s why she was so tired now.

  Harrie was looking tired too, Audrey noticed. They were none of them as young as they once had been and the long years of teaching had certainly done them no favours in the health department. She could hardly believe that it was twenty-seven years since they’d met at university for their teacher training degree. How young they’d all been: so full of energy and enthusiasm. They’d all been going to make a difference in the world. And here they were, burnt out with exhaustion. Well, she was anyway. Harrie still seemed so full of that same enthusiasm for life and Lisa certainly hadn’t given up on her dreams.

  Mike had been right. Audrey needed this holiday and, although it went against all her principles to do nothing for a long period of time, she realised that she needed a break.

  Walking across the room, she took a look at her reflection in the dark silver mirror, whic
h was spotted with age and wonderfully flattering. Forty-six, she thought. There were a few lines around her eyes and mouth which couldn’t be ignored any longer. Laughter lines, weren’t they? And a few grey hairs at the parting in between trips to the hairdresser’s. Mike still told her she was beautiful. He was sweet like that – always paying her compliments and buying her flowers and little gifts. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d told him how much she appreciated these gestures. Wasn’t that an awful thing to admit to? But her work was so all-consuming these days that there seemed to be little time for anything else. Mike understood that.

  She still couldn’t believe Mike had rung Harrie ahead of the holiday. Well, she could. He was that kind of husband and he’d been on Audrey’s case for some time now about working too hard. It had taken all her powers of subterfuge to sneak her laptop, briefcase and box of files out of the house and into her car.

  But this place. It was something else. It demanded that you slowed down a bit and took time for yourself and your friends. She’d been enjoying taking a walk before breakfast. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone for a walk from home. Working had taken over from walking. Sometimes, she didn’t get into bed before one in the morning, her eyes red from staring at a computer screen as she tried to balance the books.

  It would all be worth it, though, that’s what she told herself, and then everyone would clap her on the back and tell her how clever she was. Maybe there was something in that middle child syndrome after all. She really did have this need for approval. Perhaps it was because she’d always been in the background, whether in her family home or the classroom or the workplace. She was always the quiet, invisible one – the pupil overlooked by her teachers, the teacher overlooked by the head of department. Her achievements were never recognised because they were rarely big or brash, they were simply consistent and that didn’t seem to count for very much.

  But she kept going. That was her strength. Others might make a bigger noise and a bigger splash but, very often, they would fall by the wayside, leaving Audrey to chug on past. She was good at that and Harrie and Lisa had always admired her success, telling her what a good job she was doing. But they only saw the glossy surface, didn’t they? Lisa did anyway. She had seen the envy in her friend’s face when she told her about the new business. Well, perhaps envy was too strong a word. But there’d been something there – some little vein of jealousy perhaps. The irony of it was that Lisa didn’t see the struggle that went on behind the scenes. She probably thought it was a twenty-four-hour joy to be the head of a new company but, more often than not, Audrey was left feeling depleted and insecure, wondering why she was putting herself through it all. What was it that made her such a workaholic? Who was she trying to prove herself to? Surely she wasn’t still trying to win the approbation of those around her?