Lost Summer

by Stuart Harrison

  It took them twenty minutes to reach the edge of the lake. Beyond the trees they sensed rather than saw the open space above the water. David picked out a place in the cover of a holly bush where Adam could wait and gave quiet instructions.

  ‘Remember, don’t make a sound. Stay here until it’s light. You’ll have a clear shot.’ He pointed to the invisible reeds that fringed the shoreline where the ducks would fly in to feed in the morning. ‘I’ll be further along the shore.’ He turned and in a few seconds he and the others were swallowed by the darkness.

  ‘Great,’ Adam muttered quietly. He loaded the shotgun and stood it against the tree beside him. It was a little after five-thirty, which meant it wouldn’t begin to get light for at least another hour. He thought wistfully of the warm bed he’d left behind.

  By six-fifteen it was still dark and the snow was falling even more heavily. Adam’s feet were numb, his hands felt clumsy and unresponsive. He resisted the urge to flap his arms and stamp some feeling back into his feet, knowing he was supposed to keep quiet. The hot soup was all gone and he was hungry. Beyond the holly bush the snow made everything look strangely unfamiliar and it was still falling. He couldn’t see the way they’d come any more, their tracks had vanished along with the path. He wondered whether he ought to go and look for the others. How was he even supposed to see a duck let alone shoot it? He was reluctant to move, however, because he didn’t want to be the first to pack it in. But after another ten minutes the cold had convinced him. He picked up the shotgun and cradling it in the crook of his arms he started back through the pines away from the lake so he wouldn’t cross in front of anybody’s line of fire.

  After a couple of minutes he thought he ought to head back towards the water to find the others. The snow made the ground appear uniformly smooth and hid rocks and fallen branches, making for difficult going. He walked with his head down and after a while he paused to get his bearings. He couldn’t hear a thing, and he couldn’t see where the lake was any more. He reasoned that if he got lost he could always retrace his steps, but how could he lose a whole lake so quickly? From his tracks he saw that somehow he’d managed to weave in a curve left, which meant the lake had to be somewhere on his right.

  He paused on the edge of a small clearing beneath a pine laden with snow. He was sure the lake must be just ahead. He wondered if he should call out. But maybe he shouldn’t. It had almost stopped snowing, and perhaps by the time it was light there would be ducks after all. He began to think he should have stayed where he was. He started forward again and as he did he brushed against a branch and dislodged its burden of snow, which thumped to the ground. At almost exactly the same moment he registered a bright flash in front of him and a roar of sound and then he was falling. He felt cold snow on his cheek and somebody was screaming. It seemed to go on for ever.

  The branches of huge chestnuts overhung the narrow lane that led to the house. Adam and David had gathered conkers here that first year he had had moved to Castleton. Filled their pockets with the biggest they could find, then soaked them in vinegar and dried them slowly in the oven in David’s mother’s kitchen, before drilling holes in them through which they threaded knotted string. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  They would have been fourteen then, both going to Kings. When he thought of those times it seemed like a happy childhood. It was always different when there were only the two of them. He’d felt accepted, a part of everything. Only with the others, especially Nick, had David been different. But over time he’d come to think of it as a kind of conspiracy between himself and David. Something only they understood. He remembered David saying once, in an uncharacteristically serious manner, that Nick had a rough time at home. For David it was tantamount to a speech. The implication was that Adam should understand that if David appeared less obviously his friend sometimes it was only because of Nick. In a way it had deepened Adam and David’s friendship.

  Or at least he had always thought so.

  As Adam turned through the gate the headlights swept over fallen leaves blown up against the wall in drifts, and the tyres crunched on the gravel driveway. The lights in the windows and the porch lent the house a warm, welcoming feel. The back of Angela’s Renault was visible in the garage, and a Land Rover that he assumed belonged to David was parked outside. Clutching a bottle of Cote de Rhone from the supermarket in town, he went to the door and rang the bell.

