A Girl Called Summer

by Lucy Lord

  With a sigh, Jack prepared to do one final lap before going upstairs to do what had to be done. He was absolutely dreading it, but if it meant he could be with Summer, it would be worth it. As he propelled himself through the water with a strong front crawl, he gradually became aware of some sort of commotion going on outside Natalia’s state-of-the-art front gates. The gates were around the other side of the villa, so the noise had to be pretty loud to reach him in the pool. He was swimming to the side of the pool so he could get out and investigate, when he heard Ben’s voice, shouting angrily,

  ‘Let me through, you fucking cunts. No, I’ve got nothing to say, except piss off.’

  A few seconds later, he appeared at the French windows that led out to the pool, still carrying two pints of milk and a newspaper. Impatiently, he dumped the milk cartons on a glass-topped table.

  ‘Hey,’ said Jack. ‘What the hell’s going on out there?’

  ‘You’d better sit down, mate.’

  Jack picked up a towel and gave himself a quick rub down before perching on the edge of a sunlounger.

  ‘What is it?’

  Wordlessly, Ben handed him the folded paper.

  ‘Oh shit. Did some asshole get pictures of Tammy at the club? Jeez, this is the last thing she needs right now.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s worse than that,’ said Ben. ‘Somebody’s also spilt the beans on you and Summer.’

  ‘What? ’

  Jack practically ripped the paper in half as he unfolded it. His eyes widened in horror as he saw the headline, and both photos. Ben put a comforting hand on his shoulder as he started to read. Once he’d finished, he looked up, anguish written all over his handsome face.

  ‘But how? – Who could have done this? You and Natalia were the only people who knew . . .’

  ‘Mate, I hope you know that—’

  ‘Oh no, no, I’m not accusing you. It’s just . . . There’s so much detail. Whoever their source is’ – he drawled out the word with bitter sarcasm – ‘knew that we met at Andy and Bella’s party.’

  ‘With all due respect, mate, you and Summer haven’t been particularly subtle about things. There were loads of people at that party who could have suspected something was going on, and hung out around Summer’s flat – I’m assuming that is Summer’s flat?’ Jack nodded mutely. ‘They were just waiting for their moment. That photo has to be worth tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of dollars.’

  ‘More than the photo of Tammy.’ Jack winced as he looked at it again.

  ‘I’d say so.’

  ‘So how did the Ibiza Sun pay for it?’

  ‘I imagine the editor has an understanding with a bigger paper.’ Ben took out his phone and pressed the screen a few times. ‘Yup, you’ve made the Mail Online as an “exclusive” too. Funny interpretation of the word, but . . . Sorry, mate.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Well, I guess it’s forced my hand, but I’m gonna do what I was going to do anyway. This has just made everything even more difficult and shitty than it already was.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Maybe. Could you stick around today? I know you wanted a day at the beach, but I’ve no idea how Tammy’s gonna react, and it’ll be good to have somebody on my side now Dad’s gone awol.’

  ‘Yeah, sure, anything, mate.’

  He got up, nervously running his hands through his hair. ‘Wish me luck, buddy.’

  ‘Good luck, Jack.’

  *

  Jack stood watching Tamara sleep, bracing himself for what he had to do. She looked much younger when she was sleeping, despite the smudged eye make-up that had smeared itself all over Natalia’s expensive pillowcases. He remembered how he used to love watching her for a few minutes before she woke up. This was the last time he’d ever do it, he realized. He shook himself. Now was not the time to be getting sentimental.

  He sat down on the bed and gave her shoulder a gentle shake.

  ‘Tammy? Wake up, sweetheart . . .’

  ‘Ugh . . . wha . . .’ Groggily she opened one eye. ‘Oh, hi, Jack.’ After about one blissful second of oblivion it all came back to her. ‘Oh shiiit. Don’t be pissed with me, Jack, please? I’m sorry, OK? I fell off the wagon. It won’t happen again.’ She pulled a pillow over her face and Jack gently removed it.

  ‘Sit up, sweetheart. There’s something I have to tell you.’

  As Tamara sat up, holding the sweaty sheet protectively against her breast, she saw the newspaper in Jack’s hand.

