Bringing the Summer Read online

  The sea is already deep and crashing on to the rocks. There is no possible way we can wade back round now.

  The sandy beach is so flat and wide that the sea comes in really fast. On parts of the Brittany coast the tide is faster than a galloping horse. I know that, but I don’t know this beach, on this part of Wales. I start to run back up the sand, calling and waving to Theo. The wind is strong, it whips the sound away, he can’t hear me, he’s too busy exploring to notice what is happening down here. There is no other way off the beach now except up.

  I try to calm myself down. There’s no immediate panic. I’ve got time to slow down a bit, to find a good route up the cliff. If Theo managed, I can too. And maybe the sea won’t come up the whole beach in any case: there’s a tide-line, after all. I noticed because I made sure to put the driftwood above that mark, on the drier sand.

  I try to remember what the moon is doing: if I were on St Ailla I’d know instantly! I’d have been paying attention to all that. The full moon and the new moon are the strong spring tides, with the biggest reach.

  Theo’s waving and pointing at something. I can’t hear what he’s shouting, but I guess he’s just noticed the sea too, how far up it has come. I’m trying to think. The moon was out when we were sledging. Boxing Day. It was about three-quarters then. So that means it will be full moon either tonight or tomorrow. The highest tide.

  I watch Theo make his way down the cliff. He makes it look easy. He jumps the last bit. ‘We’re cut off,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s exciting!’ he says. ‘We’ll have to stay here, then.’

  ‘At least as long as it takes the tide to come the rest of the way up and then down again, till it clears the rocks. Theo, it might be hours! It’ll be dark!’

  ‘Or we could go up the cliff? I’ve been about halfway, to that cave, and you can probably go further up and over the top, and I expect we can find a way back that way.’ He grins at me.

  I’m staring at the smooth cliff face above the ledge: there’s no obvious way up that I can see from here.

  ‘Or we could stay in the cave,’ Theo says.

  ‘How big is it? Is it damp?’

  ‘It’s big enough. We could make a fire up there. It would warm up, I reckon. We’d be fine.’ Theo’s eyes are glittery bright.

  ‘OK,’ I say, ‘Let’s lug the wood up there. You might have to help me a bit. I don’t like heights.’

  He doesn’t tease me, or get exasperated about how slow I am, picking my way over the rocks. I need both hands in places, so he ends up carrying the wood and I just focus on clinging on. Below us, the sea rushes in, grey and swirling and wild. Once I’m up on the ledge, shaky but safe, I dare to look down. The sand’s almost completely covered. My shell letters have already been washed away.

  Theo makes three trips to bring up all the wood, just in time.

  He fishes a box of matches from his jeans pocket.

  ‘What else have you got that’s useful?’ I ask.

  ‘Da – dah!’ He magics a bar of chocolate from his coat pocket. ‘Emergency rations.’

  It takes a while to coax a small fire; the wood’s damp, it smoulders and stutters but eventually we get it going enough to make a little warmth if we sit right close to it, and the cave does keep the wind off a bit.

  I shiver.

  Theo huddles up close behind me, so I’m sitting with my back leaning into him. He unbuttons his coat so he can wrap it half round me, too. He rests his chin on my head.

  My hands are still freezing; I slip my right one into Theo’s coat pocket and curl it round for warmth. My fingers touch something small and cool and metallic: I pull it out of the pocket and hold it out on the palm of my hand to see. The light from the fire catches the gold surface and makes it gleam. It’s a small ring, like a wedding band.

  I pull away from Theo slightly. ‘Where did you get this?’

  He leans forward to see. ‘What?’

  ‘This ring.’ But I know the answer even before he says the words.

  ‘Bridie gave it to me. The last time I saw her. She wanted me to have it. I didn’t want it, but she insisted I take it. “It’s worth something, it’s real gold,” she said, even though it isn’t.’ He takes it from the palm of my hand and turns it round in his own. It’s too tiny to fit over any of his fingers.

  Get rid of it, I want to say. Let the ring go, and let go of Bridie too. But I know that won’t work. He’s got to decide for himself. You can’t make someone do that.

