The Summer Without You

by Karen Swan

  ‘Well then, if that’s his thinking, why let me play in the tournament? If it’s the biggest tennis event of the summer, there’ll be loads of people there, any one of whom could be the . . . nutter,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Nuh. All the eyewitnesses said the guy looked like a tramp – you know, stood out from the crowd. There’s no way he could afford to get in. The security will be insane on account of the cars and tennis bracelets alone. You’ll be totally safe there.’

  Ro looked up to the ceiling. Only in Bobbi’s world could a potential crime not happen because the assailant couldn’t afford the entry ticket. ‘So then, how are we supposed to afford it? You know I’m stony broke.’

  ‘It’s fine – we’re going on a corporate account. One of our clients sponsors it and it’s a prime networking opportunity.’ Bobbi’s voice became muffled suddenly and Ro could make her out talking to someone in the background. Then she was back. ‘So listen, I actually just rang to say I’ll get you some kit up here and bring it down with me tonight. Unless I can trust you to go into Lulu Lemon on Main and do it yourself?’

  ‘What?’ This was Bobbi’s definition of kindness?

  ‘No, thought not. How you feeling, by the way? Bandages off?’

  ‘Uh, wel—’

  ‘Good. Great. Glad to hear it. Gotta go. Meeting in three. Ciao.’

  The line clicked dead. Ro felt like someone had just boxed her round the head.

  She sat in silence for a moment, before putting her headphones back on and returning to the business of envying the Connors their perfect family life. They had what she wanted – well, once she’d forgiven Matt for not being here, anyway. She was angry with him now, yes, but once Matt came home and life was back to normal again – this whole crazy experiment just an odd, slightly eccentric memory that they’d laugh about one day – her life would be like this too. He’d made a promise. There would be no coffee-throwing strangers or guerrilla gardening or this ever-present urgent need to meditate or medicate herself into a calm state of mind. Her life would be full of the little moments she witnessed on this screen – low-key family lunches and walks in the park, birthdays and Christmas Days with bright eyes and little hands scrabbling at wrapped presents. She settled into a comfortable position, stretching her legs long and resting her head on her hand, determined to watch and learn.

  ‘Hump, I’m just popping out!’ Ro yelled from the drive, her foot already propped on the pedal.

  ‘What? Where?’ she heard Hump’s voice call back from deep inside the house. ‘Ro! Where are you?’

  But Ro just wheeled down the steep slope of the drive onto the lane, relishing her freedom again; she couldn’t wait even another hour for Dr Hump to grant her outside access. She thought she’d go mad if she spent another hour robbed of smelling the salty wind, seeing the pound of the waves, hearing the sunlight skipping over the grass.

  Besides, she was feeling bolder now, after a furtive outdoor dash into town earlier – in strict contravention of Hump’s rules – when he had popped over to the office for an hour’s paperwork.

  It had been a muted success and not quite the jubilant escape she’d been anticipating. She’d been astonished by the sheer volume of pedestrians on the pavements for one thing. Bobbi had been right about the town filling up once the schools were out, and she could scarcely believe the difference in just one week; it was as though she’d come back from a trip to the moon – every day she’d spent on the sofa equating to a week out here, and it felt like high summer now, with beautiful kids hanging around outside Ralph Lauren and Starbucks, the doors to BookHampton (the bookstore) and Citarella (the smart deli) opening and closing with a ring of bells, every parking spot taken at Waldbaum’s (the supermarket), every single one of the outside tables taken at Café Collette, traffic snaking down Main Street, past the windmill and all along the highway towards Amagansett and beyond.

  But it wasn’t just the volume of people, the face of the town had changed too, with new shops – ‘pop-ups’, Bobbi had called them – seemingly having opened overnight. She clocked the distinctive orange of a Hermès boutique and a Michael Kors. The contrast made her realize how sleepy East Hampton had been to this point. Up until now, it had been like a bear emerging from hibernation, groggy and slow-moving. But now it was like a hive with everyone buzzy and busy, intent and focused. This town was ready to party, and so was she – at least in theory.

