by Paige Toon
The sound of a siren wailing stopped Geoff short. Nell peeked into the hall in time to see her father yank open the front door and run out. The phone, still hanging from its cord, bashed against the wall and she could hear a tinny voice coming from the receiver.
‘Geoff? Geoff?’
Nell joined her dad in time to see the blue-and-red flashing lights of an ambulance coming down the hill from the direction of the village. The sirens screamed and she pressed her hands to her ears as the vehicle passed right by the cottage and headed up the road, towards the farm. Geoff stared after it and Nell felt her stomach go cold.
‘Stay indoors,’ her dad told her in a shaky voice, hurrying past her to retrieve the car keys from the hall, his face pale. ‘Stay with Vian. I’ll be back soon.’
Nell watched with fear as he ran to the car and got in, tearing off after the ambulance.
The phone was still hanging off its hook when she returned inside, and she could hear a long, dull beep coming from the receiver. In a daze, she picked it up and put it back in its cradle, then walked through to the living room. She looked at the stairs, but didn’t want to climb them.
A moment later, their bedroom door opened and Vian’s footsteps could be heard.
‘Where’s my mum?’ he asked when he saw Nell.
Nell looked up at him and shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’
He sighed. ‘I’m starving.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be back soon,’ Nell said, but her voice sounded funny.
Vian jumped down the last three steps, landing with a thud at the bottom. He wandered through to the kitchen. Nell followed, her insides prickly with dread.
‘Where’s your dad?’ he asked, looking around with a frown.
‘He heard an ambulance,’ Nell whispered.
Vian shot her a sharp look. Then all at once it dawned on him.
‘Vian, wait!’ Nell cried. ‘Dad said to stay here!’
But Vian was already pulling on his trainers.
‘Please,’ Nell begged. ‘Don’t leave me here alone.’ It was the only thing she could think to say to stop him.
‘Come with me,’ he urged, passing over her shoes.
She could tell by the look of determination on his face that she wouldn’t be able to stop him.
But she would soon wish with all of her heart that she had tried harder.
Forty
Luke is asleep. I think he nodded off when I started talking about shades of green, but I’ve continued speaking in a whisper. It’s been a good distraction.
I stand up and stretch my arms over my head, yawning. I’m exhausted. I should go for a walk or get some food from the hospital cafeteria to keep me going, but I don’t even have the energy to do that. I lift the chair to move it closer to the bed and then sit back down again, hunching forward to rest my cheek on my arms. I close my eyes, wondering if I’ll be able to drift off in this position.
But my mind ticks over, and it’s not long before I’m back in the past…
Fifteen
The first thing I see when I wake up is the colour of wheat.
The first thing I think is Vian.
I sleep in his bed now and still call it his bed, even though it was mine for the years before he came and has been mine for the years since he left. I sleep here to feel closer to him but, geographically, we could hardly be further apart.
My eyes drift to the postcards Blu-Tacked to the wall around the painting: surfers riding waves, rugged Australian coastlines, backwater towns with tin roofs, and fishing boats, big and small…
My friends have posters – everything from Bros and Milli Vanilli to Guns N’ Roses and George Michael – but I have only postcards and they are all from Vian.
He doesn’t write as much as he used to. He’s been busy with school and surfing and work. I can’t imagine being at sea for days on end, but he often goes out on the prawn boats with his father. It all seems very alien to me.
My alarm jolts me from my daze. I roll over and turn it off before getting out of bed, shivering on my way to the window. The tide is in and the water is as still as glass, reflecting the trees staggering down the banks. Only a few weeks ago they were topped with red, orange and yellow, but now the branches are brown and leafless and will stay that way for months. I lean in closer to the glass to check the lawn. It’s still shaded by the cottage and looks as if it’s been frosted with white icing. The glass fogs up with my breath and I retreat.
Definitely a tights day. I rummage around in my drawers and pull out what I need before heading downstairs to get ready.
