Seven Days in Summer

by Marcia Willett

  ‘Yes, it must be.’ Liv casts about for something sensible to say but can think of nothing. ‘So you were living in?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sofia is staring after the twins, frowning. ‘And I had a bit of a thing with Seb’s father. Crazy but …’ She shrugs. ‘I thought he loved me a bit but clearly not.’

  ‘Oh God,’ says Liv, touched by Sofia’s expression. ‘Life is simply shit sometimes, isn’t it?’

  Sofia begins to smile, warmed by Liv’s response. ‘Definitely. Anyway. Here I am, having a bit of therapy with my godmother and getting over it. Or at least that’s the plan.’

  ‘Come and help me round up the twins,’ says Liv impulsively, ‘and we’ll have coffee and then take them off up on the cliff, out of Baz’s way. How does that sound for starters?’

  ‘It sounds good,’ agrees Sofia. ‘I’d like that. Though it might not be that simple.’

  She nods towards the twins, who are now making short forays into the sea, Jenks barking encouragingly.

  Liv laughs. ‘We’ll take one each,’ she says. ‘Last one back to the Beach Hut gets no coffee.’

  Baz glances round as they all come into the kitchen and does a double take at the sight of Sofia holding Flora’s hand, laughing at Jenks. Her wild hair, huge green eyes, pale freckled skin, all give the impression of a magical being in a fairy tale. Quickly he controls his reaction and stretches out a hand as Miles introduces them.

  ‘Baz,’ she says, and her smile makes his heart do odd things. ‘It’s kind of you to invite me to your party.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ he replies, letting go of her hand, pulling himself together. ‘It’s lovely for Liv to have someone of her own age instead of all us old fogies.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ retorts Miles indignantly, so that everyone laughs, and Baz introduces Meggie, who immediately involves Sofia in finding mugs for the coffee whilst Liv rummages in the fridge for the milk and drinks for the twins.

  The twins rush to Baz, telling him about their shell pictures. There is to be a prize for the best one, and they need him to judge them. He is glad of this distraction and already knows what he will give them as a prize. The twins are not competitive between themselves – they work as one person – so the prize must simply reflect the quality of the pattern, but Baz knows that he must be discriminating. The twins understand and expect this and are very self-critical. They dislike being patronized and take it all very seriously.

  ‘I shall drink my coffee,’ he tells them, ‘and then we’ll all go and inspect your work. No good trying to rush me. Now sit at the table properly and have your drinks.’

  As they hurry to obey him, Baz turns to see Sofia smiling at him.

  ‘You’ve missed your vocation,’ she tells him. ‘I wish you’d been at my last nursery school.’

  ‘No, no,’ he shakes his head, ‘I’m a big softie really. I did think about teaching way back when I was at university but I don’t have the authority. I enjoy a joke too much. The little horrors would see through me at once. I became an investment manager in London and now I have an art gallery in Bristol. You followed through, so I understand?’

  ‘Sort of,’ she agrees, preceding him outside. ‘I trained as a nanny. Not quite the same as teaching.’

  ‘But just as demanding.’ He tries not to stare at her, at the way the green of her shirt darkens the colour of her eyes, then Liv passes their mugs, distracting him, and Miles starts to talk about the local fête.

  Baz finishes his coffee and wanders back into the kitchen where the twins sit watching Meggie, who chats to them as they drink. He is aware of the sharp little glance she slips him and feels oddly defensive.

  ‘Sofia seems a very nice girl,’ he says in what he hopes is a casual voice.

  All three look at him and Freddie shakes his head regretfully.

  ‘You are toast, mate,’ he says.

  Baz stares back at him whilst Meggie remonstrates and the twins roar with laughter.

  ‘Yes,’ he murmurs. ‘I think I might be.’

  Sofia strolls after the judging party, following them along the beach, trying to sort out her emotions. First, the twins, playing there on the sand when she arrived, so absorbed, so cute. She experienced a savage thrust of envy for Liv, which was quickly superseded by an unexpected sense of affection for this pretty blonde woman in faded shorts and a T-shirt, who welcomed her so warmly, so matter-of-factly, into her family unit.