  Bobbi’s words, Hump’s theory, hadn’t let her rest, no matter how hard she’d tried to shake them from her head, and they had ignited a rebellious anger in her. She was no victim. Why should she stay holed up in the house, hiding out while she waited for the police to arrest someone on the strength of eyewitness reports and a willing confession? On that basis, she could spend the rest of the summer locked away.

  No. That might have suited her a few weeks ago, but to her surprise, she’d found she wanted to get going again, to resume the new life she’d been building up brick by brick. Lightning didn’t strike twice, right?

  That was what she’d told herself, anyway, as she shuffled through the crowds, her head down and body hunched, her heartbeat louder than the traffic as she scanned for feet getting too close, moving too fast . . . More than once she had pressed herself to the wall as men and boys in hoodies and caps marched past without even noticing her, leaving her watching after them – just in case – with big eyes and flaming cheeks; it had been the first indication that her burns would possibly heal faster than her mind.

  This, though, this was different. She felt safe in her solitude on the bike, and she pulled out carefully into the new, heavy traffic as music carried in the air like the buzz of mosquitoes, making cars vibrate and the occupants move their heads in time to the beat, like nodding dogs. Ro cycled slowly along the wide lanes, taking the long way round, enjoying counting the numbers of Stars and Stripes flags flapping on flagpoles, and the matching bunting strung along the street intersections. She was enthralled. The closest thing Britain had to an equivalent day of national celebration was a royal jubilee, and those only came every quarter century or so . . .

  She felt her spirits rising with every revolution of the wheels, the past week beginning to slip from her shoulders as she basked in the liquid sunlight, her skin soothed by the cool, rippling breeze, and she realized she was beaming as she flew along, hair out behind her. Hump would be furious with her when she got back, but she knew she was right to do this – and there was someone who’d be pleased to see her out and about again.

  She screeched to a stop in front of Florence’s tall gates five minutes later. ‘Hi!’ She smiled brightly, waving into the intercom, knowing her image was being beamed into the lofty blue and white kitchen.

  ‘Ro!’ Florence sounded shocked. ‘C-come in.’

  There was a pause before the hydraulics purred behind the cedar timbers and the gates opened. Ro cycled quickly up the drive – out of the saddle – which ran along the length of the back lawns before sweeping round graciously to the front of the house.

  Florence was waiting for her by the front door as Ro freewheeled round happily. She jumped off the bike, dropping it on its side by a flowerbed and jogging over, feeling strong and wanting to show Florence how well she was again. ‘Florence!’ Her smile faded as she approached. ‘Have you lost weight?’ Even in the course of three days, her friend was noticeably thinner.

  ‘No,’ the older woman said, waving Ro’s concern away and turning back into the house – but not before Ro saw her lower lip was trembling.

  Ro followed her silently into the house, taken aback and wondering whether turning up unannounced like this had been a bad idea after all. It had been one thing defying Hump with her spontaneous outing, quite another turning up here completely unexpectedly.

  Florence walked over to the kettle and filled it up at the sink, her back to Ro, who was settling herself on her usual stool by the island. ‘You must think me very thoughtless not to have been to see you yet,’ Florence said, her voice sounding st
rained. ‘You were the one injured and I’ve been . . . I’ve been so selfish not coming to see you.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t worry about that,’ Ro said dismissively, keeping her voice bouncy and bright, though she was frowning at the sight of the wilted sweet williams sitting in pots on the windowsill. ‘You would never have been able to get past Hump, anyway. He’s been like a jailer, not a doctor.’ She waited for a chuckle from Florence, but none came. Her concern deepened.

  Florence turned, but stayed by the worktop, as though reluctant to get too close. ‘Are you in pain?’

  ‘Not so much. I’m down to painkillers every eight hours instead of every four, so getting through it.’ She tried to make Florence meet her eyes. ‘How about you? You had a shock too. Are you OK?’

  ‘Me? Oh, I’m . . .’ There was a long silence. ‘I’m . . . I’m fi—’ The words wouldn’t come, Florence’s shoulders inching up to her ears.

  ‘Oh, Florence, I’m so sorry.’ Of course she wasn’t fine: a retired widow, living in this enormous house on her own, after witnessing a trauma like that? Ro wanted to kick herself for not having come over before now. She jumped off the stool and rushed over, but Florence drew sharply back.

