Our Last Summer by Jennifer Joyce
Chapter 11
I was transported back to the plane around midnight the previous time – a bit like Cinderella with the magic wearing off – and it’s already late afternoon so I figure I don’t have much time left. I want to make the most of my time in the past but I’m also anxious in case my actions do alter my timeline (imagine the fallout if I prevented Heather from marrying her hunky head teacher and she ever found out! She’d make a noose out of the horrible granny curtain trousers and do away with me) and since Ed is with his grandfather and Yvonne’s working, my options are limited. So I watch the tennis with Gran, which is actually quite nice if you ignore her constant jibes at the players, and then I help Mum make tea when she gets home from work, offering to chop the onions, which she hates doing. It gives me the excuse to have a little weep, if I’m honest, because it’s all a bit much: being back home, coming face to face with Sacha again, trying so hard not to kiss the heck out of Tomasz and seeing Ed when I know his fate. It’s lovely and horrid and confusing, all wrapped up in layers of wacky and inexplicable and I’m exhausted from it all.
‘Here you go.’ Mum hands me a sheet of damp kitchen roll and I dab the cool tissue against my stinging eyes. ‘Better?’
I nod, though I’m not sure I do feel better, because I’m still here, aren’t I? Somehow re-enacting events from my past. It’s impossible, yet I am twenty-five years old and desperate to escape Little Heaton all over again. There’s a jar half-full of loose change up in my bedroom to prove it.
‘Everything okay?’ Mum takes the chopping board to the stove and slides the diced onion into the pan with a knife. I would have brushed off her concern the first time round, assured her that everything was fine. There’s no way I would have confided in her. We didn’t have one of those chummy mother–daughter relationships. I didn’t see her as a friend. She was Mum. Authoritative. Annoying at times. She wasn’t someone I’d offload on – that’s what Ed and Yvonne were for – but maybe I should now. Because how much damage could a teeny convo with my mother make, even if I could change the past?
‘What is it?’ Mum’s sensed the hesitation. Knows that there has to be something, otherwise I would have dismissed her concern before she’d even got the initial question out of her mouth. ‘Is it work? Or something else? Someone else?’ She turns back to the onions, prodding at them with a wooden spoon, and not having her looking at me helps me to open up more than I normally would.
‘I like someone. Really like them.’
‘Oh? Really?’ She glances over at me, her lips turning up at the corners slyly.
‘It isn’t Ed.’
‘Of course it’s Ed. It’s so obvious. You’ve been following that boy around the village since you could toddle.’ She adds chopped carrots and celery to the pan with a little self-satisfied hum.
‘Mum.’ I fight a sigh. This is why I never used to confide in her. ‘It really isn’t Ed.’
‘Who else could it be?’ She has an annoying air about her now. A smug look that says she knows what’s going on here. Even though she’s so very wrong.
‘There are lots of men in the world.’
Mum snorts. ‘But we live in Little Heaton, where there is a shortage of everything, according to you. I assume that means potential boyfriends. Unless … No.’ Mum shakes her head, turning back to the stove to add the garlic. ‘Not the lad from the pub. Please don’t tell me you have a thing for the lad from the pub.’
I’m silent. I don’t tell Mum I have ‘a thing’ for Tomasz because it’s so much more than that. I’m utterly in love with him, even now, four years on, but it’s hopeless because Tomasz is no longer in love with me. I imagine he hates me for what I did and I don’t blame him.
‘He’s a wrong ’un, Elodie.’ Mum places the knife down on the chopping board as the room fills with a delicious garlicky smell. ‘He nearly ran over Reverend Carter outside the minimarket the other day.’
‘Did he?’ I didn’t know that. Tomasz never mentioned it and he was always a careful driver, unlike his brother. Oh. That boy from the pub. ‘Sacha nearly ran over Reverend Carter? On his bike?’ If only. It would have stopped the argument with Ed a few years later. Stopped Ed climbing on that same bike just to get away from his grandfather.
‘He mounted the pavement and nearly took the reverend out. Silly boy. You need to stay away from him. He’s bad news.’
‘Yeah. You’re right.’ I run the tap to wash my hands of the onion. ‘I’ll keep my distance from Sacha.’ I’d happily never set eyes on Sacha Nowak again.
We eat our spaghetti off lap trays in front of the telly. The Chase is on and although I probably watched it the first time round, I still perform poorly. Even Gran gets more questions right than me and she’s having to concentrate really, really hard to get the spaghetti to twirl round her fork so is only half-listening. Afterwards, Mum takes Gran to the knit ’n’ natter group at the church hall and Heather locks herself in the bathroom, where she’ll soak until she resembles a prune. So it’s just me and Dad, which is quite nice as I haven’t spent any quality time with him yet and I’ll be leaving in a few hours.
