That One Summer (The Summer Series)

by Duggan, C. J

  I stood with my hands on my hips eyeing our sleeping quarters, the very cosy quarters that Chris had no doubt planned on sleeping in alone until I had crashed the party. No worries, we were both adults here, no problem. I had my sleeping bag. I grabbed for it, unclasping the pull string and dumping out the – whoa! Hot pink roll. Okay. I could work with this. In one flick, I uncurled the sleeping bag and pulled it apart, revealing a …

  “Oh my God,” I said aloud. I looked on in horror at the giant caricature of Punky Brewster with two thumbs up. Dad and his bloody impulse purchases at garage sales. Sure, this would have been handy, and no doubt I would have loved it … when I was five! Knowing Dad, it had probably been buried in the garage for the past fifteen years. A very delayed discovery indeed.

  I am not sleeping in this. I could only imagine how amusing the Onslow Boys would find it. I quickly gathered it back up, rolling it and shoving it back into its cover, cursing and punching it in with all my might.

  Why doesn’t anything go back in the way it comes out?

  I heard Chris’s footsteps crunching on the gravel as he approached the car, rounding the back of the van with a towel slung over his shoulder.

  I eyed his damp hair with interest. “Did you have a bath in the sink?”

  “Just a freshen-up.” He brushed past me and chucked his bag in the back.

  Wow, he smelt good, like he was ready for a night on the town. He had even changed his T-shirt with a new black one. I fought not to smile as I envisioned his wardrobe in his room filled with nothing but identical black T-shirts all hanging in a line. I guessed I should really know that; I mean, I had been in his closet only a few days ago. Not that I had paid much attention … to the clothes.

  “Aren’t you hot?” Chris’s voice snapped me from my thoughts.

  “Excuse me?”

  “What’s with the flannies?” Chris’s eyes looked me over with guarded amusement. There was nothing I hated more than the up-and-down look; the kind you got when walking into the Onslow on a Friday night. Except this was not a look of appreciation. He was looking at me like I was an idiot.

  Damn Tess’s list.

  “I thought it might get cool on the coastal road.” I adjusted my top.

  “Well, we’ve got a ways to go before we find out, so if I were you I’d get changed; there’s no A/C in this hotel.” Chris leaned in, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under his arm.

  I opened my mouth to say that I didn’t have anything else to wear, when I paused and watched him make his way to the front passenger door. He hopped in the front of the car with his pillow.

  “W-what are you doing?” I asked, climbing into the van and crawling toward the front. I rested my elbows on the back of the bucket seat where Chris was making himself at home, punching his pillow and shuffling himself into a recline.

  “What’s it look like? We’ve a big day tomorrow – early start.” He lay with one arm behind his head, his body partially skew-whiff. He looked really uncomfortable.

  “You can’t sleep there!” I insisted. “You have hardly any room.”

  “It’s all good; I’ve crashed on worse couches.” He sighed, closing his eyes.

  I stared down at him for a long moment. I didn’t know whether to be flattered by the gentlemanly gesture or annoyed that he found the mere thought of sleeping next to me so offensive.

  “You’re being ridiculous,” I said. “There’s plenty of room for both of us on the mattress.”

  Kind of.

  “We can even sleep top to toe if you want?” I suggested.

  Chris laughed. “At the risk of kneeing you in the head again, I think not. Go to sleep, Tam.”

  I took a moment’s pause as if waiting for him to speak again, but it was obvious that the topic was closed. Fine, I thought, let him suffer from leg cramps and a bad night’s sleep; it was his problem, not mine.

  I pulled the back doors shut and fixed myself on top of the doona.

  What was his problem, anyway? He didn’t have to act like he might catch something off me. Heaven forbid he’d get girl germs.

  I nestled onto the mattress, trying not to focus on the fact that he was lying just near my head, divided only by a seat.

  “Goodnight, Chris,” I said.

  A deep sigh emanated from the darkness.

