Cruel Summer

by James Dawson

  Katie laughed. ‘It’s pronounced gra-thee-ass. You’re not in South America! Apparently, hundreds of years ago, the king of Spain had a lisp so the commoners adopted it and it stuck that way.’

  ‘Really? Oh, well, points for trying.’ He smiled.

  Katie slid the patio doors all the way open and wandered out onto the terrace. She sank down into one of the dainty wrought-iron chairs. ‘Did you sleep OK?’ she asked. By the time they’d finally found the villa, they’d been so tired they’d almost collapsed into bed.

  ‘Yeah, not too bad,’ Ryan replied, stirring her tea before hurling the teaspoon into the sink. Joining her at the terrace table, he put her tea down and took a sip of his own much-too-hot coffee before slipping his shades on. ‘When do the others arrive?’

  ‘Not until about two.’

  ‘OK. This morning I’m all about the pool and reading scripts, then. Did I tell you about the play last night?’

  ‘You might have mentioned it once or twice, yes,’ Katie told him with a grin. Much of the journey from the airport had involved Ryan firing off a year’s worth of improv’ workshops, auditions and at least one salacious encounter with a well-known movie-star-turned-theatre-director.

  ‘This play is soooo good though, Katie. Imagine Inception but on a much smaller scale and with aliens. I can’t wait.’

  ‘Sounds marvellous,’ Katie said, perhaps too quickly.

  The sun was getting higher in the sky with every minute. Hotter and hotter too. From this part of the world, it was so much easier to think of the sun as something that truly burned: a white ball of flame. Katie stuck to the shade of the terrace – with her milky complexion she’d be crispy baked lobster within minutes.

  ‘How’s it going in Norwich?’ Ryan asked – aware he’d neglected to ask his friend how she’d been getting on this last year. He nipped back inside and grabbed some Lays crisps from the kitchen counter. At the hypermarket near the airport last night, he’d found it hysterical that Walkers crisps were called ‘Lays’ in Spain and bought about ten bags. ‘Yes, I’m having Lays for breakfast, shut up.’ He winked. ‘You should get Lays more often, too.’

  Katie laughed. ‘Pervert! Norwich is good. And you know what studying English is like – pretty booky during the week. Then on a Saturday I work in a bookshop. It’s a book-a-rama.’

  ‘Boring!’ he yelled. ‘I meant have you got a new PLI?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A Potential Love Interest! Who’s the “New Ben”?’

  Katie blushed and chewed on a fingernail. ‘There is no “New Ben”.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I swear. I’ve been too busy. I wanted the full fresher experience, so I joined pretty much every society and club on campus. I actually played lacrosse! Can you believe it?’

  Ryan smiled – wholesome fun sounded about right for Katie. ‘Not a single drunken traffic-light party?’

  ‘If I had gone to a traffic-light party, I’d have been wearing red.’

  ‘With your complexion? Girl, no!’ Ryan laughed. ‘But why not? Isn’t that what being a fresher’s all about?’

  Katie shrugged, hiding behind her tea. ‘Little bit of Ben. Little bit of Janey. I suppose I needed some time.’

  Ryan didn’t push her any further. He knew that, even now, she still wasn’t over Ben. In his TV drama, Ryan figured, this was the point where you inserted a flashback for the benefit of new or casual viewers. An overview of the story so far . . .

  Series One. Katie and Ben had first met at Longview High. Although Ryan hadn’t actually been present at their first fateful meeting he imagined it had gone something like this. They would have bumped into each other by a locker (although their school didn’t have lockers) and the plinky-plonky piano backing music would have made it clear that they were meant to be together. They had probably done that thing of being so in-love-at-first-sight that they could only mumble half sentences as the LOVE overrode basic speech, but, however it had happened, everyone except them had instantly known that they were made for each other.

  They didn’t kiss until the end of the first series. Ryan had been there for that. It was on a starlit garden swing at Liv Hewitt’s fifteenth birthday party. Katie had been upset because there was a misunderstanding about something (Ryan couldn’t remember what, but, needless to say, at the time it had seemed HUGE) and Ben had been comforting her.