  It was David who answered. For an awkward moment or two they regarded one another before David held out his hand and they shook hands.

  ‘Hello, Adam.’ His grip was callused and firm. He was heavier in the arms and shoulders and his hair had darkened over the years, though traces of grey showed at his temples. His face was weathered and lined, and there were dark smudges beneath his eyes, which Adam was surprised to see bore the spider web red veins of a drinker. Despite the changes, however, the boy Adam remembered remained clearly visible. Until this moment he hadn’t been sure what he would feel but the rush of bitterness that suddenly engulfed him took him by surprise. He struggled to keep his feelings from showing, though David hesitated as if he’d seen something in Adam’s eyes, then he stood aside.

  ‘Come in, Angela’s in the kitchen.’

  As they passed through the house Adam had time to recover his composure. Through open doors he caught glimpses of rooms that he remembered. When they reached the kitchen Angela turned from the sink at the sound of their voices, wiping her hands on her apron. Her welcoming smile failed to conceal a shade of anxiety. She offered her cheek, which Adam duly kissed.

  David busied himself opening wine and passing around glasses. ‘Old friends,’ he said, raising his own.

  ‘Old friends,’ they echoed, their smiles a little forced. Adam began to think that coming here had been a big mistake.

  A young girl appeared at the door and David called her over. ‘Come and meet Adam. This is Kate, our daughter.’

  ‘Hello, Kate,’ Adam said, not the only one he thought who was grateful for the diversion. She could have been Angela at the same age. But as he looked more closely he saw the differences. She had the same hair and the full mouth, the same colour eyes even, but she had her father’s height and there was a trace of him in the shape of her jaw.

  ‘Kate, help me finish dinner, will you?’Angela asked. ‘Why don’t you two go and sit down and I’ll call you when it’s ready.’

  They went through into the lounge and covered the years as Adam had with Angela earlier, only this time every sentence seemed to be mined with reminders of the past, which they both avoided mentioning with glaring obviousness. They should just get it out in the open, Adam thought. Clear the air. Remember how you almost blew my leg off and then while I was in hospital you started seeing Angela?

  All at once Adam realized David was looking at him with an odd expression, and for a second he thought maybe he’d spoken out loud. But then he realized it wasn’t that. David was looking at his knee, which unconsciously he’d begun massaging.

  ‘It aches sometimes,’ he explained.

  David nodded uncomfortably and held up his empty glass. ‘How about a refill?’

  Over dinner, to their daughter’s embarrassment, her parents made her the focus of their conversation. Adam heard all about her school, her friends, holidays they had taken when she was younger. They might have been obsessively devoted parents, except that they all knew that Kate was a safe and neutral topic. When she was excused she went gratefully, like a shot, probably relieved to escape subtle tensions she could sense even if she didn’t understand them.

  ‘So, tell us what brings you back to Castleton, Adam,’ Angela said, when Kate had left the room, and clasped her hands beneath her chin, her eyes reflecting the flickering candles on the table. ‘You said something about a story earlier.’

  ‘I’m looking into an accident that happened a month or so ago. Some boys were killed in a car crash.’

  ‘I remember that. It was terrible.’ She turned to David. ‘Weren’t th
ey involved with the protest?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I’m sure they were. Did you know about that, Adam? There’s a plan to sell the estate to a company that’s going to turn it into a holiday park.’

  ‘So I heard.’

  ‘What about those lads?’ David said suddenly. The abruptness of his tone was startling. He emptied his glass and refilled it. ‘You said you were looking into the accident,’ he added in a more normal voice.

  ‘Yes, the sister of one of the boys who was killed doesn’t accept the official version of what happened.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Angela said.

  ‘The police say it was an accident. A case of drunk driving. She isn’t convinced.’

  ‘But how does that involve you? I thought you said you’re a journalist.’

  ‘I am, but I’m freelance. I sort of specialize in this sort of thing.’

  Adam was aware of the intensity with which David was watching him from the other side of the table.

  ‘What sort of thing?’