  “Goodnight.” The sound of his body shifting on the leather seat screeched as he tried to manoeuvre into a more comfortable position. I bit my lip; he must have been so uncomfortable.

  I shook the thought from my mind. I couldn’t let myself worry about Chris and his comfort, because I had my own to worry about.

  Stupid flannelette pyjamas!

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was still dark when we hit the road.

  I didn’t exactly know if it’s just what you do when you’re on a camping trip (get an early start) or if he was just trying to make up for lost ground. My guess was that Chris had had the worst night’s sleep possible and was awake, anyway. I tried not to take so much pleasure in it, so refrained from bursting out into an ‘I told you so’ dance. Plus, it was too early for that stuff.

  We had a six-hour drive to Calhoon ahead of us. The idea of it made me want to cry. It also meant that the others would no doubt have moved on to the next point by the time we reached it.

  All I wanted was a shower – a long, hot shower.

  “I don’t suppose Melba packed breakfast by any chance?” I looked at Chris behind the wheel. He was sporting some serious bed hair.

  “No,” was his clipped response.

  Geez, sorry I asked.

  Having forgone my morning run, my foot bounced up and down in the footwell. I tapped out a beat on my knees. I felt completely restless. Considering we were in the middle of nowhere, running in remote wilderness probably wasn’t a good idea. I guess, if anything, if anyone had stumbled across us, we were the dodgy-looking ones in our black serial-killer van. I smiled to myself – I wondered how many a poor passer-by last night had avoided the rest stop, having seen our dodgy car parked there. I sure would have kept going.

  “So, if it’s not Grease Lightning, what do you call it, then?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t have a name.” He looked at me like it was the most ridiculous question he’d ever heard.

  “Every car has a name,” I said. “Black Betty? The Beast? She needs a name.”

  “She?”

  “Of course, all cars are girls,” I said. “So, really? No name?”

  “Well …” Chris paused, as if changing his mind about what he’d been going to say.

  “‘Well, what?” I straightened in my seat, intrigued.

  “The boys have a name for it.” He fought not to smile.

  Uh-oh.

  “What?”

  Chris glanced out of the window, a smile broadening across his face. “You don’t want to know.”

  Oh, now I did!

  I went to press further but he promptly changed the subject.

  “There’s a petrol station and cafe about fifty kilometres from here, we can stop there for some breakfast.”

  Food? God, yes!

  I wanted to clap my hands together and squeal at the thought. Though a lot of girls had phobias of eating in front of boys, I was not one of them; I loved my food. I was a constant source of hatred and envy owing to my fast metabolism, but truth be known, I worked my butt off – quite literally. Fitness was everything to me; though sometimes my diet did lack the certain balance that you’d think a personal trainer should have. A New Year’s resolution, for sure. Like the rest of the world, I planned to eat healthier. I kind of felt like a hypocrite being a personal trainer some days, telling mums and businessmen what to do when I didn’t necessarily do it myself. I needed to be hypnotised or something. No Monte Carlo biscuits in between meals!

  “I don’t know what kind of selection they have,” Chris added. “Probably just your typical potato cake and Chico Roll from the bain-marie.” He almost looked apologetic.

 
; I wanted to laugh – people always assumed that I was a muesli and yoghurt girl based on my athletic nature. Ha! Perhaps I could get away with it after all. Live a lie until I was caught scoffing down a chocolate Chokito for afternoon snacks. Let Chris think I was healthy on the inside, I thought.

  I switched my mobile on. I had kept it turned off in an effort to save its battery.

  “Don’t bother, there’s no reception up here,” Chris said.

  “Well, I guess I can’t be completely mad at Amy, then,” I said, mainly to myself.

  “Why would you be mad at Amy?” Chris asked. It seemed like he was genuinely interested.

  I sighed. “My mum and Amy conspired against me in a way to get me on this trip.”

  “You weren’t going to go?” he asked, surprised.