  He reaches forward and lays the ring down on the flat stone near the entrance of the cave. He starts telling me about some human bones that were found in a cave near here, along with mammoth bones, and the bones of a horse and a dog. ‘The man who found her called her The Red Lady; he thought she was from Roman times. Only she turned out to be a man, and way, way older that that: from Palaeolithic times. Don’t you think that’s extraordinary?’ he says. ‘There were people here twenty-six thousand years ago!’

  ‘What do you think they were like?’

  ‘Same as us, I reckon. Thinking about the same sort of things: getting enough food to eat. Keeping warm. Falling in love. Being happy.’

  I laugh. ‘And the meaning of life and everything!’

  ‘I’m serious,’ he says. ‘Don’t joke about it.’

  ‘You’re too serious, Theo,’ I say. But I regret it, instantly, because that’s what we’re supposed to be here for, after all. The serious business of saying goodbye to Bridie.

  I make my mind travel back, all the weeks and months to that train journey, the moment of impact, and everything that followed. I’d wanted to know who it was, and why. And now I have most of my answers. I know it was Bridie, that she was ill, her mind addled by drink, drugs, stuff that messes you up really badly. She took her own life when she was in a state where she couldn’t think clearly.

  ‘When was the last time you saw Bridie?’ I ask Theo. ‘Tell me about it.’

  He sighs. I feel it shudder through his whole body. He rests his chin on my head. I notice, suddenly, how dark it’s getting in the cave, the light outside fading to grey. But it’s easier to talk in the dark like this.

  ‘We had a drink in a café,’ Theo says. ‘But we couldn’t stay long: she was shaking, she couldn’t speak properly. She said she was scared all the time.

  ‘So we went outside. I had this stupid idea that she’d feel better in the open air, in the sunshine. I held her arm and led her down the steps to the river and we sat on a bench for a while and watched the light on the water. She told me she’d lost herself. That nothing gave her any joy. All she wanted to do was sleep.’

  Theo’s shaking too, just remembering. ‘She’d never talked to me like that before. And nothing I said made the slightest difference. She’d sort of gone, already.’

  ‘That’s the illness,’ I say. ‘She was really ill, Theo.’

  ‘It was still a shock,’ Theo says, ‘to hear how she died. Unbearable, really.’

  There’s nothing I can say to make it better.

  ‘So, I guess it was a choice,’ he says. ‘She decided she’d had enough. But it’s terrible for everyone else.’

  ‘Her family?’

  ‘What family? She didn’t have one. Her mum was already dead. She never knew her dad. We were the closest thing to a family she ever had. And we were rubbish.’

  ‘Well, I think she was lucky to have had you as a friend, Theo.’

  ‘But I wasn’t enough. Nowhere near.’

  We stop talking. We sit in the grey light of a winter sunset when there is no sun, just the steady draining of light.

  ‘OK,’ Theo says at last. ‘Now what? What do I do? I haven’t a clue.’

  ‘Think of a happy time,’ I say. ‘A good memory of Bridie, like when she was little, and you played together. Think of her laughing, and full of life. And say goodbye.’

  He walks out on to the windy ledge. I hate him standing so close to the cliff edge like that. The tide must be at
the highest point: the sea’s bashing the bottom of the cliff now, crashing and thundering as the waves break on to the rock face and send up great plumes of spindrift.

  I watch as he lifts his arms up: a dark figure, silhouetted against the grey sky. He hurls something with one hand, and for the briefest moment I think I catch the flicker of light on gold.

  I glance down at the stone. The ring has gone. He must have picked it up as he left the cave and I didn’t notice. He picked it up and he let it go.

  And I’m glad, glad, glad.

  Now there’s just the long, cold wait for the tide to turn and the sea to retreat down the sand, and we will at last be able to start walking back to the car, and travel home in the dark. And it will be the end of the old year, the beginning of the new.

  Twenty-seven

  It’s properly dark by the time the tide’s gone down enough for us to walk back the beach way to the car. We’re both shivering with cold. I remember to text Mum to say we’re fine and I’m going to be late, and not to worry.