  Series Two. In the second series, fate had intervened to keep the young lovers apart. As every TV scriptwriter knows, if you get the romantic leads together too soon all the sexual frisson dies and there’s nowhere for the characters to go. In this case ‘fate’ had been two sets of well-meaning but meddling parents. Obviously, in the grand tradition of young love, the obstacles had been overcome and by the time they sat their finals, Katie and Ben were officially together.

  Series Three. But plain sailing doesn’t make for very good TV. There have to be bumps in the road. For some reason, Katie and Ben had decided to call time on their relationship the Christmas of Year Twelve. Ryan vividly remembered Katie’s red, puffy eyes that night as Ben held her under the mistletoe – no kisses for them, only tears. Ryan had never understood why they’d broken up when they were so perfect together.

  Series Four. In order to move the plot forward, Ben had been paired with Janey – an odd couple at best – and they had been together until the night of the ball . . . the night when she . . .

  Well, we all know how that went, Ryan mused.

  Now, here they were for the summer special reunion, and Ryan couldn’t wait to see what twists were in store for Katie, the beautiful redhead, and her handsome ex. Whatever happened, it was destined to be must-see TV.

  The others arrived just as Katie and Ryan were finishing lunch. It was so weird; the second Ryan went somewhere sunny, his body started demanding tuna toasties and chocolate milk – so that was just what they’d had. Then, Katie washed the dishes while he leafed through the Mindprobe script. He was staring at the page, but failing to see the words; Janey was on his mind again.

  Perhaps, on the verge of their reunion, this was the first time he’d properly confronted the lingering sadness, unresolved questions and general weirdness of the whole affair. Last summer had been so awful, he hadn’t been able to get out of Telscombe Cliffs fast enough. He’d thrown himself into his reinvention spin-off series. After all, it was his story, not Janey’s.

  But now, even with the hot kiss of the sun on his skin, he couldn’t get Janey out of his head. He thought back to the funeral. God, that had been a miserable day. Granted, funerals aren’t meant to be a LOL-fest, but he hadn’t been at all steeled for the wave of grief that had greeted him like a black tide at that chapel. The memories were black and white, because the day had been black and white. Black clothes in the white chapel. A black coffin covered with white flowers.

  The friends had gone as a group. In fact, it was the last time – save for his reunion with Katie last night – that he’d seen any of them. They’d sat at the back of the church to allow Janey’s family the best seats. Edgar Allan Poe once described the death of a beautiful woman as ‘the most poetical topic in the world’ and Janey’s death had certainly fit the bill: an event so startling, so scandalous, almost all of Year Thirteen had attended. It had been a full house, standing room only. Janey’s funeral – the hottest ticket in Telscombe Cliffs.

  Ryan had sat with Katie, holding her hand throughout. That day had been especially awful for her. After what had gone down at the prom, the judgement had been almost palpable. The whispering from their classmates hadn’t helped. ‘She’s got some nerve. How can she show her face?’ No matter how many times Ryan had told Katie it wasn’t her fault, he had still been able to feel her guilt. That was Katie all over – she did the time even if she hadn’t committed the crime.

  The grief hadn’t hit Ryan until he’d seen Janey’s mum. Up until that point the funeral had been a spectacle – easily the most dramatic episode they’d ever dared screen, probably the
highest ratings their little soap had ever won. When he saw Mrs Bradshaw, however, her perfect-hostess exterior betrayed by the watery eyes and wavering breaths, it all became real. Janey wasn’t an actress who’d left the series to film some straight-to-DVD movie; she was gone.

  The crunch of gravel under tyres snapped Ryan back into the moment. This was it. The others had arrived.

  Katie left the dishes and turned to the patio doors. ‘Ryan! They’re here!’ She chewed her bottom lip. ‘I’m really nervous.’

  He took her hand. ‘Don’t be – it’ll be fine,’ he said, although he couldn’t deny a couple of butterflies of his own. ‘We’re all friends, remember.’

  The pair headed through the lounge and upstairs to the bedroom floor, which was also the entrance level. From the hallway, Ryan could hear the voices on the driveway. The butterflies in his stomach turned into fireflies and his initial nervousness became excitement. He threw the door open and galloped onto the drive.

  A glossy orange jeep, looking like it had come straight from a pop video safari, was parked next to Katie’s rental halfway down the drive. Definitely Greg’s choice, Ryan guessed. Typical of him to go for the flashiest thing available.

