That One Summer (The Summer Series)

by Duggan, C. J

  “I might have overheard a certain Onslow Boy talking about you, that’s all.”

  Onslow Boy?

  “What? When? Who?” I stammered.

  “See you Tuesday!”

  Chapter Eight

  Tuesday gave us one day – ONE day.

  What the hell do you take camping, anyway? I had no idea; as far as nature was concerned I liked to run through it and around it, not live in it. Sleeping with ants and snakes and God knows what else was not my thing.

  I had to think of an excuse.

  I invited the girls to lunch at the Bake House Café in town to learn more about what exactly was going on for Tuesday. It also gave me a chance to invite Amy half an hour early before Ellie and Tess arrived, to grill her about who had been talking about me and exactly what they had said.

  Maybe Chris had been slagging me off to his mates, but by the tone of her smug voice I doubted it was anything like that. I really hoped it wasn’t, but then again at least I would have a good excuse for not wanting to go.

  I heard the ding of the bell above the café door and expected to see Amy’s beaming grin as she scanned the tables, looking for me. I straightened expectantly with an inviting smile, only for it to drop clean off my face when Chris appeared instead.

  SHIT.

  I slid under the table, my spine making an infuriatingly large fart-like sound against the linoleum seat as I disappeared out of view. What was I doing? Oh God, I hoped he hadn’t seen me. How was I going to explain this?

  “Ah, young Chris! Good to see you, how’s things?” called Norm the baker from out the back.

  I grimaced under the tablecloth.

  Just go, just hurry up and go.

  “Yeah, good thanks, Norm.”

  Legs walked on the other side of the table, along the line of cabinets as he no doubt looked over the baked goods. I dared not even breathe.

  They chatted about their businesses, about the Onslow. Chris seemed in no hurry to order.

  My legs ached and my neck cramped, hunched over under the table; apparently it was time to chat. It was odd, hearing Chris talk to Norm. I didn’t think I had ever heard Chris string together so many sentences before, and come to think of it, not only was he speaking, but he sounded … normal. Lighthearted, almost.

  It was unsettling.

  “What are the specials today, Norm?” There was a bang as Chris slapped the counter.

  Just grab a bloody pie and go.

  “Oh, now hang on a second, young fella, Betty left the list here somewhere.”

  I sighed, hearing Norm rummage through papers.

  He rummaged.

  Rummaged.

  Rummaged some more.

  “Ah, here it is!”

  HALLELUJAH!

  As Norm rattled off a painstakingly long list of specials, I couldn’t help but check my watch every five seconds, ever aware that Amy would be rocking up at any minute and I would be busted. My skin prickled with embarrassment. Why did I think myself so smart as to organise a meeting half an hour before the norm? If I had just said twelve thirty I could have avoided this altogether.

  “Sounds good! I’ll go for the number seven, thanks, Norm.”

  Finally!

  “Excellent choice! Eat in or take away?”

  “Eat in, thanks.”

  I cringed and closed my eyes. Noooooooooooo … This could not be happening.

  There was no crawling my way out of this one.

  Literally, there wasn’t, because I had thought about it, but there was no way I could get out of this without being caught doing so.

  The Bake House was a long, gallery-style set-up, booths on one side of the wall and cabinets and service area on the other. Depending on where he chose to sit… If he sat toward the door, his back to my table, I might have stood a chance.

  I tried to slow my breathing, to not move even an inch as I listened to the direction of his footsteps. Mercifully they headed in the direction I had hoped they would, away from me and toward the door.

  I was going to be okay, I could get out of this with relatively minimal damage to my ego.

  “Is this today’s paper, Norm?” Chris called out.

  “Sure is, help yourself,” Norm’s voice called from out the back.

  I heard the rustling of a newspaper in the distance, followed by footsteps closing in toward my direction.

  Oh no-no-no-no …

  He was walking this way, all right. His unmistakable Levi denim-clad legs swaggered into view, so painfully close I could reach out and touch them, maybe even trip him. I momentarily entertained the thought before brushing it from my mind.