  “I seriously didn’t think I was, but apparently – and this is the most infuriating part – my mum can read me like a book. It’s pretty frustrating when someone knows what you’re going to do before you even make the decision to do it.”

  Chris frowned. “I don’t get it; how did they conspire against you?”

  “I told my mum I wasn’t going and it took me all afternoon to pluck up the courage to tell Amy. And when I did call her she was suspiciously okay about me not going.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound like Amy at all,” Chris agreed.

  “I know! It should have been a massive red flag. Apparently my mum had rung her to tell her I was coming and to expect a phone call.”

  He laughed. “Ah-ha!”

  “Yeah, the plot thickens. Amy didn’t want Mum to tell me about the departure time being brought forward in case I really did freak out and didn’t want to go. So how did you get roped into it, anyway?”

  “I wasn’t going to leave until today, do a nonstop drive to Point Shank, have the alleged time of my life and then head back. But when Amy came and begged me to go early because I had to bring you, well, the plan changed somewhat.”

  I cringed, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

  Chris shrugged. “I was coming anyway.”

  “So what tactic did she use against you?” I asked. “Guilt? Blackmail? Torture?”

  Chris smiled. “I shall never reveal my weaknesses.”

  “Did she promise you banana bread?” I teased.

  Chris burst out laughing. “That’s it. You know my weakness.”

  “Hmm,” I said with a sly smile. “Handy to know.”

  A silence fell between us, but it wasn’t awkward; it was light, easy, comfortable.

  “Thanks for bringing me, Chris. I mean, for waiting, or leaving early. Or whatever you call it, thanks.” I looked at his profile until he glanced my way, his brown eyes meeting mine for a moment before returning to the road.

  “It’s nothing.” He shrugged.

  I smiled and looked back out of the window.

  It wasn’t nothing.

  ***

  I hummed a happy tune as I forked another helping of pancake into my mouth, swinging my fork from side to side as if I was conducting an orchestra. I was in heaven – blueberry pancake heaven. I looked up to see Chris perusing his newspaper in silent study.

  “What are you looking at?” I asked with a mouthful of batter.

  He shook his head as he lifted his paper with a shuffle. “Nothing.”

  To think I used to be intimidated by those eyes. Now I had managed to spend some time around them I must be getting used to the varying degrees of his stares. There was the ‘I’m so bored right now’ deadpan, or the ‘I wish you would just shut up right now’ stare-down, and there was the ‘Kill me now’ look that was usually followed by a sigh of frustration. I munched thoughtfully on my breakfast, amusing myself no end with profiling Chris. Of course, there were other looks too. Like the humour that flooded his eyes when he laughed – not that that happened often. Or the look of concern that had been etched on his face when he watched me make my way to the toilets yesterday when I was unwell. Those moments made me uncomfortable; they were glimpses of something so foreign I didn’t know how to react to them. Bitter, moody and silent Chris I could handle, but anything else had me stumped. Luckily they were fleeting moments.

  A double beep sounded from somewhere, making me jump.

  “And hello reception!” Chris announced as he delved into his pocket and grabbed his phone, flicking through the screen.

  “There’s service here?” I grabbed for my own.

  “Yep!”

  I turned it on, waiting for any magical ding. And sure enough, one-two-three-four chimes went off.

  “Someone’s popular,” Chris said without taking his eyes from his message.

  The first was a missed call alert from my mum, probably wondering if I was okay or if she was forgiven. The first text message said as much.

  Gello sweety, hop youtt hsving fun, ring me when u can. Lobve mum.

  Yep, that was Mum all right. At least she got a couple of words right.

  There was one missed call from, hello-hello: Amy Henderson. Followed by a message.

  I am so-so sorry, please don’t be mad. I was totally freaked out that we had to leave early and when your mum called I was worried that she was wrong that you wouldn’t change your mind and come. Aunty Claire said you guys had left and I am SO HAPPY, yay for Chris!! Even though I totally had to blackmail him. Can’t wait to see you. Travel safe and see you soon!!! Xxx

  My shoulders slumped. How could I possibly stay mad at her, or Mum for that matter? As I re-read the message, one thing bothered me.