Dad is cutting a lonely figure at the kitchen table, sitting there in his baggy brown cardigan with a mug of tea nursed between his hands. I remember when that old cardy was the same colour as his hair, but he’s almost entirely grey now. Losing Ruth so suddenly aged him.
‘Hi,’ I say in a sleep-groggy voice.
‘Morning,’ he replies, his smile catching me before I head into the bathroom.
He has a cup of tea ready for me by the time I re-emerge, dressed in my school uniform.
‘Scrambled eggs?’ I ask, planting a kiss on his cheek.
‘That would be lovely,’ he says gratefully, squeezing my shoulder.
I always make my own breakfast and if he hasn’t already left for work when I come downstairs, his too.
He lost a lot of weight after Ruth died, and hasn’t put anywhere near enough back on. I try to help where I can.
After the accident, Mum wanted me to move to France. She didn’t think Dad would be able to cope with me, not when we were both so thick in the midst of grief. But I fought tooth and nail to stay. I couldn’t think of anything worse than leaving him on his own.
It has been hard, though. And that is one hell of an understatement.
Losing Ruth broke us all, but losing Vian, too… Well, that was just…
Words cannot describe how I felt – how I still feel.
Vian’s father wanted him to go and live with him in Australia, and my dad told me that we had to let him go. Dad and Ruth weren’t married, and Vian wasn’t Dad’s adopted son, so he said we had no choice.
But deep down, I believe Dad could have tried harder to keep Vian. He was like a brother to me, my metaphorical twin, my fellow pea in a pod. Ruth’s death shelled us and spat us in opposite directions, far, far away from each other.
Sometimes, at night, I lie in bed, unable to sleep, and I am filled with bitterness and rage and even hatred towards my own father for letting Vian go.
So I try not to think about it.
And we rarely speak about Vian at all.
Dad and my friend Ellie’s mum do a car share – Ellie’s mum takes us to school on her way to work and Dad brings us home. Dad still works at Glendurgan Garden and starts early at seven thirty, but he finishes in time to collect us. However, today Ellie’s mum had a meeting so Dad is going in later.
Ellie – Eloïse Culshaw – is my best friend and lives up the hill in Mawgan, but we don’t hang out as much as you’d think, considering our close proximity to each other. Dad still won’t let me walk to or from her house – not after what happened to Ruth. The country roads are winding and narrow and there are too many dangerous drivers around. They never did find the driver of the car that killed her.
Dad pulls into the cul-de-sac where Ellie lives. I need to drop off my stuff for later – I’m sleeping over tonight – so I get out of the car and run up to her front door.
‘Oh my God!’ I squeal when it swings open.
Yesterday afternoon, Ellie’s chestnut hair came to her shoulders, but after an evening trip to the hairdresser, it is now several inches shorter, thanks to the curls. She’s been wanting a perm for ages.
‘What do you think?’ she asks with a grin, turning this way and that.
‘You look like a brunette Baby from Dirty Dancing!’
It is the biggest compliment I could bestow. It’s our favourite film – we’ve watched it on video a thousand times.
‘Here, let me take that.’ Ellie grabs my bag and dumps it in the hall before pulling the door shut behind her.
We climb side by side into the back of the car. I gave up riding shotgun after I did my neck in swivelling round to talk to her.
‘Your hair looks cool,’ she notes. ‘Did you scrunch it?’
‘Yep.’ My hair has a slight kink to it anyway, but with mousse and a diffuser, I can get it to go curly.
‘For the party?’ She gives me a conspiratorial nudge.
Dad’s ears prick up. ‘What party?’ he asks from the front.
‘Brad Milton’s sixteenth,’ I reply, giving Ellie a look that says, Here we go…
Brad is our classmate Brooke’s older brother – they’re only a year apart in age and it’s largely down to the two of them that our year groups socialise so much.
‘When did you tell me about it?’ Dad asks.
‘Last week,’ I state firmly. ‘It’s why I’m staying at Ellie’s tonight, remember? Her parents are giving us a lift.’
‘Where’s the party?’
‘At Brooke and Brad’s house in Helford.’
‘And what time will Ellie’s parents be collecting you?’
