by Anna Wilson
Maybe the row was nothing to do with me.
Even as she had that thought, she knew it was wrong: Kenan was mad at her, his mum was upset. The two things must be linked.
Summer felt guilt twist her insides. How would she face Tristan after overhearing that row?
I didn’t ask to be here. It’s not my fault!
She remained on the step, paralysed with not knowing where to go, what to do.
Tristan appeared in the hallway. He moved as though he were carrying an ache deep inside him. His eyes widened when he glanced up and saw Summer.
He’ll know I heard it all now.
‘Summer – I . . . I’m so sorry.’
The cat reacted to his voice and leaped off Summer’s lap, scurrying up the stairs into the shadows.
‘Are you OK?’
What does he expect me to say after that row? He must know I heard it.
‘I should have come up to check on you, I’m sorry about – but then Becca—’ His voice cracked. He looked away briefly. ‘You heard, I suppose?’
Summer couldn’t speak.
Tristan gestured with his head to the kitchen, ‘Want to come down?’
Summer fought the urge to turn and hide in her room, and did as Tristan said, following him. She felt certain she knew what would happen next.
He’s going to chuck me out. They can’t handle this. His wife won’t come back until I’m gone. Well, it’s what I wanted really. Isn’t it?
She tried to harden herself against the anxiety swirling inside her. If he chucked her out where would she go? Not back to Jess’s. She would be a cuckoo in that little nest as well.
‘You heard the shouting,’ Tristan was saying. ‘The smashing plate too, no doubt. My wife, Becca . . . she . . . You’d guessed maybe already. She is not happy with you being here. I’m so sorry.’ He gave a sigh. ‘At least now you know why.’
‘No, I don’t!’ Summer exploded, fear making her desperate.
‘She doesn’t want you here,’ Tristan said quietly. ‘There’s no point in lying to you. She didn’t want us to take you in after Cat died. We argued and I refused to turn you away. How could I? How could anyone?’
The words hit her with such force that Summer put her hand to her cheek.
‘She doesn’t want you here.’
Her head spun. What was he saying? That he cared enough about her to keep her in his house, even if it meant his wife leaving him? That he wasn’t blaming her for this? She sat down hard, on a kitchen chair.
‘Why?’ she whispered. ‘Why doesn’t she want me here?’
Tristan shook his head. He would not look her in the eye.
‘Summer, I’m sorry. I can’t tell you right now. I’m . . . I’m upset. I only wanted to reassure you, in case you were worried, that this is your home and I am not going to abandon you.’
Why? Why? WHY?
‘I can’t . . . We will have to talk about this later. I need to think things through. Maybe you should get some fresh air.’ He ran a hand through his hair.
‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I will.’
To the sea. To breathe.
‘See you later.’ She turned away.
Tristan nodded. ‘Yes. I . . . I’m sorry,’ he said again, his voice like the echo in an empty shell.
Summer found herself thinking about Zach as she made her way slowly through the rockery and out into the woods.
Stupid. You don’t know him. And you shouted at him. Anyway, he won’t still he there.
She broke into a run.
She had never wanted to run before coming to Bosleven. Sports at school had always been an exercise in humiliation. It was different here. She wanted to be outside, yearned for the air, the light, the freedom, the space.
She ran until she reached the clifftop, pushed through the brambles hiding the path to the beach, and then stopped, looking down at the bay.
Zach.
He was standing on the furthest point of the rocky beach, perfectly still, focused on his fishing line, rapt with concentration. The light bounced off the water before him. It was like a painting. Summer felt she shouldn’t move, in case she spoilt the effect.
Then, as she watched him, Zach began reeling in the line with quick flicking movements of his wrist, until – yes! There was a fish wriggling on the end. He unhooked it and dropped it into a bucket by his side.
Summer felt a rush of pleasure at his success. ‘Hey!’ she called out without thinking.
Zach looked up, frowning into the light, then waved and grinned when he saw her. Encouraged, Summer began climbing over the boulders towards him.
