Summer

by Michelle Zoetemeyer

  Afraid his courage would abandon him, Peter pushed the door closed as quietly as he could manage, cutting her off mid-sentence. He stood with his back to the door, breathing heavily. As tempting as it was to slide to the floor and bury his head in his hands, he remained standing. What the hell had he started?

  Choking back tears, he tried unsuccessfully to block the exchange from his mind. He couldn’t believe how totally and utterly exhausted the encounter had left him, so exhausted in fact that he was unable to summon the energy required to block Jane’s voice from his mind as she whispered to him through the bathroom door. “Just in case you hadn’t noticed, Sir, your wife and I also hit it off nicely? Oh, and your daughter, too. My, don’t we have a lot in common?”

  Her words sent shivers up his spine and left him in no doubt that the nightmare had only just started.

  Chapter 36

  Saturday, 22 December 1979

  Clare was the first to arrive. She pulled up in Herbie, her yellow Volkswagen. She jumped out and ran up to give me hug, almost dropping the container of chocolate crackles on my head. “Whoops,” she said, “that’s no way to treat the birthday girl.” She gave the container to Brian to take inside and put in the fridge. Then she bent down and kissed me on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Jen, don’t you look nice today?”

  I’d changed into my dress and put my hair in plaits just in time for everyone’s arrival. She looked nice too. Her soft, strawberry-blonde curls framed her pretty face. She never ties her hair back and it’s always blowing in her face. She tucks it behind her ears, but it still blows in her face. Mum does her lolly if I don’t tie my hair back, because it gets all knotty.

  She was wearing a pair of flared denim jeans with a fringe sewn to the hem. Flares aren’t that fashionable anymore, but Clare doesn’t care and neither do I. I’ve wanted a pair of jeans for ages, but Mum won’t buy me any, she says they cost too much. She also wore a pale yellow top made from embroidered cheesecloth with smocking across the front. The kind my aunties would take as proof that she’s a hippy. On her feet, she wore a pair of three-inch platforms, making her look even taller than she already is. I thought she looked lovely, but I knew that everybody else would talk about her like they always do.

  She sat on the veranda next to me. “What did you get for your birthday?”

  When I told her I got a bike, she sounded almost as excited as I did when I found out. “Won’t you be little Miss Independent now. You’ll be able to ride all over the place without having to rely on anyone.”

  I told her that I go everywhere I want already, but now Tom wouldn’t have to double me.

  She handed me a parcel covered in used wrapping paper. “Here you go, I hope you like it.” Clare always reuses her wrapping paper and cards. She cuts her old cards up and makes new ones with them. She adds paper ribbons and glitter and stuff like that. I think they’re even nicer than bought ones.

  “Where’s that spunky boyfriend of yours? I have a present for him too.”

  How nice of her to remember it was Tom’s birthday and get him a present as well. “He’ll be here in time for the party,” I told her, “It’s his party too. Mum said we could share. Well, it was my idea; Mum just agreed.”

  “What a wonderful idea. It’s nice to share such a special day with a special friend.”

  I agreed. I wouldn’t want to share my birthday with anyone but Tom.

  “Who else is coming?” she asked. “What about that tall lanky kid, Ned or Ed or something. You know, the one that was here last time I came to visit?”

  “Ed,” I corrected. “And yeah, he’s coming.”

  “And that little short kid with the red hair and freckles who was with him, what’s his name again?”

  I knew she was just being interested in me, but I couldn’t believe she was asking about Shortie. Didn’t Mum tell her about what happened?

  “Uh oh,” she misread the look on my face, “don’t tell me you’re not friends with him anymore?”

  “No, I’m not,” I stammered, “I mean, I’m still his friend, or at least, I would be if he was still alive.”

  Clare looked genuinely shocked. “Oh dear, me and my big mouth. Do you want to talk about it, or shall I just pretend I never said anything?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” I sniffed back my tears. “He’s dead and that’s all there is to it.”

