Just for the Summer

by Fay Keenan

  The clock on the kitchen wall ticked the seconds loudly; the sandwich she’d made still lay half eaten on her plate. This inertia, this inability to actually do anything constructive, was worsening as the time passed.

  At ten forty-five, she grabbed her car keys and decided that, fuck it, even if she had to drive all night, she’d get back to Cambridgeshire and look for Corey herself. After all, she was his mother; wasn’t there some unwritten rule about maternal instinct that meant that, if she just listened to her heart, she’d be led straight to him? Then she thought of all the mothers who’d waited, with hope and then without it, when their children had disappeared, and bodies had been discovered. What about instinct, then?

  She’d phoned Phil, and then Tom and Will, a couple of times, but none of them could shed any light. Phil had been out driving the lanes of their village, and those two and three settlements over, just in case Corey had been caught out and was walking home from somewhere, and he had nearly crashed the car when he’d answered the call from her. Kate couldn’t help thinking that if Phil hadn’t even been able to find his own matching socks in the laundry basket without her assistance when they’d been married, he had bugger all chance of finding their eldest son, but, she conceded, at least he was in the same county. Tom and Will had been worried, obviously, but in their own ways had tried to reassure their mother. He’s probably just with a mate, Tom had said. Don’t sweat it, Mum.

  All very well for him to say, Kate thought, but that did precisely nothing to calm her from four counties and three and a half hours away. She thought about nipping next door to see Sam and Florence, but they’d been at the hospital all afternoon after Florence had had an unexpected bleed and she didn’t want to burden them with this, yet. Although they’d texted and said Florence was fine, Kate knew what unbearable fear this kind of thing could cause and resolved to keep Corey’s disappearance to herself for as long as she could; after all, chances were he’d be back with Phil soon enough anyway.

  She didn’t even bother to pack a bag; she just wanted to get going, and she’d drive straight back once she knew Corey was safe. Much as she trusted Phil, even now, after everything, she needed to be out there looking for her son herself.

  Grabbing the house keys from the bowl by the door, she was just double-checking she had her phone in her handbag when the loud chime of the doorbell made her jump out of her skin. Not even bothering to look through the spyhole that was inset into the heavy wood of the door, she threw it open, heedless of the lateness of the hour.

  There, standing in front of her, swaying with what she hoped was exhaustion, hair dishevelled and greasy and hanging in front of his red-rimmed eyes, was Corey.

  22

  ‘Corey, thank God!’ Kate reached forward and pulled her lanky, knackered-looking son into her arms. Instead of shrugging her off, as he did more and more these days, he responded, hugging her back so that she could feel his body trembling. When she was satisfied that he was, in fact, real, and not some longed-for illusion, she released him.

  ‘Where the heck have you been?’ Reluctant to break contact with him even for a second, she grabbed his hand and pulled him through the door. ‘Your dad and I have been worried sick.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Corey muttered. ‘Like Dad even gives a shit where I am.’

  Kate decided not to dignify that with a response, just yet, although she was pleased Corey hadn’t included her in the not-giving-a-shit category.

  ‘We’d better call him and let him know where you’ve ended up.’ Leading Corey through to the living room, she plonked herself down on the sofa, dragging him down to sit next to her. ‘How on earth did you get here?’

  Corey averted his gaze from her searching one. ‘My mate Jake’s uncle was running a lorry to Bristol so I went in the cab with him. Had enough money to get the buses from there to here. Took about ten hours, though.’

  Kate’s stomach went through the floor at roughly the speed that her heart accelerated. ‘You mean you hitched a lift with someone you barely know? Without telling anyone?’

  ‘Jake knew,’ Corey replied, then added sheepishly, ‘but I told him not to say anything.’