  And then, when she was feeling so relaxed, so happy, she came face to face with Baz. How extraordinarily good-looking he is; how elegant and strong and …

  Sofia tries to think of the right word to describe him. Baz seems so up-together, so capable, but there’s more than that to him; some quality of depth, of kindness, of stability. She shakes her head, trying to bring her chaotic thoughts under control.

  Old enough to be your father, she tells herself, and knows she doesn’t care.

  The judging party have reached their destination and Baz steps forward. He examines each pattern critically whilst the twins watch him anxiously. He crouches, stands up again, takes a step back, walks round each exhibit.

  Sofia watches him, noting the broad shoulders and long legs and the way his short silver-gilt hair shines in the sunshine. After another period of consideration he steps forward again and places a small flag beside one of the designs. She can tell by the twins’ expression that they are pleased; they agree with his choice. They look anxiously at him to see what the prize might be and now she notices that Liv is holding a bag behind her back, quite a big bag, and Sofia wonders what it contains.

  Baz looks round and Liv moves forward and hands him the bag. Baz takes it, opens it carefully, and brings out a kite. He holds it up, showing it to the twins whilst they gaze at it wide-eyed. He explains its properties, how it works, how they will take it up on to the cliff and make it fly. The twins are transported with excitement, leaping about and demanding that they must take it now, right now. But Sofia doesn’t look at the twins, she is still watching Baz.

  ‘You are toast, mate,’ she tells herself. ‘Absolute toast.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  MILES WATCHES THE judging party and waits for the sound of El’s car. She always brings her contribution early and it’s always a summer pudding.

  ‘Can’t make anything else,’ she says. ‘At least, not well enough to produce in public.’

  El is like nobody Miles has ever met before and he waits impatiently for each holiday to see her again here in his own environment. It’s because of Baz that she travels from her flat near the university in Bristol each summer to stay in a small converted barn in the nearby hamlet. He has persuaded her that two weeks in the sea air will do her good and she can work on her drawing skills. They are old friends, and Miles usually sees El when he visits Baz in Bristol. They all go to the theatre or a concert together and Miles seizes every opportunity to be in her company. This is not always easy since El is by nature rather solitary, saying that her students give her quite enough company and stimulation. She told him how, when she was young, she’d tested her vocation to be a nun but reluctantly decided against it.

  ‘I’m not disciplined enough,’ she said. ‘I’m too selfish. I don’t have the necessary single-mindedness. They say that rue is the herb for that, don’t they? “O, you must wear your rue with a difference.” It’s called the herb of grace. I’m a bit lacking when it comes to grace.’

  She has a quirky take on life and a literary tag to fit any unusual situation. Annabel calls it showing off but Miles knows that is simply the way El’s mind works. She and Baz have fun together capping quotes, which Miles loves – although he envies Baz his ease in El’s company. Of course, Annabel has no idea of this private love for El. It would be beyond her comprehension that anyone could fall in love with this odd woman with her shining cap of white-streaked dark hair and complete lack of maquillage or attention to clothes.

  ‘What Baz sees in her I can’t imagine,’ Annabel says. ‘Not his style at all. I think h
e feels sorry for her, to be honest.’

  But Miles knows that no one need feel sorry for El. And here she comes, jolting down the track in her rather battered old Citroën and parking beside his own car. He checks an impulse to cry, ‘Here she is!’ and hurry to meet her, and instead waits for Baz to make the first move, following him more slowly across the beach. He watches Baz stoop to kiss El and then it is his turn to greet her, to experience the familiar pleasure at the sight of her clear brown eyes and curving smile.

  ‘Miles,’ she says, ‘how are you? I’ve brought my annual offering.’

  ‘You’re in time for coffee,’ Baz says, taking the dish from El’s hands. ‘Come and meet Janet’s goddaughter.’