  ‘No, you have nothing to apologize for. It is I who should be apologizing. It’s all my fault – I know it is.’

  ‘What? Florence, don’t be crazy!’ Ro argued. ‘It could have happened to anyone. How could you possibly know that some lunatic was going to walk in and chuck coffee over a pair of complete strangers?’ She shivered and quickly tried to turn it into a careless shrug, even though every step she’d taken in town earlier had been with her ears pricked and her feet ready to run. ‘It was bad luck, that’s all, and it certainly wasn’t your fault. I’m just glad it hit me and not you.’

  She watched as Florence took a teabag from the caddy and held it in her hand, seemingly unsure of where to put it. After a moment, she replaced it in the tin and closed the cupboard, her hands shaking.

  Ro watched her confusion before taking Florence by the shoulders and steering her over to the table. ‘Come on, you sit there and I’ll bring the tea over.’

  Florence did as she was told, sitting wringing her hands as she looked down the garden.

  Ro brewed the tea quickly, glancing continuously at Florence before carrying it over and sitting down opposite.

  They sat in silence for a moment, Ro watching her new friend, who was usually so indomitable, so sure. It was painfully clear Florence was still traumatized from the attack. Trembling, not eating, not sleeping . . . She clearly wasn’t coping.

  ‘Florence, I’m worried about you. Have you had anyone looking after you?’

  Florence looked down at her tea. ‘Ted’s been round every day.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ro swallowed, taken aback by the news. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might have checked up on Florence after the attack – that he had thought to do what she hadn’t.

  And then irrationally, unexpectedly, she felt a sharp jab to her pride that he hadn’t felt the impetus to check up on her too. She hadn’t seen him since Tuesday, when he’d put her to bed, and she felt embarrassed now to think she’d been such a baby – having a tantrum on the floor, asking him to stay.

  ‘Well, g-good. He was exceptionally kind in the immediate aftermath. Thank heavens he was there. The paramedics said my burns would have been a lot worse if he hadn’t acted so quickly.’ The memory of him ripping her T-shirt away from her, so easily, came back to her. She tried to keep a smile on her face. ‘Is there anyone who can come and stay with you for a bit?’

  Florence shook her head silently.

  ‘But what about your family?’

  Florence fell still, her body rigid suddenly, every muscle in her face straining to hold back the tears. ‘It’s all too much . . .’ Florence whispered in a voice so frail it sounded like it had been snapped in two, her hands rubbing over one another in a frantic, agitated fashion.

  ‘What is? What’s too much?’ Ro asked gently, but growing more alarmed by the moment. Had Ted Connor seen this behaviour, or had she hidden it from him?

  But in the next instant, Florence shook her head again, inhaling sharply, growing taller, returning somehow to herself. ‘Nothing. It’s just a bad day. That’s all.’

  Ro watched her look back out to the garden again, watching the wildly see-sawing emotions raging in her friend as she strove for dignity. ‘Florence, look – these feelings are completely normal. There’s nothing to feel ashamed about. I had them too. Hump said I was in shock for the first two days. I just couldn’t sleep properly, kept bursting into tears for no reason. But you know what helped? Having someone around looking out for me. You’re here on your own, Florence. This is a big house . . .’

  ‘Yes,’ Florence said sharply. ‘And that’s precisely how they want me to feel, like it’s too much for me.’

  Now Ro was confused. What was too much for her? And who was ‘they’?

  ‘Do you mean the guy in the cafe?’

  Florence pinned Ro with a look that made shivers run down her spine. ‘No. I mean the people behind him. The people who set him up to it.’

  Ro sat back as they looked at one another, Florence’s gaze unwavering.

  Paranoia? Ro tried to list in her head all the classic symptoms of PTSD. She was no doctor, but Hump would know, he could tell her. She had to get him over here. ‘Florence, I think you should see someone, a doctor I mean, even if it’s just to talk.’ She spoke slowly, aware that a patronizing tone was colouring her voice. ‘I think you’re under enormous strain.’