  ‘And your dad, being Dad, didn’t think to probe too deeply, I bet,’ Kate said. Phil had never been great at dealing with teenagers other than his own. He seemed to lack the ability to interact with them in particularly useful ways. This hadn’t really mattered until they’d divorced, but now Kate realised that, in situations like this, it really did matter. She shuddered inwardly to think of what might have happened if Corey had got out of the lorry at the multitude of motorway service stations or truck stops between Willowbury and Cambridge; if he’d been stupid enough to try to hitch another lift with someone he didn’t know. Not that Jake’s uncle was someone he, or she, was particularly familiar with in the first place. Feeling the sense of post-worrying panic washing over her, she pulled her son close again.

  ‘Don’t you ever, ever do something like that again!’ she muttered into his shoulder, trying to swallow back the tears and make it anger instead. ‘I’ve been worried sick about you since Dad called. Anything could have happened to you.’

  Corey didn’t respond for a moment, and when Kate felt him start to tremble against her, she held him more tightly, realising that the tears she was holding back, he had no such reserve about. Rocking him back and forth in her arms, as she had so many times when he was younger, her heart ached for her eldest son.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ he said quietly, when the tears had somewhat subsided. ‘I just needed to get away for a bit. Dad and Jennifer are basically at work all day, so the three of us are left on our own a lot.’

  ‘I thought your dad was meant to be taking the rest of the summer off?’ Kate asked. ‘What happened to that idea?’

  ‘After we got back from Florida, he got called in to some mega crisis with the new housing development at Strensham Mead,’ Corey said. ‘So he’s not really been around as much as he said he’d be. Not that I care,’ he added defiantly, obviously trying to make up some ground after the tears. ‘I mean, he didn’t really worry about us when he was living with us, so why should he care now?’

  Kate was unsettled by the bitterness in her son’s voice. True, Phil had never been what you might call overly attentive to his sons; though she could remember him kicking a football around in the garden from time to time when Will and Tom were younger, Corey had never been interested in doing that sort of thing, so Phil had just left him alone, until they had ended up existing alongside each other in the house but never really spending one-on-one time together. As the years had gone by and Corey had developed into an academic, bookish young man, more interested in escaping into the covers of a George R. R. Martin novel than going to watch a Saturday local league football game with his dad and two younger brothers, so the gap between father and son had widened. Throwing them all back together in a house with Phil’s new partner, even for just six weeks, didn’t, on reflection, seem like the best course of action for her eldest, at least. She felt a surge of guilt about making the decision to leave them for the summer.

  ‘How are your brothers handling things?’ Kate asked.

  Corey shook his head irritably. ‘You know Tom and Will; so long as Dad keeps buying them new Xbox games and Fortnite skins, they’re happy.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Don’t worry about them, Mum, honestly. You know I’ve always been the odd one, as Dad and Gran would put it.’ He managed a wry smile. ‘You could have moved to Mars for the summer and those two would have been fine.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Kate said dryly. ‘What a thing to say to your mother.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’ Corey gave a better smile this time, and despite the tired eyes, the lank hair and the general air of dejection, Kate saw a reassuring resurgence of the son she loved so dearly. She also saw a lot of his Uncle Sam in him – the quiet, reserved boy who had, when they were kids, kept everything locked up, never let on about how he was feeling unt
il he exploded in tears or rage. She herself had been a pretty self-sufficient child, but she’d always appreciated her son’s vulnerability; at least compared to his rather more rambunctious younger brothers.

  ‘You look shattered,’ she said, determined to focus on the here and now to stop them both from spiralling downwards into unwelcome introspection. ‘Why don’t I make you a sandwich, and then you can grab a shower and get your head down. I’m sure Uncle Aidan won’t mind you borrowing some of his pyjamas if you want them.’

  ‘Does Uncle Aidan even wear pyjamas?’ Corey asked, grinning a little more widely. ‘I never saw him as the type.’

  ‘Well, just throw me your clothes and I’ll put them through the wash while you’re asleep,’ Kate said. ‘And I need to phone Dad, too; let him know you’ve finally turned up.’

  ‘Like he’ll fucking care,’ Corey muttered mutinously.

  ‘Corey Philip Harris…’ Kate warned.