  Greg was already unloading suitcases from the boot. His sister, Alisha, struggled out of the back seat, a huge box of rattling bottles on her lap.

  She took one look at Ryan and screamed. ‘There he is!’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Ryan burst into a run while Katie hung back, seemingly unsure of herself. Alisha placed the box on the drive and threw her arms around him.

  ‘You look so good!’ Ryan told her. ‘Really, really well.’ Normally, this was something you’d say to an octogenarian recovering from a hip transplant, but in this case Ryan meant it; Alisha for once looked really healthy – i.e. neither wasted nor hungover, which, for her, was quite something. Her tight black curls had been coloured a warm caramel shade which made her blue eyes sparkle even more than usual next to her light-brown skin.

  ‘Thank you!’ Alisha grinned. She still had that gorgeous husky voice. ‘As do you, baby boy. Have you been working out?’

  Ryan blushed. ‘Yeah. A little.’ Every day, in fact, but he thought it best to play it down.

  Alisha moved on to Katie with more screaming. Alisha’s volume button started at about eleven and didn’t turn down.

  Greg rolled Alisha’s suitcase towards her before wrapping Katie up in a hug. ‘All right, Katie?’ Greg kissed the top of her head. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘I’m good, thanks,’ Katie said, smiling. ‘How are you? Beyond looking insanely buff!’

  Greg flexed his biceps for her. ‘Shucks, thanks.’ He winked. Ryan burned with envy. Even a visit to the gym twice a day wouldn’t earn him a body like Greg Cole’s. He had to admire it. Through the cotton of his T-shirt, Ryan could see Greg’s arms, chest, stomach – everything was taut, lean and defined. As a superstar pro footballer, his body was his career.

  There was no mistaking the fact that Greg and Alisha were twins. Equally irresistible, they were poster twins for physical perfection but, if that wasn’t enough, those incredible blue eyes were identical.

  Greg left Katie and turned to Ryan, who held out his hand. Greg shook it, perhaps a little awkwardly. Ryan didn’t know quite what to say to Greg – he’d not had so much as a text from him all year. Theatre and football make for odd bedfellows, he figured.

  A beautiful girl walked around the bonnet of the jeep. The brunette had a cute crop with a sweeping fringe and long, tanned legs in wedge heels. She was every inch a footballer’s wife in training. She came to Greg’s side so he could introduce her.

  ‘Katie, Ryan, this is my girlfriend, Erin. Erin, this is Katie, whose dad owns the villa, and my mate Ryan from school.’

  Erin smiled an impossibly white smile. She was incredibly cute, like the queen pixie of Elftown or something. ‘Hi, lovely to meet you both. I’ve heard so much about you.’

  Ryan kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Oh, I dread to think!’

  ‘All the gossip, I’m afraid!’

  Ryan grinned. ‘Well, did he tell you about the time he pissed himself in class at primary school because he thought there were ghosts in the boys’ toilets?’

  Alisha cackled and Erin snorted. ‘Ha! No, he didn’t,’ she laughed.

  While Katie hugged Erin, Greg struck back. ‘Thanks mate! Wait until I get started on how you wrote Miss Forrest a love letter . . .’

  ‘Dude, the piss story’s worse,’ said the final member of the party as he emerged from behind the jeep, carrying two cases.

  Ryan stood back to gain the best and most cinematic view of the Katie and Ben reunion. Time seemed to slow and Ryan swore he saw Katie gulp like she was dry-swallowing a huge pill.

  Ben. Somehow he’d grown even more handsome. Ryan and Ben had attended nursery school together – hell, their mums had been pregnant at the same time – so it was impossible for Ryan to see Ben as anything other than a brother figure. That said, there was something about Ben Murdoch. Girls loved him. It might be the dimples or the perpetually messy hair. It could be the lopsided smile or warm chocolate eyes that melted under heavy brows. There was a lot to be said for his broad shoulders, which he always hunched a little, as though he were self-conscious about how tall he was. He’d used his first year of university to cultivate some stubble and it totally worked. The best thing about Ben, though, was that he genuinely had no idea how cute he was. Ryan had missed him.

  It was as if someone had pressed Pause. An eternity passed while Katie and Ben mirrored each other, standing awkwardly on the drive, hands hanging heavily at their sides.