He was fixing a new worm to the end of the line.
‘Hey! So couldn’t stay away then?’ he teased.
Summer felt warmth spread through her and automatically dipped her face to hide her emotions as she approached.
She kept her voice casual. ‘Yeah, well. It’s better down here than back ho— up at the house. Water’s really high now,’ she went on, avoiding his eyes until she could trust herself not to blush again.
‘Yeah. This is the highest it gets. About seven metres today. It’ll be great for swimming – you bring your stuff again?’
‘Hmm. Thought I’d just paddle.’
‘Here,’ he said, suddenly handing her the fishing rod, ‘take this for a second. Ever done any fishing before?’
Summer laughed and shook her head. ‘No way!’
‘You can’t come here and not fish!’ he said. ‘I’ll show you.’ He demonstrated how to cast the line using a long, flowing, smooth motion. ‘You try.’
Summer took the rod and tried to copy him. She threw the line forward and it whipped back against her, catching on her clothing. She did not have the grace that he had. She tried again with the same result.
Zach laughed. Then said, ‘Sorry,’ as he saw her unease.
She shrugged and handed the equipment back. ‘I’ll just watch.’
Zach prepared to cast the line again. ‘Stand clear,’ he warned.
The sunlight caught the line as it arced through the air; it seemed a natural extension of his brown arms.
Beautiful.
‘Easy, see?’ Zach said, turning to face her.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘For you, maybe. What are you catching?’
‘Mackerel. Sea bass, if I’m lucky. Can sell it for a good price. Mostly I eat the catch myself. Best thing is to gut it straight away, build a fire in a sheltered spot down here and cook it fresh from the water.’ He spoke with relish, as though already tasting it. ‘So,’ he said, changing tack, ‘did you tell your family?’
Summer started. ‘What?’
‘About this place,’ Zach said. He looked worried.
‘Family’? Ha! If only you knew.
‘No,’ she said.
‘Oh dear. Hacked off with them again already?’ he said.
‘Erm . . . oh, I dunno,’ Summer mumbled.
She felt confused and sank down, cross-legged, her face buried in her hands.
‘Hey, hey!’ Zach dropped his fishing rod with a clatter and crouched in front of her. ‘What’s up?’
She couldn’t bear to look at him, fearing that the tears would well up again.
I mustn’t cry. Mustn’t. Not in front of him.
He placed a cool hand on her arm. ‘Can’t be that bad, can it? Might help to talk?’
Zach’s words and touch made Summer tingle.
This guy’s not for real!
She stayed hidden behind her curtain of hair and said, ‘Don’t think so.’
‘My gran always says a problem shared is a problem halved,’ Zach said softly.
When she did not reply, he rearranged himself to sit more comfortably alongside her. They sat in silence for a while. Summer began to relax as it became clear that Zach was not going to push it.
He simply sat, looking out across the bay to where the edge of the cliff path unravelled into the ragged rocks on the peninsula. He had a wistful half-smile on his face
, as though he had forgotten she was there. A gentle breeze played with the fringes of his hair against his smooth cheeks.
Summer felt in that instant that she was outside herself, watching the pair of them: a boy and a girl, sitting on the rocks, completely content in one another’s company as if they had known each other forever. Her mother’s face swam before her eyes.
Were you here? With someone?
Summer made herself concentrate on the rocks beneath her, willing herself back to the present.
Must act normal.
Zach broke the silence. ‘Listen, if it makes you feel better, I’ll tell you a bit about myself,’ he said. ‘I’m Zachary Pendred, but I prefer “Zach”. I live in the village – St Gerran – with my gran. Dad was a fisherman, died in an accident at sea. Mum . . . she couldn’t cope. So now it’s just me and Gran. I’m fourteen. I like fishing, the sea—’
‘You sound like you’re applying for a job!’ Summer’s voice was hoarse from crying.
What did I say that for?