  ‘Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh, Jack, Jack, they didn’t get pictures of me at Pacha, did they? Oh no, please, not that . . .’

  She looked so young and frightened that Jack thought his heart might split in two. He could hardly bear to break it to her.

  ‘It’s worse than that, honey.’

  ‘Oh, quit stalling, just let me see the goddamn paper.’ She snatched it out of his hand. In a way, Jack was relieved – he had been trying to come up with the right words and now he wouldn’t have to.

  As she read, Tamara’s expression changed from frightened to downright furious.

  ‘WHAT? You’ve been screwing that uptight cunt Summer ? ’

  ‘Summer’s not uptight . . .’

  ‘Oh, spare me, please. We mustn’t insult little Miss Goody Two-Shoes Summer, now, must we? Little Miss Goody White Bikini Two-Shoes, who thinks nothing of screwing somebody else’s guy.’

  Tamara burst into loud, angry tears.

  ‘Tammy, please – I’m sorry. I was going to tell you when we got home to LA. I didn’t want you to find out like this . . .’

  ‘What, so you could carry on screwing her behind my back for the rest of our vacation? Well, how very noble of you, sweetheart.’

  Jack tried to put his arms around her and she pushed him off violently.

  ‘DON’T TOUCH ME!’ she screamed. Outwardly, Tamara was the picture of grief and anger, but inside, her mind was whirring. This certainly took the pressure off her. OK, so the drunken dancing and crotch-flashing was humiliating, but the news that Jack had been cheating on her was, in many ways, a godsend. Jack Meadows, the all-American hero, would be no more. He was the bastard who’d been screwing some unknown blonde behind her back, the bastard who’d caused Tamara Gold to turn to the bottle after years of sobriety. Conveniently Tamara forgot about all of her own infidelities. Yes, this could be spun to her advantage. Taking a deep breath, she buried her hurt and anger somewhere inside.

  ‘Just fuck off and leave me alone, Jack.’ This time her voice was cold, measured. ‘I’ll be leaving this afternoon. I never want to see you again.’

  *

  Summer sat curled up in a ball on the floor of her tiny bathroom. The paparazzi all around her front door were terrifying, and this was the furthest away she could hide herself. Even greater than the fear, though, was her anger. Fucking Jorge – she would kill him, as soon as she got out of this hellish situation. She had no doubt whatsoever that he was the one who’d tipped off the Press. He’d been at Bella’s party and at Pacha last night; he’d told her he knew about her and Jack; most importantly, it was exactly the sort of amoral, scumbag behaviour he’d stoop to. Jorge thought nothing of trampling over other people’s feelings in order to feather his own nest.

  She was desperately worried about Jack, too. Bad though this was for her, it was a million times worse for him; he had Tamara to contend with, on top of everything else. And God only knew what damage this would do to his career. She couldn’t wait to see him, to kiss away his pain. He’d sent a brief text, earlier, saying he’d come to her later today, but that he had a lot to deal with; he couldn’t risk calling her in case their phones had been hacked.

  Suddenly, blissfully, she heard his lovely cultured voice outside, above the shouting of the paps.

  ‘Why don’t you assholes fuck off and leave her alone!’ OK, so the words weren’t quite so cultured, but the sentiment was gallant.

  ‘You looki
ng forward to getting your leg over again, Jack?!’ shouted one voice.

  ‘She looks a right goer, your Swedish blonde!’ chortled another.

  ‘Don’t you dare talk about Summer like that.’

  There was a cry, then a loud thudding sound. Jack had clearly taken a swing at one of the bastards.

  ‘Summer!’ cried Jack, banging on her front door. ‘It’s Jack. Let me in.’

  Summer ran out of her bathroom and into her living room. Hiding behind the front door, she opened it a couple of inches and saw one of Jack’s eyes through the crack.

  ‘Quick,’ she whispered, and Jack dashed through the door, slamming it behind him with an almighty bang.

  They stood there, looking at each other, before collapsing in each other’s arms, shaking.

  ‘Shit,’ said Summer. ‘Shit shit shit shit shit.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, my darling,’ said Jack. ‘If it wasn’t for me, you’d never have had to go through that.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Summer found she was crying, now that he was here and in her arms. ‘I love you. But how can that’ – she nodded in the direction of the front door – ‘be legal?’