  My heart drummed so fiercely I could swear Norm would have heard it out back. My mouth went dry as I watched every single footstep make its agonising way toward …

  He was going to sit at my booth!

  This could not be happening, this could not be happening.

  Try and explain this, Tammy, when Amy rocks up and you’re nestled under Chris’s table.

  I edged myself as best I could out of touching distance, my eyes widening as the seat dipped under Chris’s weight.

  His kneecap was barely inches away from my forehead.

  This was not okay.

  I heard him casually cough as he turned the pages of the newspaper.

  “Onslow skate park opening to mark the New Year,” he read aloud. “Outdoor cinema a raving success.”

  Was he serious?

  “Locals fight to save historic gum tree … School wins local funding bid … Girl trapped under Bake House dining table.”

  My head snapped up so quickly I headbutted Chris’s knee.

  “Ahh …” I clasped my head where it hurt.

  Chris slid out of the booth and lifted the skirt of the tablecloth to look at me.

  Was he seriously laughing at me?

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine!” I snapped. Trying to gain some form of composure, I clawed at the seat with one hand, trying to slide out from underneath as I nursed my eye socket.

  Chris moved to the side and offered me his hand. I would have slapped him away, but I really did need the help; I had been crouching in such an awkward position my legs were numb and refused to work.

  “Easy now, don’t hurt yourself.”

  Ha! Too late for that.

  I managed myself into a seated position once again, Chris standing before me. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him – for one, I couldn’t stand to see his smug smirk and two, I only had one functioning eye.

  “Christ, are you okay, Tammy?”

  I winced, rubbing my eye. “I think so.”

  “Don’t do that, here let me look.” Chris pulled my hand away. “Look at me.”

  I slowly managed to lift my eyes to him and to my surprise he didn’t look smug at all. His brow was furrowed in concern as his fingertips gently pressed around my eye.

  He whistled. “Looks like you’re going to have one hell of a shiner.”

  “From your knee? Perfect!” I grimaced.

  “Hey, Norm, do you have any ice?” Chris called out.

  “Oh no, Chris, don’t. I’m fine,” I pleaded. But it fell on deaf ears as Chris worked on securing some ice cubes in a cloth Norm organised for him.

  “What happened?” Norm asked, the look of alarm spread across his face.

  “It’s all right, Norm, no one’s going to sue you,” Chris half laughed as he sat next to me, holding the ice-cold package to my face. Chris continued to pacify Norm. He seemed more shaken than I was. Apparently his wife, Betty, didn’t leave him in charge very often and if anything happened on his watch it wouldn’t be worth his life.

  A broad smile spread across Chris’s face. “It’s all right; it will be our little secret,” he said as he winked at me.

  I grabbed the cloth from Chris’s grasp, unnerved by his kindness, by the lightness of his mood and the transformation of his smile, a smile that lit his entire face. I must have been staring at him, a de
ep frown etched across my face as if I were sitting next to a stranger.

  In a way, I kind of was.

  “Tammy, are you all right?” His smile melted into a grim line, as if unnerved by my catatonic stares.

  If anything was going to give me a migraine, an old-fashioned knee to the head would do it.

  I cleared my throat, scooting away on my seat. “I’m fine … Thanks.”

  Taking the hint, Chris climbed out of the booth, watching me with uncertainty.

  “You sure?” he said as he sat down opposite me.

  “I’ll live.”

  If embarrassment wouldn’t kill me first.

  Chris opened his mouth to speak when the chime above the front door sounded and Amy entered. Her smile dropped with surprise when she laid eyes on us and her brows furrowed in confusion.

  “Jesus, Chris. What. Did. You. Do?”

  Chapter Nine

  “It was an accident!” I said quickly.

  Amy’s attention broke slowly away from Chris to me.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Oh crap. It was enough that Chris must have worked out that I had hidden under a table to avoid him, but did I really have to say it out loud?

  I hadn’t been prepared for questions; there was no easy way to explain this, especially with Chris’s dark-set eyes burning into me.