  ‘Usually it’s missing people. Kids. The police have them down as runaways, which a lot of them are. But then now and then somebody, usually a family member, refuses to accept the official version. It’s more common than you’d think. Sometimes their convictions are groundless. Other times not.’

  ‘And when they’re not?’

  ‘It depends,’ Adam said. ‘Once I did a feature on a girl in Devon who simply vanished one day. The police were convinced she had run away. She’d been having problems at home, and she’d taken off a couple of times before, though she’d always come back in the end. This time she didn’t.’ He paused, and when he went on, he met David’s eye. ‘It turned out she had been seeing a local boy, someone her parents didn’t know about. They’d had a fight and he killed her. Her remains were found in a field three years after she vanished.’

  ‘My God,’ Angela said quietly. ‘I think I remember that now. I even read the story in one of the weekend papers. I didn’t even look at the writer’s name. That was you? That girl’s poor parents.’

  ‘Like I said, it happens more often than you’d think.’

  David picked up the wine bottle on the table, but it was empty. Wordlessly he got up and went through to the kitchen. When he came back he was carrying a bottle of Scotch. ‘Anyone else want one?’

  ‘No thanks,’ Adam said, ‘I’m driving.’ Angela flashed a look at her husband. He felt unspoken tensions between them that had nothing to do with his presence. ‘Anyway, you mentioned the protest these boys were involved with. Tell me about it.’

  ‘It was in the news quite a bit over the summer,’ Angela explained. ‘Last year the estate was put up for sale after Lord Horsham died. The trouble is nobody wanted to buy it as a whole, so the plan was to split the estate into parcels. A German company wanted to buy the house and turn it into a conference centre for their managers. They were going to bring in all their own staff. The rest of the land was going to be divided up and sold to neighbouring farms, and worst of all, especially from David’s point of view, the wood was going to be sold to a big Northumberland firm. They already have most of the forestry commission contracts in the area, so it would have meant the end of the sawmill.’

  ‘It would have finished the whole bloody town, as good as,’ David cut in.

  ‘Quite a few people rely on the estate for work one way or another,’ Angela said. ‘Farming’s practically dried up after BSE and then foot-and-mouth. We don’t get as many tourists these days. People don’t come to walk the fells the way they used to. So, when Forest Havens proposed buying the estate intact to turn it into a holiday park, a lot of locals were relieved.’

  ‘It will mean a lot of new jobs,’ David said.

  ‘The company plans to turn the Hall into a four-star hotel with a golf course and an artificial lake. And David would continue to manage the wood, which saves the sawmill and the jobs of the men.’

  ‘Presumably there’s a catch,’ Adam said.

  Angela nodded. ‘Part of the plan is to build lodges and cabins in the woods. There would be bike and walking trails and some ponds stocked with fish, that kind of thing. It only affects the northern part of the wood, about a quarter of it all up, but of course it means a lot of trees would have to be felled.’

  ‘And that’s the part the protesters object to?’

  ‘As soon as they heard about it back in May, they started arriving,’ David said. ‘Hundreds of them. Most of them aren’t even from the area. A bunch of wannabe eco-warriors and dropouts. I doubt they give a toss really, half of them.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s fair,’ Angela said. ‘They believe in what they’re doing, and they have as much right to their opinions as anyone who lives around here.’

  ‘As you can see, Angela sympathizes with them,’ David said scathingly.

  ‘I can see both sides that’s all,’ she said tightly.

  ‘It’s alright for them isn’t it?’ David said. ‘Dammit! When they’ve finished here they’ll just clear off back to wherever they came from. Won’t matter to them if people lose their jobs and have to move away. It’s hard enough keeping young people here as it is for Christ’s sake.’

  There was a brief awkward silence after David’s sudden outburst.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Angela said to Adam. ‘You can see it’s a touchy subject. To be honest I’ll be glad when it’s all over.’

  ‘When will that be?’