  ‘You don’t believe me. You think I’m delusional,’ Florence replied, a thin vein of anger in her words. ‘I’m not some dotty old woman, Ro.’

  ‘Of course you’re not. I’ve never for one moment thought so.’

  ‘But I can see you don’t believe me.’

  Ro was quiet for a moment. ‘I believe that you believe it, but I think your feelings are stress-related from the attack. I really do think you should see someone; they could help you make sense of all these emotions. It’s only natural to feel overwhelmed or anxious after something like this.’

  ‘No.’ Florence’s voice was firm. ‘They’ll just call me depressed or confused or demented, when I’m not any of those things.’ She tapped the table with her finger. ‘I know what’s really going on here; I just can’t prove it.’

  ‘Prove it?’

  ‘I’ve tried, believe me. But they’re untraceable.’

  Ro tried to keep the frown from clouding her face. ‘Who is?’

  Florence didn’t reply; she just stared back down to the bottom of the garden, watching the dune grasses flattening in the wind, the muscles in her face quivering like plucked strings. Ro watched the conspiracy theories crossing over her face and wondered whether Florence was aware of her own words. She certainly seemed lucid enough, but . . . she’s ‘hardly the steadiest boat in the harbour’. The words, forgotten till now, floated through her mind.

  Ro swallowed discreetly as something else came to her too – that day in the cafe, seconds before the attack, Florence had been talking about the missing money. ‘I was . . . not myself.’ Those fantastical theories about the missing money and how it was secretly all about her.

  Did Florence have a history of mental disturbances?

  Ro decided to take another tack. ‘At the very least you should stay with someone for a while. Why don’t you come to ours? You’d be more than welcome. Hump would love nothing more than confining us both to the house.’ But even as she said the words, she knew Florence wouldn’t want to stay in a house full of thirty-somethings, with Bobbi’s organic face creams pretty much the only edible things in the fridge.

  Florence shook her head with a firm look.

  ‘Or call a friend, then.’

  ‘I don’t want to endanger anyone.’

  Good God. Ro forced herself not to react. ‘Your friends and family would want to help you through this, Florence.’

  ‘I
will never leave here.’

  ‘And you don’t have to. I’m just talking about you getting a change of scene, some fresh company for a few days, that’s all. A little space can bring perspective.’ Ro covered Florence’s hands with hers and she saw the suspicion, the doubt in the older woman’s eyes. ‘Do you have any plans for Fourth of July this weekend?’

  Florence didn’t answer for a long time. ‘I’m supposed to be spending it with the family,’ she said finally.

  ‘Here?’

  ‘No. We take it in turns to host. I did it last year.’

  ‘So where will you be, then?’ Ro was anxious to know of Florence’s movements. She couldn’t shift her uneasiness about the frailty of Florence’s mental state. She had definitely lost weight, and judging from the depths of the shadows around her eyes, she wasn’t sleeping either. She couldn’t be left alone.

  ‘At my daughter Casey’s. She lives on Dunemere Lane.’

  ‘OK. Good. Well, that’s something.’ Being a quarter of a mile away wasn’t quite the break Ro had intended, but at least she’d be with her family. ‘Do you want me to take you over there? I could ask Hump to drive us.’

  Florence looked back at her for a moment, her expression different again. Some strength had come back to her gaze but something else too that Ro couldn’t quite read. After another moment, she shook her head. ‘Casey said she’d come by for me after Little League at six. I’ll wait for her.’

  ‘Why don’t I—’

  ‘I’ll be fine. Really,’ she insisted, noting Ro’s sceptical expression. ‘I’m tougher than I look. I don’t scare easily.’

  Ro let herself out, fifteen minutes later, having persuaded Florence to drink her tea and eat half of a ham sandwich, but doubt still chased after her like a following wind. How could it not? Florence was paranoid, unsteady on her feet and suffering erratic mood swings – strong one minute, crumbling the next – and she resolved to look in on Florence on her way to the studio on Monday. Hump would be able to advise her on the best approach. She cycled home, knowing he and Bobbi would be waiting for her so they could kick-start the weekend’s festivities, but as the setting sun shone gold on her face, she couldn’t help but feel cold on the hot summer’s evening.