Our Last Summer by Jennifer Joyce
Chapter 16
I think I’m stuck in the past. It’s been a week since the fishing trip at the wild flower meadow and I’m still here in the village instead of thousands of feet up in the sky in the present day. Heather’s staying with her mates for the weekend, Gran has refused to leave her armchair while Wimbledon’s on and Dad’s spent every free minute patrolling the garden for pests eager to chomp through his crop. Life has continued with no hint that I’ll be going back to my real life any time soon and, with every day that passes, I’ve become more convinced that I’ve hallucinated a life spanning several years into the future.
‘Are you sure you won’t come with us?’ Mum’s hovering by the living room door, one foot in the room, the other in the hallway. She’s going into town to watch the Absolutely Fabulous film with Laura. Part of me does want to go with her because I’ve already seen the film and if I can predict the plot beforehand, it’ll prove that I haven’t made up the next few years at all.
‘I can’t. I’m meeting the others once I’ve changed.’ I’ve not long got back from work and am still wearing my uniform. ‘We’re going for a bike ride.’
‘Are you sure you won’t join us?’ Mum’s addressing Gran this time, but she simply waves the question away, her eyes never leaving the television screen. It’s the men’s final, between Andy Murray and Milos Raonic. She definitely won’t want to miss this. I’d quite like to watch it too as it’s another way to settle the time travel versus delusion debate that’s going on in my head. But I leave Gran to her tennis and go upstairs to change, shoving on a pair of leggings and a T-shirt. My old bike is in the shed and I’m pleased to see it isn’t too rusted. We used to ride our bikes all the time – Ed, Yvonne and I – and we’d ride to our secondary school and back each day because it was more convenient than waiting around for the crappy bus service. I haven’t sat on a bike for years though – at least not one that isn’t static at the gym – so I’m hoping the saying about never forgetting is true.
I wheel the bike through to the front of the house, guiding it out of the garden and out onto the road where I climb onto the seat, one foot on the pedal, the other safely on the ground. I take a deep breath. I can do this. The handlebars wobble, but then I’m off, sailing past the cricket grounds and across the iron bridge. Yvonne and Tomasz are already waiting at the war memorial, Yvonne straddling the familiar red bike with the black seat and handlebars. Tomasz’s bike is silver and black and without a hint of rust.
‘Look at you with your fancy new bike.’ I pick at a piece of loose paint on the handlebars of my bike. It flakes off and flutters to the ground.
‘It’s my dad’s. He bought it last year but I don’t think it’s been further than the Farmer’s Arms.’
‘If you were going to borrow a bike, you should have gone with Sacha’s.’ Yvonne twists her hands back and forth over the handlebars of her own bike and makes revving noises. ‘I’d have hitched a lift.’
‘I don’t think you’d have wanted a lift with me. I don’t have a licence. I’ve never even had a lesson, so we’d probably end up wrapped around a tree.’
I wince at Tomasz’s words, but Yvonne isn’t put off. ‘But at least I wouldn’t have to pedal. I’m knackered already and we haven’t even left the village yet. Whose stupid idea was this bike ride anyway?’
‘It was mine.’ Dominic skids to a stop beside us. Like me and Yvonne, his bike is old, probably pre-dating even ours. The tyres are super-thin and the handlebars curl round like rams’ horns and the blue paint of the frame has faded to a pale grey, apart from a few sparse patches.
‘Cool bike.’ Yvonne is smirking as she says this. ‘Where’d you get it? The Antiques Roadshow?’
‘Close. It was in storage at my grandparents’ with a load of dusty old junk. I think it was my dad’s.’ Dominic pats the curly handlebar. ‘Still works though.’
Yvonne bursts out laughing, but it isn’t Dominic’s vintage bike that’s causing the amusement. She’s looking past Dominic and when I turn, I see Ed pedalling towards us in what at first glance appears to be a retro bike with a cream and brown frame but is much more modern on closer inspection.
‘Nice basket.’ Yvonne is trying to keep a straight face but is failing. Hard. ‘Whose bike is that? Your mum’s?’
‘First of all, the basket is indeed very nice. I brought snacks.’ Ed reaches into the wicker-style basket and pulls out a bulging carrier bag. ‘And second of all, no, it isn’t my mum’s bike. I’ve borrowed it from the church hall. I think it’s getting flogged in the jumble sale at the summer fair next week so it won’t be missed.’
‘What happened to your own bike?’ Yvonne turns her bike round and we set off towards the iron bridge.
‘My grandad happened to my own bike.’ Ed dings the bell attached to his handlebar three times as we pass a woman with three yapping dogs. ‘You know what he’s like – he’ll haul anything you take your eyes off for a minute to the church hall. He’s very charitable, though he never seems to donate his own stuff. My poor bike helped pay for the cracked window at the back of the church.’
‘He must have got at least fifty pence for that old thing.’ I shoot Ed a grin and he responds by sticking his tongue out at me before speeding up to join Dominic at the front of the pack. Ed hasn’t said anything to me about the France thing, but me bringing it up in the meadow last week hasn’t made things awkward between us, which is a relief.