‘I don’t know, eleven-ish?’ I roll my eyes for Ellie’s benefit.
In actual fact, Ellie’s older brother Graham has offered to bring us home – he has his driving licence and is going to an eighteenth birthday bash at the nearby sailing club tonight.
But Dad’ll only stress out if I tell him that.
‘What if he speaks to my mum?’ Ellie asks that evening when we’re tottering down the steep, narrow road into Helford in our high heels. Her mum dropped us off in the car park at the top because it’s hard to turn around at the bottom, and if the tide is in, it’s practically impossible because the road is cut off by water.
‘He won’t,’ I brush her off, trailing my fingertips over the cobbled stones jutting out of the wall to my right. Ferns sprout from between the cracks and the air is filled with the smell of damp, peaty earth and salt water.
‘He’s so protective of you,’ Ellie says.
‘Over-protective,’ I correct. ‘But he can’t wrap me up in cotton wool forever.’ I trip over a bump in the road and stumble, grabbing Ellie’s arm to steady myself and almost pulling her down in the process. We both crack up laughing.
‘You been drinking, Forrester?’ comes a cheeky voice from behind us.
A glance over my shoulder reveals Drew Castor walking a few metres behind us, grinning. He’s wearing jeans with a black blazer and looks even hotter than usual.
‘It’s these stupid heels,’ I reply, facing forward again before he sees me blushing.
I have a bit of a crush on Drew. He’s a friend of Brad’s and has gorgeous toffee-brown hair that is too long to be called short, but too short to be considered long. I don’t know what product he uses, but when he rakes it one way, it stays there, slightly sticking up, and if he shoves it in the other direction, it does the same. Sometimes it falls forward into his green eyes and I’ve lost minutes of my life daydreaming about being the one to push it back again. His last girlfriend had the honour, but they broke up a couple of months ago.
Can’t say I cried about it.
We hear footsteps as Drew treads the asphalt to catch us up. ‘Are you on your way to Brad’s?’ he asks, falling into step beside me and taking my arm. ‘Keeping you upright,’ he jokes.
I laugh and elbow him away. ‘Yep. You?’
‘Yep.’
‘Shouldn’t you be coming from the other direction?’ Ellie asks.
Drew’s parents own the village pub a few minutes’ walk further on from here – his family lives in the cottage opposite.
‘Dad wanted me to run an errand,’ he explains.
Drew and his older brother Nicholas work for their parents part-time. Nick serves behind the bar and Drew helps out in the kitchens – I’ve spotted him when Dad and I have been in there to eat, which sadly isn’t often.
Madonna’s ‘Like a Prayer’ is blaring out of the speakers as we approach the Miltons’ – a chocolate-box cottage that is hemmed in between the road on one side and the Helford River on the other. We enter the garden via the outdoor gate to see trees rigged up with fairy lights and loads of our school friends milling around. It’s far too cold to take off our coats, but we do so anyway, our arms instantly breaking out in goosebumps. I’m wearing a black, off-the-shoulder dress that comes to just above knee-length, and my thick grey school tights have been replaced by sheer black ones. It’s freezing, but we stand there, teeth chattering, until everyone moves indoors.
Later, we have the opposite problem when the living room turns into a furnace. We’re all crammed into the small space like sardines, with sweat coating our skin and condensation running down the windows as we dance. I glance over at Drew and, not for the first time that evening, catch him already looking at me. A moment later, he heads into the kitchen.
I wait for B-52’s ‘Love Shack’ to come to an end before turning to Ellie and Brooke. ‘Drink?’
They nod and follow me.
Drew is at the fridge, getting out a two-litre bottle of Coke, while Brad and a couple of mates tuck into a bowl of crisps.
Brad and Brooke look so alike. They’re both tall with identical long, straight, blond hair. Some of the girls at school think Brad looks like Scott from Neighbours, but I’d say that’s a little optimistic.
‘Can you pour us some of those?’ Brooke asks Drew.
‘Sure.’