‘You’re coming out to the gourden with me?’ Dad sounds surprised as I follow him out of the back door, but then I’d never have normally come out here with him. The garden – or the gourden as he’d rebranded it – was Dad’s domain. He’d really got into growing his own veg since watching Gardeners’ World with Gran, and he’d taken a particular shine to gourds, which he’d planted at the bottom of the garden. Mum said he’d only gone to the actual effort of growing anything to prove he had an interest in gardening rather than only watching the program to lust over Frances Tophill, but whatever the inspiration for his green fingers, he was certainly passionate about it now and it would be the one hobby he stuck at for more than a couple of weeks.
‘Hey there, Betsy.’ Dad crouches down in front of the trellis he’s set up along the wall, reaching out to tenderly touch the leaves of the first plant. ‘You’re looking good today. And you, Antonia. You’re growing fast!’ There are five plants set out in front of the trellis, and each has its own name, which is quite sweet. The gourds, unfortunately, won’t last as Mum will deem them ‘too ugly’ and ‘creepy-looking’, so next year Dad will be encouraging crops of sweetcorn and broad beans to grow.
‘We have to be on the lookout for powdery mildew.’ Dad wriggles his phone free from his trouser pocket, tapping at the screen before angling it towards me. There’s a zoomed-in photo of a leaf with fuzzy white patches. ‘I haven’t seen any yet, but apparently it’s bad. Or not gourd. Not good. Get it?’ Dad chuckles to himself as he slips the phone back into his pocket. ‘Would you like to water them?’
I would, oddly enough. I’m enjoying seeing this passionate yet playful side of Dad. I didn’t notice it before, and not because Dad didn’t show it to me. I simply wasn’t interested enough to look for it. I’d been so fixated on getting out of Little Heaton, especially after what happened with Ed, that I’d stopped seeing what was in front of me. Only the future mattered, which would be funny, being back in the past, if it wasn’t so baffling.
I water the plants under Dad’s watchful eye and he tells me what he plans to do with the gourds once he’s harvested them. His face is all lit up in a way I haven’t seen before and I vow to take more of an interest in the future. I’ll ask about his garden when we’re on the phone and I’ll definitely help him to care for his plants when I’m back for the wedding.
Mum and Gran are back in time for Holby City, which Dad takes as his cue to head to the Farmer’s Arms for ‘a swift pint’. Heather’s out of the bath by now but she doesn’t look impressed by Gran’s TV choice. I ask her if she wants to go for a drink and the shock when she agrees should be enough to zap me back to the plane in the present day. But I remain in Mum and Dad’s living room in the past while Heather dashes upstairs to change out of her loungewear and throw on some lippie. She must really dislike Holby because I don’t think we have ever been to the pub together. I don’t think we’ve ever socialised at all together. Heather was always just my annoying little sister, and we didn’t have time for each other, but I realise now that I’ve missed her while I’ve been away. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.
Ed hasn’t called me like he said he would, so I send him a message, asking how it went with his grandad and letting him know we’ll be in the pub if he fancies joining us. I invite Yvonne along and think about asking Tomasz too, but even though I’d survived being in his company this afternoon, I don’t want to push my luck. Obviously, as we’re going to the Royal Oak, there’s a chance we’ll bump into him anyway, and I’d suggest we head to the Farmer’s instead but it’d be completely out of character. Plus, there’s no way Heather would even think about drinking in Dad’s local. Once again, living in a small village is biting me on the arse. In LA, I could disappear, blend into the background, choose any bar to spend an evening in and nobody would know me or my life story. Yes, it can be lonely, but it feels safer. I can’t have my heart broken again if nobody has easy access to it.
Heather’s wearing the velvet trousers, and they look even more hideous than they did on the hanger with their ridiculous turn-ups. Not that I say this to Heather as I value my life and tonight is about connecting with my sister. Spending a couple of hours together before our lives splinter off all over again. Ed and Yvonne are already at the bar when we get to the pub, and Ed raises his eyebrows and nods towards Heather when she heads straight to the loos to check her lipstick.
I shrug. ‘She’s my sister.’
‘I know. And that’s my point. You’ve never voluntarily been in the same room before.’ Ed lifts his hand to catch the attention of the bar staff, and he orders a round of drinks.
‘I’m sorry about your grandad and the volunteer thing.’ Yvonne’s managed to bag the only free table near the door and we join her with the drinks. ‘That sucks.’
Ed sighs. ‘It does. Grandad was definitely at the back of the queue when they were giving out Christian values.’
‘Luckily, you were at the front.’ I reach across the table and give Ed’s hand a squeeze. ‘And I’m sure you’ll find something else for them. I could have a word with Gillian at work if you want?’ Too late, I realise I can’t do this. For one thing, I barely know Gillian Quinn yet and also, I’ll be leaving very soon to return to my normal, present-day life.