  ‘The court has issued an eviction order against the protesters. If they don’t leave soon they’ll be forcibly removed.’

  ‘They won’t leave,’ David said. ‘Not voluntarily. The bloody media will be back with their cameras. And all people are going to see are a bunch of kids getting dragged out of their tree huts and tunnels yelling their slogans about oppression and fascists. Everybody will think they’re the bloody victims. Nobody cares about us. Companies like Forest Havens don’t like that kind of publicity. It isn’t good for their image. Next thing you know they’ll pull out and go somewhere else. And the bloody protesters know it.’ He emptied his glass again and poured another.

  ‘Nobody gives a bugger about us though. Least of all the journalists who make it sound as if we don’t care about the environment, so long as we’re all making money. Have a look around, Adam, before you start sympathizing with the protesters. See how many millionaires you find around here.’

  ‘Don’t try and drag Adam into this. He isn’t even here because of the protest,’ Angela said.

  ‘Isn’t he?’

  They were both looking at him, expecting an answer. Adam felt as if he was being asked to take sides. ‘My only interest in the protest is if it has a bearing on the accident.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Angela asked.

  ‘I don’t know exactly. Maybe nothing.’ He told them about the injuries on two of the bodies. ‘Perhaps they were beaten up. It could be significant.’ He shrugged to indicate it was only speculation.

  David stared at him and then emptied his glass before reaching for the bottle again.

  Adam helped clear the table before saying he ought to be going. When Angela showed him to the door she started to apologize for David’s outburst.

  ‘He’s been under a lot of pressure. If Forest Havens did pull out, he would lose the mill. He’s struggling as it is.’

  ‘I understand,’ Adam told her.

  She ran a hand back through her hair in a gesture of weariness. ‘Perhaps this was a mistake. I didn’t mean for you to have to listen to our troubles.’

  ‘I’m glad I came.’

  ‘Are you? I think you’d say that anyway.’

  ‘Look, if you need a friendly ear,’ he offered. ‘I mean if you want to talk, you know where I am.’

  ‘Thanks. I might take you up on that.’

  ‘Any time.’

  She smiled and hesitated, then reached out and touched his arm lightly, a brief gesture of intimacy. ‘Adam. It’s so nice to see you.’
r />   ‘And you.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  As he drove back to the New Inn he thought about the evening. At first he’d put their early awkwardness down to a hangover from the past, only to be expected, but obviously David and Angela had problems of their own that had nothing to do with him. He’d sensed the tensions between them, and David had been drinking heavily. Maybe some of it was stress related to the sawmill, but he thought it went deeper than that.

  At the New Inn the car park was empty save for two other cars parked next to each other. A door to one of the ground-floor rooms was open spilling light onto the covered walkway. As Adam made for the stairs he glanced inside. A middle-aged couple were sitting at a table drinking beer and watching TV. There was a bowl of crisps in front of them. As he went by a second woman appeared from the room next door carrying another packet of crisps and a bowl of dip. She smiled and nodded, and was followed by a short fat man who paused to close the door.

  ‘Lovely evening.’

  ‘It is,’ Adam agreed, pausing to look at the clear sky. The man spoke with a thick Birmingham accent.

  ‘I saw that car of yours earlier. It’s an old one isn’t it? Nice condition though. Drive alright does it?’

  ‘Pretty well.’

  ‘That’s mine there, the Rover,’ the man said. ‘Always driven Rovers, I have. Used to make lovely cars once, they did. That un’s not bad, but it’s not the same.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Adam agreed, feeling obliged to make some comment.

  ‘We’re up here to do some fishing. Me and me mate and the ladies. You fish at all?’

  ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘Some nice rivers up here. Better than the canal. Nice change too.’

  ‘I expect so.’

  ‘Well, ’night then.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ Adam said.

  He went upstairs to his room and lay down on the bed, but he couldn’t sleep. He could hear the TV below, and the murmur of voices and even after they had fallen silent he remained staring wide-eyed into the darkness.