  ‘Sorry,’ Corey replied, grinning slightly. ‘Can you just put it down to spending too much time sitting beside a trucker?’

  In truth, it wasn’t the swearing that worried her the most; it was the erosion of the relationship between father and son that would need sorting. Kate wondered just how she was supposed to fix that, given that she and Phil were now divorced. With a huge pang of guilt that nearly knocked her sideways, she realised, rightly or wrongly, that perhaps that should have concerned her more while she’d actually been married to the guy. But then, with three sons close in age, as a mother she had had her work cut out for her. Surely, on reflection, his relationships with his sons should have been his job to fix, and not hers? Phil had always been one to pass things on to her. Why should this situation be any different?

  23

  The next morning, Kate woke early. For a blissful moment, that split second between sleep and waking, she forgot the events of the previous night, but as consciousness fully returned, so did the memories and emotions. Relief had been uppermost in her mind when she’d poked her head around the spare room door to wish Corey goodnight (he was far too old, of course, to be officially tucked into bed by his mother), only to find he was already asleep. Unable to resist the urge to stroke his blonde hair, still wet from the shower, she’d gazed at him for a moment, before quietly shutting the door. She hoped his sleep would bring him a little bit of peace.

  Unfortunately, the conversation she then had instigated with Phil had been less than peaceful. She’d tried to keep things matter of fact, God knows she’d tried, but the combination of her own guilt at not having seen this coming, and her irritation that Phil had apparently done so little to head it off at the pass had got to her in the end. It had been a mercifully short, but undeniably terse exchange, and as she’d put the phone down on her ex-husband, she still didn’t feel as though much had been resolved. But, for now, her priority had to be the sleeping boy upstairs. She’d agreed with Phil that Corey would stay with her for the next few days, and then she’d put him back on the train to Cambridgeshire once she’d had the chance to talk things through, set things straight. In truth, Kate relished having the company. Her eldest son was, normally at least, no trouble, and generally had his head in a book. Perhaps he’d like to spend some time helping her paint the rest of the bookshop? After the slightly awkward kiss with Harry, it might be a good idea to have Corey as a buffer between them. She had no intention of mentioning that particular exchange to Corey; the wounds of the divorce were still too raw for him, she knew, despite his strained relationship with his father.

  As Kate got herself and the hallway ready for the first coat of paint, she heard the floorboards creaking upstairs, and Corey emerged from his bedroom.

  ‘Morning,’ she called as the boy padded down the stairs and into sight.

  ‘Hey,’ he responded.

  Kate breathed an inward sigh of relief to see that he looked, and seemed, a little more like his old self after a shower and a long, peaceful sleep. His eyes were brighter, his hair clean from the shower, and his clothes looked a lot better after a quick turn through the wash the night before. He’d obviously been into Aidan’s wardrobe as well and found a checked shirt to throw on over his black T-shirt.

  ‘Want some breakfast?’ She gestured to the kitchen. ‘There’s plenty of bread for toast and even a jar of Marmite somewhere?’

  ‘Nah, I’m good thanks,’ Corey said. ‘I thought I might go for a walk actually. Clear my head a bit.’

  ‘You’re not planning on taking off again, are you?’ Kate laughed nervously, but her stomach turned at the prospect of Corey going off radar again.

  Corey smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Mum. I’m just gonna go and check out what’s new on the High Street. We didn’t get to see a lot of it when we were here at Easter.’

  ‘Can you stop by the Co-op and grab a pint of milk on your way back then, please?’ she asked as he made to go out of the door. Grabbing her purse, she shoved a ten-pound note at him. ‘Consider it a bit of going out money,’ she said. ‘Keep the change.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ Corey smiled. ‘I, er might need to buy a couple of T-shirts if I’m staying for a bit. I didn’t really bring much with me.’

  ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ Kate said. ‘Although your dad’s happy for you to spend the next few days with me here. You’ll have to earn your keep, though.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Corey raised a wary eyebrow. ‘How?’