‘That would be amazing.’ Ed’s face has lit up at the idea, and I push away any qualms because Ed’s smile fills me to the brim with warmth and joy.
‘Do you think you could get me some work?’ Heather plonks herself down on the stool next to me and takes a sip of her vodka Coke through a straw. ‘Not volunteer, though. I’ll need paying. I’m proper skint and I want to go to Kendal Calling next month. Tickets are a hundred and thirty-five quid, but that includes camping, and Keeley went last year and said it was the best festival she’s ever been to. I think it’s the only festival she’s ever been to, but …’ She shrugs and takes another sip of her drink.
‘Camping?’ My eyes flick to Ed and then Yvonne, who look as bemused as I feel. ‘You?’ I can’t imagine my sister sleeping in a tent, with bugs and spiders and questionable toilet facilities.
Ed shares a look with me before he turns to my sister. ‘You know you have to sleep in a tent, right?’
Heather heaves a sigh and shakes her head. ‘Of course I know you have to sleep in a tent.’
‘And that tent’s on the ground? And you’ll probably end up with someone’s big toe up your nostril during the night?’
Heather looks suitably horrified at the big toe bit. Ed looks like he’s enjoying himself.
‘You spent three months at that campsite last year.’ Heather arches an eyebrow at Ed. ‘If you can survive that, I can make it through a weekend. Although you were in France, which is a lot nicer than the UK, actually. Less rain?’ She aims the question at Ed but he doesn’t answer. He no longer looks amused. His chin has dropped towards his chest, his shoulders hunched forwards, and his cheeks have taken on a pink tinge.
‘You’ll be fine.’ My tone is overbright. Too chummy. False. ‘It’ll be fun. A good chance to let your hair down after all your hard work at uni.’
‘Exactly.’ Heather nods and slurps the dregs of her drink through the straw. ‘Shall I get another round in?’
‘Yes please.’ I’m overbright again, but at least Ed is perking up. He gives the tiniest nod, an even tinier smile, and thanks her.
‘I’ll come and give you a hand.’ Yvonne shuffles out from behind the table and heads to the bar with Heather.
‘Can we talk about last summer? When you were in France?’
Ed looks stricken, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. He covers his mouth with his hand, as though he might throw up over the table. But I have to do this. I can’t believe I never noticed the agony Ed had been carrying around with him because it’s as clear as day right now.
‘Have you seen my brother?’
Sacha Nowak is standing over us, his full lips set in a pout, as though he’s a model on a shoot, and a pair of sunglasses perch on top of his blond curls. The sun has lightened the dirty blond and his skin is tanned. I can see why Yvonne was so smitten with him back then, at the same time as wanting to lamp him.
‘Not since this afternoon.’ Ed stands up, taking a step away from the table. From me and the conversation I’ve tried to initiate. ‘Do you want me to help you look for him?’
‘Nah.’ Sacha’s backing away, reaching for the sunglasses, which he slips down over his eyes even though he’s still indoors. ‘You’re all right. He’ll turn up. Not like you can get lost in this shithole.’
‘Little Heaton isn’t a shithole.’ I’m not sure whether I’m bigging up the village because I mean it or simply to argue with Sacha.
‘It is a bit small.’ Ed hasn’t sat back down, and he’s fidgeting, as though he’s deciding whether to stay or leg it while he has the chance.
‘A bit small?’ Sacha’s laugh is mean. Mocking. ‘You can’t take a piss without someone else knowing about it. Does my head in. Wish I hadn’t come back from Nottingham.’
‘Wish you’d stayed with Ronnie?’ I tilt my chin so I’m looking directly at Sacha. I feel commanding, for the tiniest fraction of a second. As though I’m in control for once.
‘You what?’ The sunglasses are shielding Sacha’s eyes, but his mouth is pressed into an angry-looking line, and I feel vulnerable with him towering over me. All the power is zapped away in an instant. ‘Why? What has our Tomasz said about Ron?’
‘Nothing.’ My heart is hammering, but I somehow remain outwardly calm. ‘He hasn’t said a thing.’ I know your secret, I think to myself but I’m not brave enough to form the words out loud. Instead I watch silently as Sacha backs away.
‘Good, because whatever he says, he’s lying. Got it?’ He turns and saunters away, and it isn’t until he’s pushing the pub’s door open that Yvonne notices him. She turns to me, her mouth wide open. She mouths something at me but I don’t catch it because I’m too busy willing myself to disappear back onto the plane, because as much as I’ve been enjoying spending time with my friends and family, Sacha’s appearance has reminded me about Ed and what is to come and I really, really don’t want to be here a moment longer.