  We sit in the car to eat the sandwiches I’d packed.

  ‘Are you too tired to drive?’ I ask.

  Theo shakes his head. ‘We can stop for coffee, any way. It’ll be fine. At least it’s not snowing.’

  The roads have emptied out compared to the morning. We listen to Beth’s entire CD collection (all five discs) and sing along to the radio. We stop for petrol and coffee at the service station.

  ‘You’ve missed Duncan’s party, now,’ I say. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘No.’ Theo laughs. ‘It’ll be a bit of a piss up, and I’ve promised Mum to give up drinking for now. And I’ll see Duncan in a couple of weeks anyway when the term starts.’

  We drive along in silence for a while. I’m trying to summon up courage to tell Theo what I’ve decided.

  ‘I don’t think I can visit you in Oxford this term,’ I say, carefully. ‘I think it’s better that way.’

  Theo doesn’t say anything. The turn-off for our junction off the motorway is coming up soon. When we wait at the lights before the roundabout, he turns to look at me. ‘This is the let’s just be friends conversation, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Theo sighs. ‘What did Gabes say? Or was it my mother?’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with Gabes, or Maddie,’ I say. ‘It’s about me. About what’s right for me.’

  Theo doesn’t reply. But he nods his head slightly, as if he accepts what I have said.

  We’re almost home. I can see the lights of the city in the sweep of the valley; the orange glow lighting up the night sky.

  ‘All will be well,’ Theo says. ‘All will be well. And all manner of things will be well.’

  ‘What’s that from?’

  ‘Guess.’

  ‘The Bible?’

  ‘No. Lady Julian of Norwich.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Medieval mystic. 1342 to 1416.’

  ‘Honestly, Theo! What are you like!’

  ‘Impressively well read? An inspiration?’

  ‘If you weren’t driving I’d hit you!’

  Theo laughs.

  I’m relieved. It is all going to be all right. We will still be friends. I’ll still be able to visit Home Farm sometimes. And in just a few hours, it will be the first day of the New Year, a new beginning for us all.

  Twenty-eight

  Beginnings, endings. One door shuts and another door opens. That’s what Evie said to me, way back at the end of the summer.

  I’m sitting on my bed, making a bracelet for Miranda out of different coloured silk threads. I’ve chosen the colours I associate with her: apricot, cream, orange, pink, purple and apple green. It’s a new, complicated chevron pattern with six strands so I have to concentrate and be very patient, methodically weaving and knotting the coloured threads, but it’s satisfying, too: the rhythm of it. After a while my hands learn the pattern; my fingers move by instinct.

  I start thinking about my own life, with its different coloured strands, like a bracelet. I imagine saying that to Miranda and making her hoot with laughter. The different strands weave in and out of each other, so that one colour is sometimes stronger or more vivid than the others. Sometimes there seems to be just one dominant colour, and no tones or shades. If you look really closely, though, you can see that the other more subtle colours are still there. Gabes’ strand is gold, and Theo’s a darker colour, not black but blue-dark, like a night sky.

  There’s another thread that has been there all along, running underneath, though I’ve only just started to notice it. Danny. And I’m not sure yet what colour he’ll be; it’s too soon to tell. Turquoise blue, like a summer sea? Or silver, like a live mackerel? Or something else, quite unexpected?

  The post arrives. Mum comes upstairs and knocks on my door. ‘Postcard for you, from Evie.’ She hands it to me.

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ I wait for her to go back downstairs before I read it.

  Evie says she loves the painting I sent them for Christmas. They are going to frame it and hang it in the sitting room in pride of place above the fireplace. Gramps sends his love too. Guess what? The old lighthouse buildings have been sold! Or maybe you’ve heard already? Danny’s dad was over here just before Christmas.

  I stare at the words. Does she mean what I think she means? That Danny’s family are buying the lighthouse buildings?

  Years ago, Joe and I sunbathed in the overgrown garden next to the empty buildings and imagined living there. We talked about having special curved furniture to fit in the round rooms in the old tower. The view from the top would be amazing.