‘Where are we actually going?’ Yvonne is already red in the face and we haven’t even made it to the bridge yet, never mind out of the village.
‘Wherever we like.’ Dominic glances behind from where he’s leading the bike ride to call out his answer.
‘I’d like to go home.’ Yvonne grimaces as she pedals harder to keep up.
Yvonne complains until we stop for a break at a reservoir, laying our bikes down on the grass beside a picnic bench. The reservoir and surrounding area are picturesque, with lush trees reflected in the water, and the top of a church’s stone tower can be seen in the distance. There’s wildlife all around, with ducks and swans on the water, birds and squirrels in the trees, and butterflies fluttering around. It feels open, vast, but also sheltered and protected at the same time. A tranquil space only half an hour’s ride from Little Heaton and yet somewhere I hadn’t explored until now.
Ed empties his plastic bag of goodies out on the table and we gorge on sour cream Pringles, Haribo Supermix and sharing bags of Maltesers and Revels. A couple pass, nodding in acknowledgement as they call for their dog when he sniffs at our snacks, but other than that we’re out here on our own.
‘Didn’t you think to bring any drinks?’ Yvonne lifts the empty Maltesers bag, as though a bottle of water might be hiding under there.
‘Did you?’ Ed folds his arms across his chest, a proper miffed look on his face.
‘I haven’t got a pretty little basket on my bike.’ Yvonne lifts the Revels packet. There’s no water under there, but an undetected chocolate rolls out onto the table. Yvonne snatches it up and pops it into her mouth, scrunching up her nose after a couple of chomps. ‘Ugh. Coffee. Now I really need a drink to take the minging taste away.’
Ed twists in his seat, so he’s facing the reservoir. ‘There’s a load of water right there. Go nuts.’
‘We passed a kiosk.’ I swing my legs over the bench and stand up. ‘I’ll go and get us some drinks.’
‘I’ll give you a hand.’ Tomasz gathers up the empty wrappers and tubes from the table, shoving them in the bin we pass. Ed and Yvonne are still bickering, their voices growing quieter as we follow the path’s curve. The trees are overhanging, giving a welcome relief from the hot sun. It’s no wonder Ed and Yvonne are cranky.
‘It’s hot today.’ I reach up to touch my head, where my parting exposes the now-tight skin. I should have worn a hat. It’s the first time Tomasz and I have been alone during this summer and I feel shy and awkward, which is ridiculous. I know this man inside out. I know all his secrets. His dreams. Or at least I used to. Maybe he has new dreams now with someone else.
Tomasz pulls at the collar of his T-shirt. ‘Yeah. It is.’ He picks up a rock and studies its smoothness before rejecting it back onto the path.
‘Didn’t Holly fancy a bike ride?’ It’s the first time I’ve brought her up and it feels weird talking about his girlfriend. My shoulders stiffen and I have to force her name out of my mouth.
‘It’s her sister’s birthday. They’re going shopping and getting manicures or something.’
I didn’t know Holly had a sister. I didn’t know much about her, to be honest, because I’d never bothered to find out. She was around for a few months and then she was gone, leaving nothing behind but a gift-wrapped bottle of perfume that Tomasz gave to his mum instead. Holly hadn’t really registered all that much the first time round because I wasn’t all that interested in Tomasz’s love life. But I am now. I’m jealous of the time she gets to spend with him. How open she can be with him, because I’ve been holding everything in and I think I may implode.
‘Do you …?’ I tail off, not sure I can ask. Not sure I can take the answer. ‘Do you love her?’
‘Holly?’ Tomasz stoops down to pick up a rock. ‘I like her. A lot. But I don’t think I love her.’ He skims the rock across the reservoir and we watch it bounce across the water – once, twice, three times, plop. ‘Is that bad?’
I shake my head. ‘It isn’t bad at all.’ It’s flipping fantastic. I want to do a happy little jig but I fight it, scooping up a smooth-looking rock for Tomasz instead.
‘I don’t look at her the way Ed looks at you.’ Tomasz skims the rock but it fails to skip across the water and instead dunks straight under the surface.
I pull back my chin. ‘You think Ed looks as me as though he’s in love with me?’
‘Isn’t he?’
I think about Ed. About France. I shake my head. ‘No, Ed isn’t in love with me.’
‘Are you …?’ Tomasz pulls at the collar of his T-shirt. It’s still hot despite the shade of the trees. ‘Are you in love with him?’
My stomach starts to churn and I feel my pulse pick up its pace. I’m going to do it, whatever the consequences, because what’s the worst that can happen? I’ve already lost Tomasz and Ed in the future and this could be my one chance to grasp a bit of happiness, even if it’s only short-lived. I’m going to do it. Now. Goodbye, scaredy-cat Elodie Parker. Make way for the braver version who’s going to tell Tomasz that I’m not in love with Ed. That it’s him I’m in love with.