  She’d read my response to mean that I did want to talk about it. “Oh Jen, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he’d passed on. What happened?”

  “The Dumbrells bashed him up and he went to hospital. Mum said he was having a check-up, only he wasn’t; he was unconscious. Then he died. I was so angry with Mum and Dad for lying to me. I still am. They had no right to lie to me like they did.”

  “Sometimes parents do stupid things, Jen. God knows mine did. But you really shouldn’t be so hard on them.”

  I couldn’t believe she was sticking up for them. “I wanted to visit him in hospital, but they wouldn’t let me. They kept saying he’d be home soon, but he wasn’t. And now, because of them, I never got to say goodbye or anything.”

  “It’s never too late to say goodbye.”

  “How can I? He won’t hear me all the way from Heaven.”

  Clare looked at me like she might look at an injured puppy dog. “Jen, Heaven isn’t real; at least not in the sense most people believe.”

  “How come everyone says you go to Heaven when you die then?”

  “Because that’s what a lot of people are taught. Many religions believe in Heaven and Hell.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “As it happens, no I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I believe God is about love. I think God wants us to enjoy ourselves and experience all the wonderful things life has to offer. I don’t believe God is mean or vengeful and I don’t think God would make people spend eternity in a place like Hell, or Heaven for that matter. In fact, I think God would be very disappointed to hear about all the things people and religious organisations do in God’s name.”

  “Where is he then?” I asked. “If he didn’t go to Heaven, where did he go?”

  “It’s hard to explain,” she started.

  I hate it when people say that. It usually means that they’re not going to bother and try to explain. Not so with Clare. “But, I’ll give it a shot anyway,” she said. “Have you ever heard of reincarnation?”

  “Isn’t that what happens to the Egyptians?”

  She smiled at me. “Very good Jen, you’ve been paying attention in class.”

  “I don’t really know what it means though,” I confessed, just in case she was going to continue without explaining it to me.

  She became serious again. “You’re right. The Egyptians did believe in reincarnation. They believed their soul would be reborn and that’s why they embalmed their bodies and buried them with gold and other useful things. They thought the soul would need them on the way to the next life.”

  I remembered Tom saying that only your soul goes to Heaven, not your body, but once again, I didn’t really know what that meant, so I asked Clare. “Everyone has a soul,” she explained, “they’re what make us who we are. Souls are eternal and never die. Our bodies are just the machines our souls ride in. Without a body, souls wouldn’t be able to experience life as we do.” She paused to allow time for what she had said to sink in. “One problem though Jen, bodies get old and they break. Sometimes they get sick, or bashed up like Shortie’s.”

  “Then what happens?”

  “Then, they need to find a new body so that they can continue on their journey,” she explained.

  “What journey?”

  “The journey everyone takes to enlightenment.”

  She realised she was losing me and started again. “Lots of religions and cultures believe in reincarnation,” she started, but then stopped. “It’s a little bit difficult to explain to an eleven year old, even one as clever as you.”


  The look on my face must have been such that, once again, she decided to give it a shot. “Many people believe that the soul departs the body at death and enters at birth. Some say that Jesus believed in reincarnation, because he said that unless man was reborn, he couldn’t enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Pagans believe that reincarnation is a cycle of birth, death, and rebirth.”

  “What’s a Pagan?”

  Clare repeated the question out loud. “Mmm… let me think, what’s a Pagan? Different people will tell you different things. Some people say it’s anyone who follows a religion other than Christianity.” Clare paused and thought about what she’d said. “Except the Jewish and Muslim religions, they’re not Pagan either. In my mind though, a Pagan is anyone who follows an Earth-centred spiritual path.”

  I was just about to ask her what an Earth-centred spiritual path was, but she went on to explain it before I had a chance. “Pagans believe in living in harmony with the Earth and its cycles. The Egyptians, Celts and Druids were Pagans, as are modern day Buddhists and Wiccans, to name just a few. The term Wicca hasn’t been around for long, but it has its basis in very old beliefs and traditions.”

