Our Last Summer by Jennifer Joyce
Chapter 13
My head is still full of the Nowaks and second chances at love as Ed walks me home. It really is too late to put things right between me and Tomasz. I can’t erase those terrible things I said, can’t take away the pain of losing Ed, and I’ll be leaving this place, this time, any minute now. But I still think about Tomasz, even before I came back to Little Heaton in these weird time-travel stints, no matter how hard I try not to. Little things bring Tomasz back to me. A stranger in the street who looks a bit like him from behind, or has the same walk or mannerisms. A bubble of laughter that grows and grows until there are tears to be wiped away. And I dream of him, often. Happy dreams, not tainted with the anguish of reality, and I both cherish and despise those dreams in equal measure, because as lovely as they are in the moment, there is always the waking up to do, when real life douses the fantasy. I don’t allow my thoughts to linger on him when I’m awake, because then I’d have to face up to the truth.
I made a massive mistake. I paint Sacha as the villain, because it’s easier than admitting that it was me. I was the one who cracked mine and Tomasz’s relationship. Who picked at it and picked at it until there was nothing but scraps of love left. Scraps that seemed impossible to thread back together. And then I left him. I abandoned everything – our life together, our future – and jetted off for a new start. And the worst bit is, I’m not even living happily ever after. I’m miserable and lonely and I’m beginning to realise how much I’ve been missing everyone. How much I’ve been missing out on. I want to hear about Dad’s veggies, I want to cook with Mum and I want to get to know my sister, to get beyond the annoying spats we had as kids. My sister is getting married and I’ve done nothing but complain instead of sharing her joy.
But it isn’t too late. I can be there for Heather. I can tell her how happy I am that she’s found the person she wants to spend the rest of her life with. How proud I am of her for working hard to achieve her dreams. They may not be the dreams she envisioned for herself in the beginning, but things change. People change. I didn’t get that. I thought Heather had failed by not escaping our childhood village, but who is happier right now? Me, in my one-bed apartment with a view of a brick wall and neighbours whose names I only know because their mail was once posted into the wrong mailbox? Where I have one friend, who I barely see these days because she’s moved to another state? Or Heather, with the husband-to-be who adores her, a job she loves, and her friends and family all within easy reach?
I can cook with Mum when I come home, and tell her how sorry I am that I’ve put such a distance between us, both physically and emotionally. And I can take an interest in Dad’s gardening. I may even pay proper attention to his political rants from time to time. It isn’t too late to mend the broken threads of my family, and Heather’s wedding has presented the perfect opportunity. All I have to do is get myself back on the plane.
‘I can’t come in.’
I start at the sound of Ed’s voice. I’ve been so lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t realised we’d made it to my front door.
‘I’ve got an early start.’ Ed shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He won’t meet my eye because the conversation I tried to start earlier is still hanging in the air. He steps forward, taking one hand out of his pocket so he can rest it on my shoulder as he stoops down to kiss me on the cheek, still avoiding eye contact. He’s about to pull away, but I snatch him to me, my arms around his shoulders, pulling him in close. My nostrils fill with the scent of warm leather as I burrow my face in his chest. I should have talked to him about the France thing but I can’t rush it and time’s running out.
‘I love you, Ed.’ I release him from my grip, but I don’t let him go completely. Not yet. My hands hold his face as I reach up on tiptoe to rest my forehead against his. ‘I always will. No matter what.’
I kiss him on the cheek and hope my words are enough.
The house is quiet when I step inside. Heather got a taxi to meet up with some old school friends in town and the others are already in bed. I creep up the stairs, pausing on the landing outside Mum and Dad’s room. I’ll be back soon, to put things right. I climb the narrow staircase up to my bedroom and kick off my sandals before easing myself down on the bed, reaching for the postcard Ed sent me almost a year ago. On the front is a picture of the Eiffel Tower, overlaid with facts about the country. I turn the postcard over and run my thumb over Ed’s words, over the mishmash of print and joined-up letters that is unique to him. I read these words over and over again while he was away, my heart aching with how much I missed him, counting down the months, the weeks, the days, the hours until he was home again.
I press the postcard to my chest now, wishing I’d taken more care of it. Been more like Mum and kept hold of everything that was important to me. If I could, I’d take this postcard with me. Rescue it. Because I will regret losing it forever.
I prop the postcard against the America fund jar and lie down on the bed, shattered suddenly. I close my eyes and will the roar to start, to let me know that I’m on my way back.
I don’t hear the roar. It’s another sound. Sharper. More piercing. And much more annoying.
‘Shurrup.’