I feel Drew watching me as I separate disposable cups from a tall stack and line them up on the counter.
‘You look hot,’ he says.
Our friends fall about, sniggering.
‘I meant warm,’ Drew mutters with a smirk, pouring fizzing liquid into the cups. ‘Not that she doesn’t look hot in the other sense, too,’ he murmurs flippantly, his dimple making an appearance as he gives me a cheeky grin.
My heart skips at the compliment and I can’t help blushing. Again.
Brooke picks up a paper plate to fan my face.
I laugh and shove her arm. ‘Right, that’s it. I’m going outside to cool down.’
We all go and the December air is blissful on our hot, clammy skin as we wander down to the bank. Drew’s parents’ pub is directly across the creek from here, and the reflection of the outdoor lights strung up around the deck sparkles in the dark water.
‘Do you still have that Saturday job at the café?’ Drew asks me.
‘No, annoyingly.’ I used to work up near the sailing club. ‘They don’t get enough customers over the winter, but said to come back in the summer. What about you – you didn’t have to work tonight?’ I have to look up at him – I’m only five foot four and he’s getting on for six.
‘No. I’m doing tomorrow night and all day Sunday instead.’
‘Do you like it in the kitchen?’
He shrugs. ‘It’s all right. I’d prefer to be behind the bar.’
‘You’ll have to wait a couple of years, though, I guess?’ That’s when he’ll turn eighteen.
He gives me a wry smile and shakes his head, his eyes glinting in the fairy lights hanging from the trees. ‘I doubt Nick will ever let me muscle in on his turf – he likes pulling the girls too much.’
I smirk and sip my drink. I’m aware of his brother’s reputation.
‘What are you up to this weekend, then?’ Drew asks, raking his hair to the right.
‘I’m hanging out with Ellie. I’m staying at hers tonight. You?’
‘Surfing with my brother and some mates.’
‘I can’t believe you go out in winter.’
‘It’s the best time!’ His perfect white teeth gleam as he smiles. ‘The waves are bigger and better and there are way less tourists.’
‘I can’t surf,’ I say. ‘I started a course once when I was ten, but…’ My voice trails off.
‘You didn’t like it?’
‘No, I d
id.’ I hesitate before explaining, but I’ve started now so I decide to continue. ‘We’d only done one lesson when my dad’s girlfriend died – I don’t know if you remember that.’
‘Yeah, of course I do. I’m sorry. Didn’t your… Well, he wasn’t your real brother, but what was his name?’
‘Vian.’
‘Didn’t he have to go and live in Australia?’
‘Yeah. Now he can surf,’ I say proudly. ‘He’s actually won a couple of competitions.’
Drew looks impressed. ‘Well, if you’re not working tomorrow, you’re welcome to come with us. There’s room in Nick’s car.’
‘Oh! Thanks.’ I’m thrown by his easy invite.
‘Oi, Nell, is that your dad?’ Brad interrupts.
I shoot my head around to see an all-too-familiar figure hovering by the garden gate.
‘Hang on,’ I mutter, hurrying away. ‘Dad! What is it? What’s wrong?’
He shakes his head at me and I’m filled with dread. Vian?
‘You said Ellie’s parents would be taking you home.’ My father’s voice is laden with accusation. ‘Why didn’t you tell me it was her brother? He’s only just got his licence.’
I stare at him, gobsmacked. Is that why he’s here? To pick me up and drive me home rather than let Graham take us?
‘But I’m staying at Ellie’s!’
‘I’m here to give you both a lift. I’ve spoken to her parents. Come on, get your coat,’ he urges. ‘What are you doing outside without one?’
‘But… But… it’s only ten thirty,’ I stutter. How could he do this to me?
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ellie approaching.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘Dad’s here to give us a lift home.’ My eyes convey my absolute mortification at the situation.
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘But—’
‘We’ll go via the sailing club to let Graham know,’ Dad says. ‘I’m parked up the hill.’
‘We’ll meet you there,’ I tell him through gritted teeth. ‘We need to say goodbye to our friends.’
Thankfully, he concedes.