  As usual in El’s presence, Miles feels calm, suddenly at peace. How strange it all is; how important. There is a flurry of greetings, a clamour of voices, as the twins demand to be taken up on the cliff to fly the kite, to do it now. El is amused but not particularly keen to join the kite-flying expedition.

  ‘Everything has to be now,’ sighs Liv.

  ‘Of course it does,’ says Sofia sympathetically. ‘They live in the present. I wish I could. I’ll come too, if it will help.’

  ‘Baz,’ cry the twins. ‘We want Baz to come.’

  Miles can see that Baz would rather like to go so he offers to give El coffee and promises the twins that they will watch them from the beach.

  The kite-flyers all set off, discussing the mechanics of kite-flying and whether there is enough breeze, and El smiles at Meggie.

  ‘Lucky there isn’t a good strong westerly,’ she says, ‘or we might never see them again. They’d be carried off like Mary Poppins and her umbrella. I’ve brought some cream to go with the pudding, Meggie.’

  Meggie smiles back at her and Miles notices that her short brown hair has been carefully set and that her blue eyes are bright with expectation. She loves this special party and being with old friends.

  ‘Can’t have enough cream,’ she agrees, taking the carton and putting it in the fridge. ‘Now here’s your coffee. Off you go and watch the fun. Those twins like to have an audience.’

  Miles and El go back into the sunshine together, putting the mugs on the table and then walking a little way down the beach so that they can see the group on the cliff. Liv is running with the kite, which lifts a little and then bumps back to the ground. The twins are shouting. Now Baz takes the kite and, whether it is his extra height or a sudden gust of wind, it soars up into the air and bobs above their heads. The twins fall silent with amazement, watching with a kind of awe, and then Miles and El simultaneously begin to clap and cheer. The group above them stare down and then join in. All the while the kite swoops and dives and then, just as suddenly, drifts to the ground.

  Miles and El stand for a moment in silence.

  ‘That was wonderful,’ says Miles. He feels strangely moved by the spectacle. ‘I feel quite exalted.’

  He looks at El, who is watching him with her familiar look: intent, amused.

  ‘A tiny miracle?’ she suggests.

  ‘What, the kite suddenly taking off like that? Just amazing when there’s so little wind.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ agrees El. ‘But actually I meant that the twins were silent for a whole minute. Definitely a miracle.’

  Miles begins to laugh. ‘You are so cynical. And there I was, transported by it all.’

  ‘Quite right too,’ she says. ‘And now we’ve performed our part as audience I shall drink my coffee. Isn’t it odd how Baz always has good weather for his party? Rather like the Cenotaph.’

  ‘The Cenotaph?’ He stares at her, perplexed, as they stroll back to the table beneath the awning.

  ‘Mmm.’ El nods. ‘It never pours with rain in London on Remembrance Day, haven’t you noticed? Dull and grey sometimes, yes, but never raining.’

  Miles begins to laugh. ‘I haven’t noticed, as it happens, but I shall make a point of it from now on.’

  ‘What’s that?’ El points to the shell exhibition and the little flag.

  ‘Bring your coffee and come and see,’ he suggests, and as they wander across the beach together he feels so happy that he can hardly bear it.

  El looks at the shell patterns but she is aware of Miles standing beside her and the tension he is giving off. She understands that he has projected his loneliness, his need to be understood, on to an ideal he has of her. She stares at the shells but she sees Miles: stocky, square frame, arms folded, fingers clenched into fists, willing her to say something to which he can relate and make into a special dialogue between them. She is immensely fond of him but she can’t help him. He is bound to the tiresome Annabel who, in her turn, is crippled by an aggressive insecurity that makes both their lives difficult.

  El is seized by a desire to free them but knows it is not within her gift. At least she can make Miles laugh, share this moment with him.

  ‘I wonder how Baz came to his decision,’ she says, indicating the flag. ‘Did the twins approve?’

  ‘I think so,’ answers Miles. ‘At least it’s a perfectly recognizable dog.’

  ‘I saw a dog with them just now. Is that a new acquisition?’

  ‘Liv’s looking after it for her parents. They acquired him recently from the Cinnamon Trust. He seems a nice enough chap.’