My voice is slurred, my dry mouth struggling to form the words. I must have fallen asleep while I waited for the transfer to the plane and my eyes feel heavy as I peel them open. I shut them again. I’m not on the plane. I’m still in my loft bedroom. Still wearing the slip dress I wore to the pub. And the noise is coming from the set of drawers next to the bed.
I sit up, squinting against the light pouring through the window. The blind hasn’t been closed and the light is dazzling.
‘Shut up.’ I find the source of the noise: my alarm clock. ‘Ssh!’ I jab at the button to silence it and drop my face into my hands. I’m not on the plane. I’m still in Little Heaton, still seven years in the past judging by the crumpled dress I’m wearing. My handbag has dropped to the floor and I rifle through it in search of my phone, which confirms my suspicion that I haven’t travelled anywhere. It’s only a day later. I’m still reliving the past.
This can’t be right. I can’t still be here. Last time, I visited for just a day before I hopped back to the plane. Why am I hop-free?
My mouth is desert-dry. I need water. Or wine. Wine would be very good right now. Maybe things would start to make more sense if I was blind drunk. I stumble across the bedroom, my body still sluggish, still half-asleep, and move carefully down the two sets of stairs. Mum’s in the kitchen, filling the kettle, and she frowns at me as I stagger into the room.
‘Did you sleep in your clothes?’ Her voice is laced with judgement as she looks me up and down.
‘Yep.’ I yawn loudly as I head for the cupboard and it takes enormous effort to drag the door open and reach for a glass. I feel as though I’ve been hit by a truck.
‘What time did you get in last night?’
I shrug, leaning against the sink for support as I turn on the tap. ‘Just before midnight, I think.’
Mum’s tut is in sync with the switching on of the kettle. ‘No wonder you look like you’ve been dragged out of a cave. You need to get a decent night’s sleep.’
I turn the tap off and take a sip of the water. ‘I would have had a much better night’s sleep if my alarm hadn’t woken me up.’
‘But then you would have been late for work.’ Mum reaches up to open the cupboard and grab a mug. ‘Cup of tea?’
I shake my head as I groan. Work. I have to go to work. Here, in Little Heaton, back down on the bottom rung. And it isn’t as though the money will be worth the effort. Plus, I won’t even get to spend it, as presumably I’ll be spirited away back to the present day. This sucks.
It takes every ounce of energy I possess to drag myself back up the stairs. I get myself ready for work, pulling on the trousers and white tunic that makes up my chambermaid outfit, and head across the village. The commute isn’t bad, I suppose, and Little Heaton feels peaceful at this time of the morning while most people are still slumbering and the shops and the pubs aren’t open yet. There’s a stillness I’ve never experienced in LA, which had been a plus point – you can’t dwell on the past if you’re rushing forward – but I find I quite like hearing the birds chirruping as I head up the path towards the gates of the castle.
Durban Castle is fairy-tale-like beyond the gates, its turrets stretching up to towards the sky, the vast pale-bricked building surrounded by lush grass and wild flowers. There’s nowhere as pretty as this in the LA I inhabit. Nothing so dreamy or unconstrained. Everything was uniform in the places I ventured out into, with its grid-like roads and carefully spaced trees, and I wish I’d appreciated the rebellious nature of Little Heaton while I’d had the chance.
‘Name badge!’
The bark of the head housekeeper makes me jump as I step through the staff entrance at the side of the building, and my stomach lurches once I process her words. I’m not wearing my name badge and I have no idea where past me would have put it. On the drawers, next to the America fund jar? I can’t recall seeing it there when I picked up the postcard last night, but then I hadn’t been on the lookout for it. In my handbag? I unzip it and rifle through, but there’s no name badge to be found.
‘Well?’ Linda arches an eyebrow as my shoulders slump in defeat.
‘I don’t have it.’
Linda’s lips purse, scrunching up tight so there’s just a little pink, wrinkled ‘O’ where her mouth should be. She watches me with her mouth all puckered up for ages, as though the name badge will appear if she glares at me for long enough.
‘Your name badge is part of your uniform. Would you arrive at work without your trousers?’ Linda sweeps her hand in the general area of my legs.
‘It depends how drunk I’d got the night before.’
I think this is amusing. Linda does not, and the flaring nostrils of my manager wipe the smile straight off my face.
‘No.’ I look down at the carpet, which isn’t nearly as plush as it is out in the public areas of the castle. It isn’t shabby exactly, but your feet don’t sink into it. ‘I wouldn’t show up without my trousers.’ Which really isn’t the same as forgetting your name badge, especially when you haven’t worn that name badge for seven years. She’s lucky I’ve turned up at all if you think about it, because I’m going through the motions here, living the life of seven-years-ago-Elodie, but I don’t have to. I could tell Linda to stick the name badge up her arse and go and sit in the pub until I’m shaken out of this time-hop thing. I could strip off and run around the hotel in my undies and it wouldn’t matter because this isn’t really my life now. But then I remember the butterfly effect and reason that if I am overriding the past here, then getting sacked would impact my present-day self quite a lot.