  Two and a half years ago, when the derelict buildings were actually for sale, I wanted Dad to buy them and do them up so we could have our own house on St Ailla and live there all year round. It was after we’d sold the big house near the canal; Mum and Dad were looking for somewhere new, to make a fresh start after Joe died. But Dad said no: Mum would never contemplate living there. Being so close to the sea would be a constant reminder of losing Joe. Dad had a whole string of other reasons, too. There’s only one little shop; it’s hundreds of miles away from their work and friends; it’s a little too close to his mum and dad, lovely as they are. Island life is just too small. And I told him what Gramps always says: if you want to see a lot, standing still in one place is a good way to do it.

  For a second, a pang of envy clutches my heart.

  But I know it couldn’t ever be mine, really. And if that’s so, then there’s no one I’d rather see living in the old lighthouse buildings than Danny and his family.

  I send him a message.

  What’s this about the lighthouse????

  Danny texts me almost straight back.

  It’s true! We’ve bought it. Going to do it up for summer holidays!

  I’m so excited I have to talk to him. I call him. ‘Danny? It’s me!’

  ‘Freya!’

  ‘It’s amazing news. Why didn’t you tell me before?’

  ‘It’s only just happened. We had to wait for the bank to decide about a loan. We’ve got to borrow loads of money. We’ll be broke for years. But Mum and Dad were determined . . . Hattie’s over the moon!’

  Hattie is Danny’s little sister. ‘She can have a bedroom in the tower,’ I say. ‘Like a princess!’

  ‘It’ll be years of work, first,’ Danny says. ‘Every hour of every holiday, probably. But I’m excited about it. It’ll be awesome when it’s finished.’

  ‘I’ll be going over to St Ailla in April,’ I say. ‘It was my Christmas present from Gramps. Will you all be there, then?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘So I’ll see you then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  That’s over three months’ time. By then, I’ll have finished my next project for Art. We’re doing life drawing this term; I’m doing a special study of the human hand. Both Danny and I will have exams coming up; maybe we could do Biology revision together, in between his work on the lighthouse with his dad. Biology is Danny’s favo
urite subject: he’s going to be either a marine biologist or an oceanographer, he says.

  I start to see it all unfold in my mind’s eye.

  First there’s the journey. The train, then the ferry.

  The sea will be rough, with a strong swell that makes the boat roll. A spring gale will be blowing. Everyone on the ferry will be feeling sick. But after four or five hours we’ll be nearly there, and as soon as we get alongside the first of the outer islands at the edge of the archipelago the rolling will stop as the sea becomes more shallow. The mood on the boat will lift. I’ll see a swallow: the first of the summer.

  When we arrive at the harbour on Main Island I’ll make my way down the stone steps to the little island ferry, Spirit, for the final leg of my journey.

  Evie and Gramps will be waiting on the jetty at St Ailla to welcome me. Evie will have cooked something special for supper – her fish pie with prawns, perhaps, made with potatoes Gramps has grown in the garden, and redcurrant meringue cake. Gramps will open a bottle of best bitter for himself and pour a champagne flute of sparkling wine for Evie, and we will toast my arrival.

  ‘The swallows are back,’ I’ll tell Gramps. ‘I saw my first one today.’

  Later, when Evie and I are alone together, she will ask me questions about life at home. About Mum and Dad. Miranda. College work. My paintings. I’ll tell her about my new project.

  ‘You can draw our hands,’ Evie will say. ‘Mine and Gramps’. That’ll take you a while, with all those little wrinkle lines to sketch in!’

  I’ll tell her about Gabes and Theo and the family who caught me in their spell and swept me away.

  ‘Don’t be so dazzled by the moon and the stars that you stop seeing what’s right under your feet!’ Evie will say. I’ll know she’s thinking about her and Gramps; they were childhood sweethearts but she went away from home and it was only many years later she found him again.

  ‘No need to be in such a rush about everything, either,’ Evie will say. ‘Take your time. Friends, boyfriends: don’t ever settle for less than the best.’