  “I’ve never heard of Wicca; what is it?”

  She smiled and took a deep breath. “I’m just learning about it myself.”

  It made me feel better knowing that Clare didn’t know everything either.

  “Wicca, like most Pagan religions, is a loving and peaceful religion that is centred on the worship of nature. It teaches us to live in harmony with the Earth and to celebrate the cycle of birth, death and rebirth through the passing of the seasons.

  “Pagans hold festivals to mark the changing of the seasons. Take Christmas for example, it’s actually a Pagan festival. Only, the Pagans call it Yule or the winter solstice.”

  “But, isn’t the winter solstice in June?” I asked. “Surely they don’t have Christmas in June?”

  Clare looked impressed with my level of knowledge. Of course, I didn’t bother to tell her that the only reason I knew about the summer and winter solstice was because Mr Drury told me about them. He said that my birthday was the day after the summer solstice, and that the summer solstice is the longest day of the year. Personally, I don’t see how that could be since there’s twenty-four hours in every day.

  “But, at the moment, it’s actually winter in the northern hemisphere,” Clare explained. “Remember, Australia’s in the southern hemisphere, where it’s the other way around?”

  “Oh yeah, it is too.” I knew that what Clare said was right, because whenever I watch Christmas specials on telly, it’s nearly always snowing. When I asked Mum how come, she said it was because the shows are made in America.

  Clare waited to see if I had any more questions before continuing. “Yule, or the winter solstice, has always been the most sacred and magical of the Pagan festivals. It’s the time when the new Sun King is born. The festival of Yule was adopted by the Christians and is now celebrated as Jesus’ birthday.”

  “Deadset?” I wondered why I’d never heard of that before.

  “See this?” She pointed to a pendant hanging from a black leather thong she wore around her neck. “It’s a pentacle.” She held up a silver circle with a five-pointed star in its centre. “It’s a Pagan symbol that represents nature’s elements.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Some people call it the witches star.”

  “You mean like real witches?” The conversation was getting more interesting by the minute.

  “No, not really, not like the witches from the Wizard of Oz if that’s what you mean; they’re just make-believe.”

  She was about to say something more, but hesitated. She looked as though she were having second thoughts about whether or not to finish what she’d started. After a long pause, she let out a deep sigh and took up where she left off. “The name witch is probably one of the most misunderstood terms in the English language. In fact,” she whispered in case anyone was within earshot, “I bet you didn’t even know that real witches still exist?”

  I looked at her in surprise. “For real?”

  She nodded. “A witch is just what you call someone who practices magic. And by magic, I mean good magic. True witches believe that no matter what you do; good or bad, it comes back to you threefold. Another way to describe it is Karma. A person’s Karma stays with them forever; and that’s why you should never harm anyone. If you do, it will come back to you later; and not necessarily in this life either.”

  I looked at the witches star around her neck. “Are you a witch?” The idea of Clare being a witch was even better than her being a hippy.

  “Well, I’m definitely a Pagan, but I’m not sure if I’d go as far as to call myself a witch.”

  “But aren’t they the same thing?”

  “Not really; even though all witches are Pagans, not all Pagans are witches.”

  “Don’t you do magic?”

  “Just a little,” she confessed, “I’m just learning.”

  That was all the proof I needed. “So, you are a witch then?”

  “I suppose I am,” she laughed, “but that’s our little secret, okay?”

  “You bet! Why don’t you want anyone to know though?”

  “Oh, let’s just say that most people aren’t as open minded as you, and they wouldn’t understand.”

  “What’s to understand; it’s none of their business?”

  “If only it were that simple. I read in the paper just the other day about the death of woman in Sydney. Her real name was Rosaleen Norton, but everyone called her the Witch of Kings Cross.”

  “Was she a witch too?”

