Our Last Summer by Jennifer Joyce
Chapter 10
Unlike Yvonne, I’m glad Sacha isn’t around as it allows me to unwind and enjoy the afternoon with my two best friends. The clouds have almost vanished by mid-afternoon and I close my eyes, losing myself in my friends’ chatter. I’ve barely said a word to Tomasz as I’m afraid of blurting out how much I’ve missed him and I’m gutted when he leaves to carry out a quote for a plastering job.
‘Shall I get another round in?’ Ed stands, not really in need of an answer, but Yvonne shakes her head.
‘Not for me. I’ve got a shampoo and set booked in at three.’ She turns to me and pulls a face. ‘Your old boss, Christine Gacey. Her grandson’s visiting so they’re going out tonight for tea. She wouldn’t shut up about it when she booked the appointment – Dominic this, Dominic that – and she’s going to be even worse when she’s in the chair.’
Dominic Gacey. I heard a lot about him when I worked in the minimarket. Mrs Gacey was incredibly proud of her grandson, and you wouldn’t know that she’d only seen him a handful of times by the details of his life she went into. She knew everything about the boy and wasn’t averse to sharing it. I felt like I knew Dominic before I even met him.
‘I’d better get going too, actually.’ Ed gathers up the glasses and crisp packets from the table. ‘I said I’d pop round to the church to speak to Grandad about some volunteer work.’
Yvonne swings her legs over the bench and stands up. ‘Aren’t you busy enough with your job and being Deputy Scout Leader?’
‘It’s Assistant Scout Leader, and the volunteering isn’t for me. It’s for some of the young people I work with. I’m hoping Grandad will let them do some gardening and odd jobs around the church grounds and the hall, to boost their confidence and give them something to put on their CVs. But you know what Grandad’s like – he’s all for preaching Christianity and helping others but he doesn’t always put it into practice himself.’
Yvonne grabs her mini rucksack from underneath the table and hoists it over her shoulders. ‘Why wouldn’t he want a free bit of labour?’
Ed rolls his eyes. ‘He thinks I only work with ex-convicts.’
‘And are they ex-crims?’
Ed starts to walk across the grass, with me and Yvonne following. ‘We all make mistakes. And we all deserve a second chance. Jesus would have let an ex-convict trim his hedges. Probably would have paid them for it too, but there’s no way Grandad will be reaching into his pocket.’
We head through the pub and emerge back into the sunshine on the street. Across the road, a couple of young children run along the pavement, giggling as balloons attached to ribbons trail after them while their mums follow behind as though they have all the time in the world. I don’t remember Little Heaton feeling so glorious, so carefree. When I think about the village, it feels grey and oppressive. If it wasn’t for Heather’s wedding, I don’t think I’d have made the journey back at all.
‘I’ll come with you to see your grandad, if you’d like?’ I work hard not to gag at the thought of seeing Reverend Carter again, but I don’t want to let Ed go. I could be pulled back onto the plane any minute now so I want to soak up every bit of my best friend that I can before I’m forced to leave him behind again.
‘Thanks, but I think it’s better if I go on my own. Grandad might think we’re ganging up on him, making it harder for him to say no to the volunteer thing.’
‘Isn’t that a good thing? Making it harder for him to say no?’
‘Not with Grandad. If he feels backed into a corner, he’ll dig his heels in. He’s a stubborn old git.’ Ed leans down and kisses my cheek. ‘I’ll call you later. Maybe we could all get together? Go see a film or something?’ He’s already backing away, and he raises a hand before he turns and heads off for the church.
Yvonne nudges me with her shoulder as we cross the road. ‘When are you two going to stop arsing around and get together?’
I start, my eyes flicking left and right. I had no idea Tomasz was back. But then I realise Yvonne is still watching Ed as he disappears around the corner.
‘Me and Ed?’ I almost laugh until I remember how it was back then. Everyone thought Ed and I would end up together because we were so close and nobody really believed that a man and woman could be just friends. And it isn’t as though I hadn’t had the same feeling myself every now and then. I loved Ed and he was attractive (as my teenage diary would tell you with mortifying frequency) but somewhere along the way I’d pushed beyond the crush.
‘Yes, you and Ed.’ Yvonne rolls her eyes as we step up onto the pavement. The salon is only a few yards away from the war memorial and we wander towards it. ‘It’s so obvious that you’re into each other with all that touchy-feely, lovey-dovey stuff.’
‘He’s my best friend. He’s your best friend too.’
‘But he doesn’t kiss me. Or hold my hand. He calls me a dickhead and gives me nuggies.’ Yvonne touches her hair, as though Ed has just rasped his knuckles over her head. ‘He’s different with you, so stop being a scaredy-cat and go for it. You need to seduce him.’ She nudges me with her shoulder again. ‘Get some sexy underwear. Some proper slutty stuff to blow his mind.’
I place my hands over my ears, knowing she is about to utter the words crotchless panties, which still makes me feel icky all these years later. Yvonne drags my hands away from the sides of my face.
‘Don’t be such a prude. This is why you get a peck on the cheek, mate.’
‘I don’t think me wearing … those things …’ I can’t even bear to say it out loud and instead wave my hands in front of my foof ‘… is going to do anything for Ed.’
‘Are you kidding? You’re a hot fox.’ Yvonne throws her arm around my shoulders and pulls me in close, and I laugh even though she’s squeezing me a bit too tight. I’ve missed this. Yvonne and I talk all the time, and I see her face when we chat on FaceTime, but it isn’t the same as having an actual, physical squish from your bestie.