  ‘I’ll never know.’ Wearily, Jack ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Hey – do you have anything to drink?’

  ‘Sure.’ Summer went into the kitchen and produced a bottle of hierbas and two glasses. ‘We can’t even go out on the balcony – they managed to get up there, too.’

  ‘I’ll take you back to Natalia’s soon. It’s huge and we’ll be much more secure. I just want to spend a few minutes here with you. Alone.’

  ‘I know. I understand. So . . .’ Summer took a sip of her hierbas. ‘How did Tamara take it?’

  ‘Tears, tantrums . . .’

  ‘To be expected, huh?’

  ‘Yes, but . . . It wasn’t as bad as I expected.’ Summer raised her eyebrows in silent query. ‘I think she’s out to ruin me. You see, this – you and me – excuses her behaviour at Pacha, to an extent. Well, it will in the eyes of all the stupid people out there. I’m pretty sure she’s going to play the innocent victim, while I’ll be the bad guy who messed with her heart. That wounded vulnerability will no doubt be great publicity for the Miles Dawson movie.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Summer again. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. What a fucking bitch.’

  ‘Not really.’ Jack shook his curly head. ‘Remember, she’s been in the movie business since she was a kid. It’s only natural she should try to turn this to her best advantage.’

  Summer laughed ruefully. ‘You are such a good guy, Jack,’ she said, putting her arms around him and kissing his forehead. ‘That’s one of the reasons I love you so much.’

  ‘A lousy idiotic fool is more accurate.’

  ‘Well, you’re probably too nice a guy to be in the movie business.’

  Jack laughed again at this. ‘Yes, I probably am.’

  ‘I could kill Jorge,’ said Summer suddenly, getting up and starting to pace angrily around the room. ‘Unscrupulous little toad.’

  ‘Are you sure it was him?’

  ‘One hundred per cent. He could easily have taken that upskirt shot of Tamara on his phone last night. He must have seen us at Bella’s party, hung out around here until he got a photo of us, and then decided to bide his time until it was right. He gave Tamara drugs last night and waited for the fallout. He—’

  She was interrupted by somebody banging on the door.

  ‘Summer – let me in! It’s me – David!’

  ‘David?’ Jack looked puzzled and Summer felt her heart turn to ice.

  ‘My boss,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t want to speak to him right now.’

  The banging got louder.

  ‘SUMMER! Let me in. Or do you want me to tell these guys some more gossip about you?’

  ‘Summer? What’s going on?’

  Summer couldn’t look him in the eye. Silently praying – what? That David wouldn’t tell Jack about her fling with him? That if he did, Jack wouldn’t mind? – she opened the door.

  David burst into the room.

  ‘When were you planning to tell me?’ he demanded, standing with his hands on his hips, his face like thunder. ‘How do you think I felt, finding out about you in the Ibiza fucking Sun?’

  ‘I’m not sure what business it is of yours . . .’ Jack started.

  David laughed bitterly.

  ‘So she hasn’t told you. Why am I not surprised? Let me introduce myself. I’m David Abrahams, editor of Island Life. I am also Summer’s lover.’

  The sudden pain and confusion on Jack’s face were more than Summer could bear.

  ‘Jack . . .’ she started, laying a hand on his arm. He ignored her.

  ‘Carry on,’ he said to David.

  ‘Yes, Summer has been screwing her boss for the last six months. She’s a great lay, isn’t she?’

  Summer waited for Jack to leap to her defence, but he said nothing.

  ‘David, I tried to break it off with you. I did. But you were too busy with end-of-month deadlines to meet me.’

  Jack turned to her.

  ‘Was this before or after we met?’

  ‘After, but—’

  ‘So when I asked you – on the beach first, then again and again and again – if there was anybody else, and you said no – you promised no – you lied to me?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that – I didn’t think it was important.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said David sarcastically.

  ‘Oh, fuck you, David,’ Summer said angrily. ‘Jack, that day on the beach was so perfect, I didn’t want to sully it by talking about my sordid fling with my boss—’

  ‘Oh this just gets better and better,’ said David.

  ‘You lied to my face,’ Jack repeated.