  I totally had to blackmail him. I knew I had joked about it, but something kind of bothered me that she’d had to resort to such extreme measures to force him to take me, and what could she possibly have over him, anyway?

  “Any news?” Chris’s voice snapped my attention away from my screen.

  “Oh, just from Mum and Amy. You?”

  “They’ve left Calhoon, but have decided to stop over for the night and camp at Evoka Springs. It’s only a few hours past Calhoon. They said they would wait for us to catch up.”

  My eyes brightened. “They’re going to wait?”

  “Yep!” Chris finished texting back and hit send. “We should get there about three this arvo if we have a good run.”

  “Oh, we will. No migraines here!” I saluted.

  “All right, well, we’ll get some food and drinks for the road and keep going then.” He paused, looking down at my plate. “After you’ve finished your pancakes, of course.”

  I grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Of course!” I picked up my fork and continued to eat and hum with much enthusiasm. When a day started with pancakes it was destined to be a good one.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I prided myself in being a pretty patient person, really.

  But this was ridiculous.

  So much for having a good run and getting to our destination by three. I glowered across the road to where Chris paced in front of the Black Cat Cafe (that, incidentally, did serve the best pancakes ever). I sighed, flicked off my shoes and placed my bare feet on the dash as I watched him laugh and pick at the peeling paint of a fence post as he talked animatedly.

  It was his third call that ranged from serious and business-like to upbeat, chatty laughter. I wondered who he could be chatting to – or, more importantly, who was putting that smile on his face. He did know about the Black Cat Cafe and the landscape of this trip pretty well. Maybe he had made the voyage a few times before with the boys. Or maybe he had a mistress at every port or petrol station. Maybe he was hooking up a booty call for when we got to Calhoon – a widowed cougar with fire-engine red lipstick and manufactured curls.

  If we ever did get to Calhoon.

  I eyed the flashing charge button on my mobile and figured I had some time to kill. I dialled Amy’s number and she answered on the second ring.

  “Tammmyyyyyy!” she squealed down the phone, so loud I had to hold it away from my ear.

  “I’ve changed my mind, I’m not coming,” I said dryl
y.

  “You better bloody be!” she shouted.

  “Relax,” I said. “It’s just a joke. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “We’re leaving Calhoon about lunchtime, but we’ll wait at Evoka Springs for you guys.”

  “EVOKA SPRINGS, BABY!” someone shouted in the receiver.

  “Piss off, Ringer,” Amy snapped

  “Someone’s excited.” I laughed.

  “You wait until you get up here; it’s so beautiful, you are going to bow down before me and thank me for getting Chris to bring you.”

  “Yes, about that …” I glanced out of the passenger door. Chris was still on the phone. “How did that come about?”

  “Well, as usual, he was being his normal whinging, whiny self. ‘I’m coming, I’m not coming, I’m going, I’m staying’. Actually, kind of sounds like you.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Anyway, after he had a moan about leaving early I told him to quit his shit, he could come later if he absolutely had to, and that it actually worked out pretty well because you would be rocking up at twelve.”

  “I’m sure he was thrilled about that,” I mused.

  “Oh no, don’t tell me he’s being a dick?” Amy asked.

  “No, no, he’s all right. I just wondered what on earth could make Chris Henderson do anything.”

  “Oh, it was easy. Blackmail.”

  I laughed out loud. “Ah, yes.” My stomach churned. What was I anxious about? “Must have been something pretty good,” I said, trying for a lighthearted ‘I don’t really care that much’ tone.

  “Well, yeah, hello,” Amy said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and that I should automatically know what she was referring to.

  I, of course, had no idea and my silence must have told her as much.

  “Oh. My. God. That’s right, at the Bake House; I didn’t get a chance to tell you, did I? You left early.”