  El smiles. She knows that Miles isn’t the least bit interested in either the twins or the dog, that he is waiting for something that will link them more closely; something that he will be able to remember afterwards. She looks at him, at his eager, hopeful face, and wishes that she could give him a hug, a kiss – but she knows that he is too near the edge of love and that it would do more harm than good. His need is palpable and deprives her of ordinary communication with him.

  ‘Have you had a good term, El?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes,’ she answers quickly, glad to be on this neutral ground. ‘Yes, a good term, but I’m wondering whether I might retire, Miles, in the next year or two. Nobody knows yet. Please don’t say anything.’

  She sees him straighten up, pleased to have her confidence, to share this secret with her.

  ‘Of course I won’t.’

  El breathes a sigh of relief. This she can give him. There are no hidden agendas here, nothing personal to be misunderstood, but he will cherish it.

  ‘I might go part time,’ she says, expanding on the theme, ‘or do private tutoring. I can’t decide which. I’d like to do some travelling.’

  ‘Well,’ he says lightly, ‘if you need someone to carry your case you only have to say the word.’

  She laughs, treating it as a joke. ‘I can see Annabel taking a poor view of that,’ she says, but even this light-hearted response he takes seriously.

  ‘Actually, she’s rather given up on air travel these days,’ he says. ‘Terrified of bombs and terrorists. I think she’d be quite happy for me to make a trip to see my brother and his family in Geneva without her.’

  El is silent, wondering where this might lead, and is relieved to see the kite-flyers descending on the cliff path. The twins and Jenks run ahead.

  ‘Did you see?’ they cry. ‘Baz made the kite fly. Did you see? It was awesome.’

  And it is natural to go towards them, to join in with the excitement, though she senses Miles’ frustration. She glances back at him.

  ‘I have to get home,’ she says, ‘but I’ll see you later on. And remember, not a word. It’s our secret.’

  At once she sees the spark rekindled in his smile, the conspiracy reignited as something special between them.

  ‘Not a word,’ he repeats, delighted.

  It’s little enough surely, she tells herself, but she wonders if even such a small thing is unfair to Miles, who will build much into it. He is such a kind man, so thoughtful and intelligent. It seems a pity that he and Annabel are enmeshed in a discontented relationship, bored with each other, unable to see the qualities that once made them fall in love.

  As she says her farewells and goes back to her car she wonders wh
y she told Miles about her plans for retirement. After all, nothing is settled. To be honest, she can’t quite imagine her life without her students, without the structure of her working day, and the self-discipline it requires. It was as if she felt the need to give him something; to take that empty look from his eyes.

  Baz has accompanied her to the car, talking about the party, and she can see that Miles is watching them and envying Baz’s ease in her company, his right to talk to her, to give her a quick hug, to make a joke.

  El smiles at Baz affectionately. He is such a good friend, such a satisfying companion. His own experience, though not like hers, has given him the same wariness of close relationships and they are grateful for each other’s undemanding company. El puts out her arms to hug him.

  ‘Don’t be late,’ he tells her. ‘We kick off at five o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll be here,’ she promises.

  She climbs into the car, turns it carefully and sets off up the stony track.

  At the sea’s edge the twins stand watching the frilly white-edged waves curling around their bare toes. They are both reliving that magical moment on the cliff when the kite took flight and soared upwards and, just as suddenly, dived back to earth. It is beyond their understanding, as mysterious as any fairy story, and they need time to absorb its immensity. They long for it to happen again whilst almost dreading it, lest it might fail. It’s unsettling, this longing and fearing all at the same time, and instinctively their hands reach out and clasp in a comforting grip.

  At a different level they are wondering whether to move all their precious shells and pebbles before the rising tide claims them for its own and disperses them randomly along the beach. Their joint consciousness considers which might be the greater pleasure: to rush to save their treasures or to have all the excitement of rediscovering them.

  Silently they commune and simultaneously decide that it will be more fun to search for them again. Having reached this decision they turn their backs on the sea and go to look at their shell exhibition one last time.