  ‘Please, Jack,’ Summer pleaded, willing him to understand. ‘It was so perfect—’

  ‘So perfect . . . Yet based on a lie.’

  ‘I didn’t want you to think badly of me.’ Tears had started to fall slowly down Summer’s face.

  ‘I thought the world of you, Summer. I thought you were everything that is good and true and honest. I thought you were perfect.’ Jack’s voice cracked, and Summer felt a glimmer hope. But his expression hardened again as he remembered something. ‘You actually told me that you hated deception.’

  Summer winced.

  ‘Please, Jack. Those plans we made—’

  ‘You lied to me.’

  ‘Stop saying that!’ Summer cried desperately.

  ‘Looks like she was stringing us both along, buddy,’ said David complacently.

  ‘Don’t you dare call me buddy,’ Jack snapped. ‘Goodbye, Summer.’

  And he walked out of her front door into the heaving mass of paparazzi.

  ‘JACK!’ screamed Summer, but he carried on walking, about half a foot taller than all the scumbag photographers around him.

  ‘By the way,’ said David. ‘You’re fired.’

  And he followed Jack out of the door.

  Chapter 17

  ‘I hope she’s bearing up OK,’ Bella mused to Daisy as they drove down the white dirt track that led to the Art Resort. ‘Poor Summer.’

  ‘Po Summa,’ repeated Daisy solemnly.

  After Jack had walked out on her that dreadful afternoon, Summer, even more besieged by the paparazzi, had called her parents in despair. Her father had driven up to the outskirts of the Old Town, pushed his way through the paps, bundled his broken daughter into his ancient 2CV and taken her back to the family home, where she’d been holed up ever since.

  Bella was quite happy to get out of her house, for once. Fun though it was having guests, things had gone completely tits up after the Jack/Tamara/Summer story had broken in the Press, and she was dying for life to return to normal. Jack had flown back to LA after discovering what he saw as Summer’s unforgivable betrayal, but there was no reason for Ben, Natalia, Poppy and Damian to curtail their holiday, and Bella found herself catering for large numbers of people at
least once a day – dinner if they’d all gone to the beach, or lunch if they’d decided on a pool day. She did love cooking, but it was all a bit full-on.

  Her father and Filthy Meadows, who still had his gig at Ibiza Rocks to perform, had become thick as thieves, and were all too frequently to be found in the folly at the bottom of her garden, drinking hierbas and Fundador late into the night and keeping Bella (and, worse, Daisy) awake with their impromptu jam sessions. Then there was the matter of the constant paparazzi presence outside the property boundary of the finca, desperate to catch a glimpse of the couple who had introduced Jack Meadows to his Swedish blonde.

  Yes, for all that she felt guilty to admit it, Bella would be quite happy when her friends had buggered off back home.

  In the meantime, though, there was Summer to look after. Britta had sounded terribly concerned when she’d phoned her that morning.

  ‘I don’t know how to get through to her,’ she’d said. ‘I’ve never seen her like this. My happy-go-lucky, free-spirited daughter has gone. In her place is . . . I don’t know. Could you bear to come and see her, Bella? Maybe talking to somebody who met this Jack guy will help.’

  Bella hadn’t thought twice about it, scooping Daisy up and telling the others she’d see them on the beach later. But now she felt slightly apprehensive as she climbed the stone steps that led up from the beach to the little white house on the hill. She was dreading seeing Summer broken-hearted, and felt guilty that her party had been the catalyst for the heartbreak – had Summer never met Jack, she’d still be the cool, happy-go-lucky free spirit that her mother so missed.

  ‘Bella!’ Britta jumped out of the purple paisley deckchair in which she was reclining in her overgrown front garden. She was barefoot in tie-dye indigo and turquoise harem pants and a plain white vest top that showed off her sinewy yoga arms; her wrists and ankles jangled with ethnic jewellery. Her silver-threaded blonde hair hung in plaits to just below her shoulders, and her kind blue eyes crinkled in her deeply tanned face as she smiled. ‘Thank you so much for coming. Hello, Daisy!’ She kissed the little girl on top of her head.

  ‘It’s the least I can do,’ Bella smiled back. ‘Summer’s been a wonderful friend to me the last couple of months. I wouldn’t have settled in nearly so well without her help.’