Zach shifted. ‘Yeah, well, maybe I am – job of new friend?’
‘Don’t bother,’ Summer heard herself say. ‘I’m not sticking around.’
Why do I have to be such a cow?
She began to get up. It was best she left.
But Zach put his hand out and touched her arm again to stop her from going.
‘Sorry,’ she said. She sat back down and looked at her scuffed trainers. ‘You’re being really nice and I’m being horrible.’
‘’S all right. Listen, I’m going to carry on fishing. If you want to stay, stay. If you want to talk, fine. If not . . . whatever.’ He reached over to reclaim his abandoned line and began fiddling with it, then stood up and took himself back to where he had been when she arrived.
Summer let her head fall back and stared emptily at the vast pale blue sky.
Just talk to him.
Licking her lips, she took a deep breath and rattled off her own sparse CV: ‘So. I’m Summer Jones. My mum’s dead, I’ve never had a dad, and I’m living with my uncle who’s weird and my cousin who’s a jerk and who wishes I was dead too. Oh, and my aunt’s mad at me – wishes I’d never been born, apparently.’
This harsh voice did not belong to her.
Zach reeled in the line. He nodded slowly, but still didn’t speak.
Summer grimaced. ‘Right little sob story, eh?’
‘Got a couple of things in common with me, I guess.’ Zach shrugged.
‘Maybe. ’Cept you didn’t say your gran was a nightmare?’
‘No. She’s not,’ Zach said with a smile.
‘And so far no one is mad at you or thinks you’re a jerk?’
Zach held her gaze. ‘Hope not.’
Summer flushed, pushed at her messy hair and got up. She wished she could plunge into the sea, however cold it was, and let the water close over her and hide her appearance. The large arch of rock across the bay looked back at her, ancient and knowing.
‘That’s the Point,’ Zach said, following her gaze. ‘You can fish from there too – if you can climb it.’
‘Have you?’ Summer asked. She stole a small glance at him.
He smiled, his nose wrinkling. ‘Yeah. I’ll take you there. If you like.’
‘Not now?’ Scrambling down the cliff the short way to this beach was all very well; but climbing up a steep rock face like that? She did not know if she could.
‘No!’ Zach laughed. ‘There’s no time today: I’ve got to get back soon. It’s a half-day trip from my place to the Point if I want to fish as well. Another day?’
Summer felt a rush of pleasure at the offer.
‘You can swim over there on a day as calm as this,’ Zach continued. ‘Then do a rock climb back. Maybe light a fire after – if you can find enough driftwood.’
‘You love this place,’ Summer said. She immediately felt stupid. The words had slipped out.
‘It’s the best place in the world.’
‘Do you . . . do you come here a lot?’
Zach nodded. ‘Much as I can. All year round as well. Of course it’s different in the winter. Crashing waves, howling winds. Romantic, I guess – if you like that sort of thing!’ he said. Then hastily, ‘I’m not supposed to come here, though. Definitely not to fish. You won’t tell, will you? It’s a private beach, you see. Belongs to a big house up there.’ He waved in the direction of Bosleven. ‘They don’t like people coming down here.’
Summer knew she would have to keep quiet about Tristan and Kenan now.
He was still talking. ‘There’s loads of other beaches and coves, of course. There’s Lamorna. You can walk there from here . . .’
Lamorna?
‘What did you say?’
‘Lamorna,’ Zach repeated. ‘What’s up? Know the place, do you?’
‘I – no. No, I don’t.’
Summer Lamorna Jones.
She had always hated that middle name. Just too weird. Was it a clue? Her mother could not have chosen the name by chance, any more than she could have sent Summer to Bosleven on a whim.
I’m not going to tell him. He wouldn’t believe me. I could ask Tristan. If he ever lets me ask him anything again.
She pushed away thoughts of her uncle and what was waiting for her back at the house. ‘So. Might see you tomorrow then?’ she said casually.