  ‘Plenty of painting to do if we’re going to get it all done before Uncle Aidan and Tom get back from their holiday.’

  Corey groaned. ‘When’s the next train back home?’

  ‘See you in a bit,’ Kate said, poking him playfully with the bristles of her paintbrush. ‘Call me if you need anything.’

  ‘Will do. Bye, Mum.’

  As Corey sauntered out of the door on the hunt for what Willowbury had to offer, Kate smiled. Despite this rather dramatic blip, Corey was a sensible boy, and she knew he’d enjoy exploring the historic town for an hour or two. Perhaps she should have mentioned Harry’s bookshop as a good place to visit, but, knowing Corey, he’d find it sooner or later. She felt a flutter of nerves as she thought about having to go back to the shop that afternoon and carry on with the painting, but swiftly shushed the butterflies in her stomach. She and Harry were both adults, and she had a job to do. What was the worst that could happen?

  24

  Harry was just putting out a pile of Artemis Bane’s novels on the front table of the shop when the bell above the door rang, and in walked a rangy, good-looking lad of about sixteen. The boy’s eyes lit up as he surveyed the long aisles of shelves, and Harry was pleased when his smile of welcome was returned.

  ‘Hi,’ he said as the lad approached. ‘Welcome to Vale Volumes. Is there anything in particular you were looking for today?’

  The boy shook his head, eyes still tracking the tall shelves like any other child would do in the proverbial sweet shop. ‘I’m good, thanks. Just browsing. Although…’ His eyes drifted to the pile of novels that Harry had been arranging. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any copies of his new book yet?’

  Harry smiled. ‘The release date’s not for another few days, I’m afraid.’ He looked at the boy, who, on closer inspection, looked awfully familiar. ‘Are you here on holiday?’

  ‘Sort of. I’m here for a few days and I didn’t pack anything to read.’

  ‘Well, if you like Artemis Bane, I can definitely recommend a few other authors to try to pass the time while you’re here,’ Harry said. He gestured to the shelves on the right-hand side of the shop. ‘Would you like me to show you?’

  ‘Okay,’ the boy replied, smiling. ‘I’ve not got a lot of cash on me, though.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure we can find you something that won’t break the bank!’ Harry smiled encouragingly. As they strolled towards the Fantasy section of the shelves, with the sub-section of Urban Fantasy in their sights, Harry couldn’t help but mention it. ‘That guy, Artemis Bane, is actually coming here next week to l
aunch his new book, if you were interested in buying a ticket for it.’

  ‘Artemis Bane’s coming here?’ the boy replied, a note of incredulity in his voice.

  Harry tried not to be put out. After all, a semi-rural bookshop in the deepest part of Somerset was hardly the buzzing metropolis of Waterstone’s Piccadilly, where all of the big names tended to do their launches.

  ‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘He was born and raised in the town. He’s a local boy made good story. Do you think you might want a ticket? I can put your name down on the reserve list if you’d like.’

  ‘Oh, man, I’d love to,’ the boy said. ‘My name’s Corey, by the way. But I don’t know if I’ll still be here next week.’ A cloud crossed his features. Harry wondered if he should ask, but he didn’t want to probe.

  ‘It’s nice to meet you,’ Harry said, introducing himself, too. ‘And if you find that you will be around, let me know and I can always put one aside for you,’ he said, as they reached the Urban Fantasy shelves. ‘In the meantime, I can definitely recommend any of these authors to keep you busy before the new Bane hits the shelves.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Corey said, getting stuck in and pulling out a few titles to peruse.

  ‘Just let me know if you need any help,’ Harry said, returning to his pile of Bane books. As he was putting them out in what he hoped was the most enticing way possible, he glanced back at the boy, who seemed engrossed in the work of, to Harry’s mind, one of the better writers of the urban fantasy genre. ‘She’s great,’ he called across, breaking his usual golden rule of not interrupting a browsing customer. ‘A cut above even the great Artemis Bane, in my humble opinion.’