  I ran into a door? Slipped on a tile? Got kneed in the face by your cousin? The latter, the fact, sounded the least believable and by far the hardest to explain. Still, the truth would set you free, right?

  “I uh …”

  “She got hit in the head with a salt and pepper shaker,” Chris blurted out.

  Huh?

  “What?” Amy’s frown deepened.

  “Yeah, well, she asked for me to pass the salt and I … uh … overshot the mark.”

  “Jesus, Chris!” Amy exclaimed. “What were you thinking? You’re not hanging with the Onslow Boys now; Tam’s not going to catch it like Sean would, you’re such a Neanderthal.”

  Amy plonked down in the seat next to Chris and punched him in the shoulder. “I hope you said you were sorry.”

  Chris’s brows rose as he looked at me. I could tell he was trying not to smile.

  “Of course I said I was sorry; even fetched ice for her face.”

  “So you bloody should.” Amy shook her head and rolled her eyes at me. “Boys!”

  I smiled a small smile. I felt kind of bad that she was giving Chris such a hard time. For a split second I had actually believed that I was hit in the face by a salt shaker.

  “Let me look,” Amy prompted, leaning forward.

  “Oh it’s nothing, really.”

  I tried to slap Amy’s hands away, but there was no use. Once Amy had something in her head she would not let go.

  I heard Amy gasp as she removed the ice-filled tea towel from my eye.

  “Whoa, you’re going to have a ripper of a black eye.”

  Awesome.

  Norm appeared from the kitchen and set a cup of coffee in front of me. “Here you go, Miss Maskala.”

  “Oh … I didn’t …”

  “No, that’s all right, it’s on the house. If there is anything else you need you just sing out. Just rest up and take it easy.”

  Oh, now this was getting too much.

  “Thanks, Norm.” I smiled weakly.

  I wanted to slink down in my seat, to hide under the table in mortification, but that was what had got me into trouble in the first place.

  Norm returned a minute later, plonking down Chris’s number-seven special order in front of him. Amy and I stared at his plate.

  Chris straightened in his seat, his eyes aglow with hunger. He readily grabbed his knife and butter sachet when he glanced up and paused. His eyes shifted from me to Amy and back.

  “What?”

  “Really?” I asked. “Banana bread?”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Chris asked warily.

  “Nothing, I guess, I just assumed a number seven would have been a steak, or a greasy fry-up of bacon and eggs or something.” My lips twitched, fighting not to smirk at his dainty serving of toasted banana bread.

  “Yeah,” Amy said with a laugh. “Man food.”

  “It’s got walnuts in it,” Chris defended.

  “Whoa. That’s hardcore.” I grinned.

  Chris ignored us and instead opened his sachet in a huff, slapping the butter onto his bread.

  Norm came back with a pen and notebook.

  “Now, was there anything you wanted, young Amy?” he asked, writing the date on his pad.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She turned to Chris. “What do you say, Angela Lansbury? Do you want to share a pot of tea with me?”

  Chris dropped his knife with a sigh. “Norm, can I have this for takeaway?” He pushed his plate away.

  “Aw come on, don’t be like that.” Amy leaned her head on his shoulder.

  Chris nudged her. “Get off me or I’ll throw a salt shaker at you, too.”

  Amy mock gasped. “Hey, Norm, might pay for you to confiscate your salt and pepper shakers just in case they fall into the wrong hands.”

  “Salt and pepper shakers?” He looked up from his notepad, troubled.

  “Yeah, just to lower the injury rate.” Amy winked at me.

  Norm scratched his head in deep thought. “But we don’t have any salt and pepper shakers, only individual sachets.”

  Oh SHIT!

  My eyes widened as big as saucers, flicking to Chris who had closed his eyes in a moment of dread.

  The confusion spread from Norm to Amy.

  “But you said that …”

  The door chime sounded. “Ugh, I’m starving!” said Ellie.

  “You’re always starving,” Tess said, as they pushed their way through the front door.

  I braced myself for the onslaught of ‘What happened to you?’ questions. How were we going to explain it this time?