  ‘Ben,’ Katie said finally, as though it encapsulated everything she had to say.

  That was the permission he needed to approach and give her a hug. He stooped down and folded his arms across her back. It lasted no longer than three seconds and he even gave her a pat on the shoulder as if to signal how platonic the embrace had been. ‘How’ve you been?’

  That’s it? Ryan thought, irrationally angry. The young lovers reunite after a year apart and all I get is ‘How’ve you been?’? Time to sack the scriptwriters.

  ‘I’m marvellous,’ Ben said, his voice weird and nervous. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Not too bad, thanks. Nice beard.’ Katie softened, a smile playing across her lips. It reminded Ryan of how they used to be and he felt a little envious of their sweetness.

  ‘Thanks. I sit in the library and stroke it sometimes,’ Ben mused.

  ‘How Cambridge of you.’

  ‘I know, right? You look awesome. I like your hair.’

  Katie’s fingers flew to her newly cut fringe. ‘Thanks.’ Her eyes fell and the awkwardness was back. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Let me show you where your rooms are.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Greg agreed, gallantly taking not only his but the girls’ cases in hand, ‘but I need a beer in under two minutes.’

  ‘Done,’ Katie replied with a smile.

  Greg deposited the cases in the bedrooms and then Katie gave them a tour of the villa. Ryan was happy to stand back and let her show everyone around while he soaked up the chatter. The first stop was the kitchen, to unpack the boxes of groceries they’d brought from the hypermarket.

  Greg brought in two boxes of booze before helping himself to a beer.

  Ryan surveyed the alcohol stash. ‘OK, so this is Alisha’s supply,’ he said with a smile. ‘What about the rest of us?’

  Alisha punched him on the arm. ‘Oh, very funny,’ she laughed. ‘Note – I’m drinking mineral water!’

  ‘Makes a change,’ Greg muttered, only half under his breath. Alisha chose to ignore him.

  Erin left Greg’s side and looked out of the sliding doors. She turned to Katie. ‘Is your dad, like, a sultan or something?’ she asked. The tour group followed her from the air-conditioned dining area onto the baking terrace.

  Katie laughed, putting her sunglasses back on. She now wore a loose-fitting shirt over her bikini to protect her
shoulders. ‘Ha, no! Not at all.’ Katie hated people thinking she was posh. Ryan recalled once trying to teach her how to sound less plummy at school – a venture that had failed entirely. ‘He’s just a property developer.’

  ‘Ah, makes sense.’

  ‘My stepmum openly hates me, so my dad overcompensates by letting me use the villa whenever I like.’

  ‘Seriously,’ Ryan chipped in. ‘Actual wicked stepmother.’

  The tour continued down the stone steps to the pool level.

  ‘Well, I think it’s gorgeous,’ Erin concluded.

  ‘Thank you. I’m glad you found it OK.’

  Greg polished off his first bottle of beer in record time. ‘Ah! That hit the spot. I know what you mean. This place is literally in the middle of nowhere. El Benjamino has many talents, but map reading is not one of them.’

  ‘Thanks, mate.’

  ‘Had you listened to me, we’d have been here in half the time,’ Alisha said, pouting. ‘But, no, girls can’t read maps, apparently.’

  Greg smiled broadly and wrapped an impressive arm around his sister’s shoulder. ‘I never said that. I said you can’t read maps properly. Big difference.’ He kissed her hair.

  ‘Children,’ Katie giggled, ‘simmer down. It’s not that remote. We’re about thirty minutes from town. You can follow the coast on foot in about an hour, an hour and a half, perhaps.’

  ‘I thought there’d be some tavernas and restaurants and stuff,’ Ryan put in.

  ‘Nope,’ Katie replied cheerily. ‘The nearest resort is Zahara de los Atunes, which is why I told you to get everything you needed at the hypermarket. But we should do some trips. We could drive out to Cádiz for a big night, and perhaps visit Gibraltar one day, too.’

  ‘We’ve got everything we need,’ Ben said. ‘Loads of booze. Enough burgers for about fifty barbecues. What more could you want?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know . . . Ryan Gosling and some massage oil?’ Alisha suggested.

  ‘Get in line,’ Ryan laughed.