‘Everything okay here?’
Linda stiffens, her shoulders jerking back and straightening her spine. I half expect her to salute as Gillian Quinn stops beside her.
‘Ms Parker has forgotten her name badge.’ Linda pierces me with her eyes even though she’s speaking to the hotel manager.
‘Oh dear.’ Gillian turns sharply and starts to stalk away. ‘Thank you, Linda. I’ll deal with this now. Come with me, Ms Parker.’
Linda’s lips twitch as she watches me leave. I bet she’s dying to rub her hands together with glee. I’m dying to tell her to get bent, but I resist and instead remain silent as I trail after Gillian. I need to not get sacked more than I need to vent, just in case my actions now do affect my future. We head along the corridor, turning off to the left, and then to the right. The castle is a warren of corridors and I’m not sure I’ll remember my way around. Linda will be thrilled if I get lost within the maze of passageways.
Gillian stops at one of the doors along the latest corridor, pushing down on the handle and swinging it open. She indicates that I should step inside her office before following me inside.
‘Take a seat, Ms Parker.’ She catches my eye and I realise she’s smirking. Mocking Linda. ‘Here.’ She sits down at her desk pulls open a drawer. She grabs something, which she pushes across the desk towards me. It’s a name badge, but it isn’t mine. It’s an old badge of Gillian’s, from when she was the events manager of the hotel. ‘It’ll have to do for today. It’ll keep Ms Peterson happy, at least.’
‘You think?’ I don’t mean to say it out loud, and I clamp a hand over my mouth, my eyes widening in shock. But Gillian snorts, her lips pressing together to prevent full-on laughter, and I’m reminded why we’re friends. Not now, seven years in the past, not yet. But we will be.
‘You have a point, but stick it on anyway, just in case. Linda can’t pull you up on not having a badge if I’ve told you to wear that one temporarily.’
‘Thank you.’ I pick up the badge and pin it to my top.
‘No worries.’ Gillian shrugs. ‘We all make mistakes, and this one is tiny in the grand scheme of things. There’s no need to make someone feel small over it.’
Gillian always was a good boss. She was firm when she needed to be but always fair. And she was kind and encouraging. I wouldn’t have fulfilled my America dream if it wasn’t for her. I bet if I’d offered to ask Gillian about the volunteer work for Ed’s young people, she’d have agreed to it. I could ask now. Float the idea and test my theory, even if it hadn’t actually happened in reality. It’s a good thing so it can’t have a negative impact on the future, surely.
‘I have this friend.’
Gillian had turned to her computer screen, probably expecting me to pin the badge on and scuttle off to start my morning duties, but she doesn’t look annoyed that I’m disturbing her work. Her eyebrows rise, ever so slightly, and she nods, encouraging me to go on.
‘He’s a youth worker.’ Why is my mouth so dry? This is Gillian. My friend. She’s seen me fall out of a cab onto the pavement, so drunk on champagne that my legs wouldn’t function properly. She’s seen me cry so much I was in danger of vomiting. And she’s still my friend, even when she’s seen me at my worst. She’s the only real friend I have out in America. ‘And he’s trying to organise some volunteer work for some of the people he works with. Some gardening, maybe? To give them a confidence boost. Something to put on their CV. That kind of thing.’
Gillian’s head tilts to one side. ‘And you want them to volunteer here? In the gardens?’
It’s hard to swallow, but I give it a go. ‘Maybe. If it was something the hotel was up for.’
Gillian holds my gaze for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. I’m regretting asking when she finally speaks.
‘Leave it with me. No promises, but I’ll look into it.’
I sag against my seat. ‘That’s brilliant. Thank you so much.’
‘No worries. It’s a great idea in theory.’
I push back my chair and stand up while Gillian turns back to the computer screen, but I hesitate as I reach the door. Dare I push this a bit further?
‘Gillian?’ I dare. I’m shocked but pleased. ‘You don’t happen to have any jobs going, do you? For my sister? She’s home for the summer and is looking for some temp work.’
Gillian grabs the mouse, her eyes still on her computer screen. ‘If she’s as hardworking as you are, then definitely. Get her to shoot her CV over.’
‘Brilliant. Thanks again.’ I propel myself out of the office and into the corridor before I start asking for a promotion. Two favours in one morning is enough.
I look up and down the corridor, the passage stretching on and on both ways. I need to find my way to the breakfast room, and fast, before hungry guests start to arrive and Linda gets in another tizz.