  “I don’t really know. Maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t. The point is that everyone believed she was. They made her life a living hell, just because she dared to be different. She was constantly harassed by the police and the newspapers and labelled a devil worshipper. She even had her artwork taken by the police because they said it contained images of devil worship.”

  Even though Clare had no artwork that I knew of, I didn’t want her to be treated like Rosaleen, so this time I swore I’d keep her secret.

  “As sad as it is, Jen, that’s what people are like. Not too many people are as accepting as you. That’s why I don’t mind talking to you about things like this.”

  Now, I felt really special. I already felt special because it was my birthday, but I felt extra special knowing that Clare had shared her secret with me. “Can I tell Tom,” I asked hopefully. “He’s my best friend and can keep a secret better than anyone I know.”

  She considered my request carefully.

  “I won’t tell him if you don’t want me to,” I reassured her.

  “No, that’s okay. If you trust him, then I trust him. But only tell Tom, okay?”

  “It’s a deal.”

  Chapter 37

  Saturday, 22 December 1979

  “Jenny, don’t be rude,” Mum interrupted the best conversation I’d had in ages, “let Clare come in and say hello to everyone, it’s been a long time since we’ve seen her.”

  “Hi Mel,” Clare said, turning to face Mum, “I’ll be there in a moment, I’m just having a little birthday chat with Jen.”

  Mum left us alone. She must have sensed we didn’t want her to join us.

  “Now, where were we?” asked Clare.

  “You were about to tell me about your star?”

  “Pentacle,” she corrected. “I better be quick. I don’t want to be in your mum’s bad books.” She winked at me. “If your mother hears me telling you all this stuff, I’ll be in them for sure.”

  I didn’t want Clare to stop, but I knew she was right, so I tried not to interrupt her.

  “The pentacle is one of our most powerful symbols. It’s a sacred symbol that’s been around since ancient times. In its simplest representation, the five points signify the elements of nature; earth, air, fire and water.” She pointed to the various points in a clockwise
direction. “And the fifth one,” she pointed to the top point, “represents the spirit, which is just another word for the soul.”

  I thought it was cool that something that looked so pretty could mean so much.

  “We got a bit side-tracked there for a minute,” she looked at her watch, “but, the point I was trying to make with all this is that Shortie’s not really dead. Well, at least not in the sense you think. When the time is right, he’ll be reborn and live life all over again.”

  The idea of being reborn fascinated me. It certainly sounded better than being stuck in Heaven eating rice from gold plates. I don’t even like rice that much. I had so many questions I wanted to ask, but I knew we were almost out of time. Remembering my original question, I asked, “Where’s Shortie then, if he’s not in Heaven, and how long before he’s reborn?”

  “Boy, you ask some hard questions for a little girl.”

  “I’m not little,” I said defiantly, “I’m eleven.”

  “Of course you’re not,” she laughed, “what was I thinking? To answer your first question, Pagans call the place you go to in between lives, Summerland. The Egyptians called it Amenti. There are many more names for it, but they mean the same thing.”

  I liked the idea of a place called Summerland. It conjured up images of a place that looked just like the bush did after yesterday’s storm.

  “I guess in some ways, Summerland is equivalent to the Christians’ Heaven,” Clare continued, “but the main difference is that Heaven is seen as the alternative to Hell and the concept of Hell is associated with Satan. Satan and Hell are part of the Christian belief system and we Pagans don’t accept their existence.

  “Summerland is where our souls go to rest and recover until it’s time to be reborn. Nobody really knows how long it takes; I guess it depends on how eager the soul is to return. I think some souls need longer to recover from the pains of their last life, while others are as keen as mustard to get back here. I imagine it could be anywhere from hours or days, to hundreds of years before someone is reborn.”

  “Wow,” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Does that mean I shouldn’t be sad about Shortie dying?”

  “Well, of course not. It’s always sad when a loved one moves on. But, at least you know now that he’s not gone for good. You should celebrate your birthday with joy, Jenny, not sadness. Death is just part of the cycle of life and there’s no better way to celebrate life than with a birthday.”