Zach reeled in his line. Nothing on the end this time. ‘Yeah,’ he said. He began dismantling his fishing rod, then bobbed down into a crouch and concentrated on packing away the tackle. ‘I’ll be here. First thing probably.’ He looked up. ‘Be good if you were too.’
‘Yeah,’ she said. She turned abruptly and began skipping over the rocks back to the cliffs. ‘See you!’
The next morning, Tristan was already in his study when Summer emerged. He barely looked up from his desk when she knocked on the door to say good morning. She had glanced into Kenan’s room too. The door had been open, the curtains thrown wide; it seemed as though he had not been there overnight. He must have caught up with his mother after all.
Nevertheless, Summer made her way down the stairs cautiously, just in case he was waiting to have another go at her.
I need to talk to Tristan about Mum.
Outside the window an ominous black bank of cloud rolled in from the sea, cloaking the tall pines and the side path in darkness.
She wondered if Zach would be likely to go to the rocks anyway, seeing as they had made an arrangement to meet.
Yeah, like he’s going to sit in the rain, waiting for me.
The clouds finally broke over the garden and fat raindrops hit the windows. She had absolutely no idea what to do with herself.
She went back to her room, riffled through the books she had brought. None of them were new to her, though, and she did not feel like re-reading anything. Then she considered the bookcase outside her bedroom door.
She went to see if there was anything worth reading there. She remembered how, yesterday, she had thought somebody had knocked some of the books from the shelves, and shuddered now as she ran her fingers over the worn spines.
Around the World in Eighty Days. The War of the Worlds. The Black Tulip.
The books were ancient. They must have seen a thing or two in their time. Summer focused on the titles, sternly telling herself not to think spooky thoughts. She picked up a book and flicked through the musty, thin pages. She was about to take it back to her room when she heard a noise on the other side of the bookcase. A scraping noise, as though someone were running their fingernails down the wood behind the books.
She stumbled back, away from the shelves, her heart thumping. Then there was a sharp knocking noise: the books wobbled on the shelves and someone – a woman? – laughed. A deep, throaty laugh which sounded all too familiar.
Summer dropped the book as she let out a scream and ran back to her room.
Slamming the door behind her, she leaned against it, her eyes closed. Her body was seized with panic.
It was
not Mum. It was nothing. There is no such thing as ghosts.
She tried to calm herself, but there was no getting away from what she had just heard. No making sense of it either.
When she opened her eyes, she saw that the cat was sitting on her bed, flicking its tail and observing her coolly.
‘For flip’s sake, cat!’ she scolded. ‘I’ve already had one heart attack – what are you trying to do to me?’
She bent over to pick up the cat, suddenly desperate to feel a real, live creature, to bring herself back down to earth.
But the cat did not want a cuddle; it slithered from her grasp, its body liquid. It made for the door and scratched at it, mewing pitifully to be let out.
Summer shook her head. ‘I’m not opening that door,’ she said.
The cat was insistent, its mewing increasingly loud.
‘OK, OK.’
She relented and shakily opened the door, ready to slam it closed behind the animal, but it whisked round and sat right in the opening, preventing Summer from shutting it out, looking back at her pointedly.
‘You want me to come with you?’
She remembered how the cat had led her to the beach. Then admonished herself.
Cats do not lead people anywhere. It’s your imagination again.
She made a move towards the cat to shoo it away. It budged slightly, and then sat and waited for her again. She sighed. The cat was trying to tell her something.
‘Are you hungry?’
‘Miiaooow!’ It sounded as though it were telling her off for not understanding.
‘I do not want to leave this room,’ she said.
She considered pushing the cat roughly aside, but something in her needed to know what the animal wanted. So she stepped over the creature, avoiding looking at the bookcase, and waited. The cat gave a small, chirruping purr as though to say ‘At last!’ and trotted past her, then stopped once more, checking to see if she was going to follow.
‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ she muttered, secretly relieved to have the company, even if it was only the company of a cat.