  “Chris,” Ellie said, surprised. “What are you doing here? Oooh, banana bread, yum!”

  “Here, have it.” Chris pushed the plate toward Ellie. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “It has butter on it already, but no salt,” Amy said, her eyes shifting between us knowingly.

  Ellie plonked down in the soft leather booth next to me. “Gross. Why would I need salt?”

  Amy shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

  Norm coughed. “I’ll, uh, leave you all a minute to decide.”

  Chris shifted uncomfortably in his seat, checking his watch. “I better get back; here, Tess, have my seat.”

  Amy slid out of the booth, letting Chris out. He stood, grabbed his wallet from his back pocket, thumbed out a twenty and chucked it on the table.

  “Keep the change, Norm,” he called.

  Norm poked his head into the café from the kitchen. “Thanks, mate, see you next time.”

  Chris shifted his attention back to our table.

  “So you ladies are still coming camping, I take it?”

  “You betcha,” Ellie said through a mouthful of banana bread.

  The corner of Chris’s mouth curved upwards. “You do realise there are no power points in the base of the gum trees to plug your hairdryers into.”

  Amy rolled her eyes with annoyance. “Shut up!”

  “As if we’re that naïve, Chris,” scoffed Tess.

  As for me, I made an instant mental note.

  Don’t. Pack. A. Hairdryer.

  “Just so you know.” He shrugged. “Seeyas.”

  Our eyes locked briefly before he nodded goodbye and left, the sound of the door chiming and slamming shut.

  I looked back at the girls, each one staring at me. I was suddenly aware that I had been left to a pack of wolves. I could almost hear the cogs of speculation turning in Amy’s head as she tried to unravel the mystery between me, Chris and the salt shaker in the bakery.

  It sounded like some demented version of Cluedo.

  I grabbed a menu. “Let’s or
der, shall we?” They were all quiet for a moment, taking my cue to peruse the menus. I started to relax, just a little, thinking that maybe I had escaped the questions altogether.

  “Oh my God!” Tess gasped. “Tammy – what happened to your eye?”

  Ugh. Kill me now.

  Chapter Ten

  I had a tendency to hide things, even from the people closest to me in my life, just like I had hidden my slightly puffed-up, bruised eye.

  I tried to squeeze out the crusty contents of a thousand-year-old foundation tube I found in the bottom of my bathroom drawer. A testament to how long it had been since I had worn make-up. I wasn’t sure mixing it with water had helped much, but I kind of knew that my parents wouldn’t even notice and I had never been so thankful for their diverted attention.

  “Well, I think it’s wonderful!”

  Of course she did; my mum thought everything was wonderful. I followed her into the crowded garage, skimming sideways to dodge old light fixtures, fishing rods and bicycle pumps, a pile of retro seventies tiles, a dust-covered cabinet housing bolts and a whipper snipper cord. I accidentally banged into a box of home brew bottles – they tipped sideways but I mercifully caught the box before glass shattered on the floor and I juggled them back into place on top of the old ride-on mower.

  My mum had somehow navigated her way through the space with expert ease, like she had done a million times before. I followed the track she had worn in the second-hand carpet on the concrete floor. I sighed, shaking my head as I always did whenever I saw this place. My dad had a garage sale addiction and was always in search of the next treasure. You would often find him sitting on the verandah in his second-hand bottle-green corduroy chair, scouring the Trading Post. There was one thing Mum and I both agreed on: the chair was hideous.

  “Well, I don’t think it’s wonderful,” I said. “I don’t want to go on a New Year’s couples’ retreat.”

  “Hmm,” Mum said as she struggled to unlock the door at the end of the shed. I couldn’t help but smile. Mum always kept the end room (her office) locked like Fort Knox, as if anyone would want to steal the treasures that lay within.

  The garage filled with light as Mum got the door open and manoeuvred her way into her self-confessed ‘woman cave’. It hadn’t been without a fight that Dad had agreed to sacrifice prime square footage for Mum’s office. It gave him less room for storing his crap.