‘Come on, say it.’ Yvonne releases me from her grip, but she holds me at arm’s length by the shoulders. ‘Say I’m a hot fox.’
‘You’re a hot fox.’
Yvonne stamps her foot on the ground, pretending that her lips aren’t twitching in amusement. ‘I’m serious. Say it. Say “I, Elodie Parker, am a hot fox”.’ Yvonne’s lips are no longer twitching. Her face is still, intense. When I don’t speak, her eyebrow quirks, ever so slightly.
‘Fine.’ I flick my eyes up towards the cloudless sky. ‘I, Elodie Parker, am a hot fox.’
‘And I’m going to blow Ed’s mind by wearing crotchless panties.’ Yvonne’s hands are suddenly snatched away from my shoulders, and she plasters a huge smile on her face as she leans to the side to see past me. ‘Hello, Mrs Gacey. Do you want to pop inside and I’ll be with you in one minute?’ Her grin remains fixed until there’s the click of the salon door closing, and then her face crumples as she stoops to press her forehead against my chest. ‘Oh. My. Fuck.’
‘It’s fine.’ I give my friend a reassuring pat on the back. ‘She probably didn’t hear.’ She probably did. One of the things I learned while working at the minimarket – other than the entire biography of her grandson – was that Mrs Gacey had superhuman hearing capabilities. That woman could have heard a spider fart from the other side of the village.
‘You’re so lucky.’ Yvonne peels her face from chest. ‘I don’t even have anyone to show my snatch off to.’ Her gaze automatically strays to the pub across the road. ‘Though not for want of trying. I’d have a drawer full of crotchless panties if I thought it’d entice Sacha.’
‘Can you please stop saying … that.’
‘What? Crotchless panties?’
I grab Yvonne by the shoulders and turn her body so she’s facing the salon. ‘Have fun with Mrs Gacey.’ I give her a little nudge so she shuffles towards the door. ‘She definitely heard you.’
Gran’s fallen asleep in the armchair under the window with Wimbledon still playing out on the telly. I creep through to the kitchen, where I’m relieved to find my sister. As annoying as Heather can be, her company is better than being on my own with questions and fears buzzing around my head.
‘I’ll have a tea.’
Heather turns to give me a dark look, even though she’s just boiled the kettle and it will take very little effort to make one more brew.
‘You’re as bad as Gran. I came home for the summer for a break and I’ve ended up playing care assistant instead.’ She drags open the cupboard and snatches a mug from the shelf. ‘Unpaid care assistant. I should start charging. I bet I’d earn more than I do waitressing, being on call twenty-four hours a day.’
Twenty-four hours a day? As if. Heather didn’t roll home until the early hours during her summers at home. Not that I could blame her. She’d been working hard at uni, plus working part-time at a restaurant, so she deserved to blow off a bit of steam. It wouldn’t be long before she was back to studying.
‘Sit down.’ I pull out a chair at the little table tucked away in the corner. ‘I’ll finish that.’
Heather pauses, a teabag still pinched between thumb and finger above the mug. ‘What have you done? Did you borrow my velvet trousers? Because I specifically told you that you weren’t to even look at them. Do you know how many tables I had to clean to buy those trousers? How many times I had my arse touched by minging old men or how many times I was called “oi” or beckoned over like a dog?’
‘I haven’t touched your trousers.’ At least I don’t think I did. If it’s the trousers I’m thinking of, the ones that looked like the pair of Gran’s old curtains that she hung in the winter to keep the draughts out, then I definitely did not borrow them. ‘I’m just trying to be nice. To be a caring big sister. You’re right – you do deserve a break.’
Heather releases the teabag so it plops into the mug. ‘But we don’t do that.’
‘What? Be nice to each other?’ She has a point. I can count on my fingers how many times we’ve spoken on the phone since I flew out to California. ‘Then maybe we should. Starting now. You sit down and I’ll make the brew.’
Heather narrows her eyes. She isn’t moving towards the table. ‘And what do I have to do in return? Because I’m serious about those trousers. You are not to touch them. You still owe me for the dress you dunked in the manky river last year.’
No wonder Heather is so good at her studies; she remembers everything.
‘You don’t have to do anything in return. Just sit. Enjoy your tea.’ And forget about the dress and the money owed, because I don’t want to dip into the America fund. Past me worked hard for that money. Waitressing may not have been the most pleasant job, but neither was trying to avoid stains while stripping beds and scrubbing toilets.
Heather doesn’t look convinced, but she sits anyway and I finish off the tea. Gran’s still asleep but I leave a cup on the little table next to her, just in case she wakes, before returning to the kitchen. Heather frowns as I sit opposite her, squeezing into the small gap between the table and wall. It takes some manoeuvring, but I’ve still got the knack and eventually slide onto the seat.
‘So we’re going to just sit here – together – and drink our tea?’ The crevices on Heather’s forehead deepen as she attempts to comprehend the idea.
‘Yes, because we’re family. Sisters. And one day we won’t be able to just sit like this and you never know, you might miss it.’
Heather snorts. ‘I doubt it.’ She stands up and grabs her tea, taking it up to her bedroom to drink alone.
I glance around the kitchen, which always felt too small and cluttered but now feels warm and familiar. Comforting. Maybe it won’t be so bad coming back here for Heather’s wedding, just to see Mum, Dad and Gran, and Yvonne – even Heather, I suppose. Because I have missed them, even if I don’t always admit it to myself. The bright lights of LA don’t shine quite so bright when you’re on your own.