Our Last Summer by Jennifer Joyce
Chapter 20
Being back behind the reception desk at the hotel isn’t too bad; I can still remember how to manage the switchboard and use the booking systems, and the admin is light, with just a bit of photocopying and filing to do. It’s a lovely day, with no sign of the rain from the weekend, and Gillian joins me out in the courtyard to the side of the castle, where we sit on the iron bench under the shade of a tree. Heather’s working in the restaurant over the summer again and she stops by the reception desk before the start of her shift.
‘Hey, you.’ She grins at me, really, really wide and toothy, as though seeing me is the highlight of her year. Which is sweet but a bit weird and I’m not quite used to the new dynamic that has developed between us. As lovely as spending the long weekend with her at the festival was, I’d never in a million years imagined I’d willingly choose to go camping with my sister. It’s an adjustment and living the past few summers in brief snatches hasn’t given me the same amount of time to wrap my head around it as Heather.
‘Hey.’ I try to return the smile as enthusiastically as my sister but I’m not sure my mouth can physically stretch that much. ‘Recovered from the weekend yet?’ Mentioning the weekend makes me want to yawn. I woke up feeling pretty refreshed but I seemed to hit a brick wall of fatigue around lunchtime and I’m becoming increasingly knackered as the afternoon wears on. I’d quite like to curl up on the floor behind the reception desk and have a nap but unfortunately I’m not a cat with an idle day ahead of me.
‘What? Oh. Yeah. The weekend was great.’ Heather grins at me again. It’s quickly dropped its sweetness and is now simply weird.
‘Aren’t you going to be late for your shift?’
‘Nope.’ Heather leans her elbows on the reception desk and rests her chin on upturned palms, tilting her head so she’s looking up at me. ‘Got ten minutes. It’s fine.’ Her lips spring into life again, stretching to reveal her gnashers. I take a step back, unnerved by the display. This is getting creepy now. What the hell is going on with my sister? Heather has always been annoying but this is different. This is disturbing. Have I done something to upset the world as we know it with my time-travelling? It’s an odd leap from getting a tattoo to turning my sister into a psychopathic grinner but doesn’t the butterfly effect theorise that the small action of the flap of a butterfly’s wing can cause a typhoon or something? Or maybe she took something over the weekend. Something slow-reacting that’s only now taking effect. I’d prefer that option, if I’m honest, because it’d mean it isn’t my fault that my sister is broken.
Heather continues to beam at me, her eyebrows rising as I look down at her and her unnerving grin. Eventually, when I’ve done nothing but plan my escape route should things get even creepier, Heather heaves out a giant sigh. She straightens and folds her arms across her chest.
‘I can’t believe you haven’t noticed.’
‘Noticed what?’ That my sister has taken a strange turn? I’ve definitely clocked that. I couldn’t miss it.
‘My teeth.’
I nearly laugh, because I couldn’t miss them with her shoving them in my face like the Cheshire cat.
‘My braces.’ She bares her teeth again, this time jabbing her index fingers in their direction.
‘Your braces.’ My shoulders slump and I do laugh this time as I’m flooded with relief. ‘They’re gone!’
‘Finally.’ She juts her chin in the air and side-eyes me.
‘How does it feel?’
Heather runs her tongue over her naked teeth. ‘Weird. I’m so used to them being there.’ She runs her tongue over her teeth again. ‘I’m sure I’ll get used to it though.’
‘I’m sure you will, and you look great.’
Heather rolls her eyes. ‘You didn’t even notice they were gone.’
This is totally unfair. Yes, I didn’t click straight away, but I’m more used to seeing Heather without the braces than with these days. For me, Heather’s braces have been gone for six years, so it isn’t that I’m unobservant. Not at all.
‘Anyway, I’m off to start my shift.’ Heather takes a couple of steps away from the desk. ‘Gio’s on tonight and I love it when he yells at me for getting orders wrong.’ She fans her face with her hand. ‘I think I might accidentally drop a plate tonight. That really gets him going.’
The mention of the ‘accidental’ plate-drop gets me thinking about Ed. I’m still not sure what I can do to prevent an accident that isn’t going to happen for another year but now I know for sure that I can prevent it, I need to keep him close so I can seize any possible chances to save him. I want to wrap my arms around him, hold him tight, tell him that he isn’t going to leave me after all. Ed is going to live. He is going to live the happy, fulfilled life he deserves.
Ed’s dad died when Ed was a baby so Laura moved back in with her father until she married Jim and they moved into their own cottage. The vicarage was sold a couple of years ago – after Reverend Carter had left the village and his replacement was housed in a more modest cottage – and is now a B&B that sleeps nine, with a sauna, gym and hot tub. Laura and Ed’s cottage is tiny in comparison, with two bedrooms tucked into the eaves and an open-plan kitchen and living area, but it’s always felt warmer than the reverend’s place. Less showy and much more cluttered but bursting at the seams with love. The garden to the front is minuscule, barely big enough to fit the set of wheelie bins beneath the window, but there are hanging baskets bookending the glossy red front door, spilling tiny blue and pink flowers, with a pair of potted conifers underneath. The knocker is a brass hare, and I smile as I think about all the times I’ve rapped at the door with him over the years. Too many to count.
‘Elodie!’ Laura beams at me when she sees me on the doorstep but her smile quickly dims. ‘Is everything all right? With your mum? Your gran?’
‘Everything’s fine.’
‘That’s good.’ The beam returns, but only for a moment before a slight frown appears on her face. ‘Would you like to come in? We’re out in the garden.’ It seems a bit odd – Laura wouldn’t usually ask if I’d like to come in – the door would be opened and I’d bound inside in search of Ed – but she opens the door wider and steps aside after the initial hesitancy. The door leads straight into the living area, with a narrow staircase opposite leading up to the bedrooms and shower room, and two large, squishy sofas take up most of the living room to the side. Beyond, separated by a small breakfast bar, is the kitchen and the door leading out to the garden. While the cottage is petite, the outdoor space at the back is vast, with a long, narrow lawn stretching out towards the hills beyond. A stone path leads to a patio area, where Jim and Reverend Carter are sitting on rattan chairs beneath a wide parasol.
‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ Laura pauses on the threshold while I step out into the garden. There’s a tea tray set on the table, with a tea-cosied pot and matching cups and saucers, and a plate of bourbon creams and pink wafers. The tea set is for the reverend’s benefit; Laura usually has her tea in one of the mismatched mugs from the cupboard.
‘No thank you.’ I move my gaze away from the reverend, who’s relaxed back in his chair with feet crossed at the ankles, nodding along to whatever it is Jim is saying. Loathing boils in the pit of my stomach, threatening to spill over. ‘I just popped over to see Ed.’
Laura has started to walk along the stone path towards the patio, but she stops to turn back to me. ‘He isn’t here, sweetheart.’
As a youth worker, Ed often worked in the evenings. I should have sent him a text but I was too focused on seeing him, away from the festival, away from the others.
‘Do you know what time he finishes work today?’
Laura shakes her head. ‘No idea. Sorry. Why don’t you give him a ring?’ She jerks her head towards the table. ‘Are you sure you won’t have a cup of tea with us, while you’re here?’
I look again at Reverend Carter. I’d rather wear shoes filled with dog shit than sit with that man. Why Ed ever listened to a word he said is a mystery to me and I can’t stomach having to look at him, having to listen to him, and there aren’t enough pink wafers in the world that could entice me over to that table.
‘Thanks but I should get going.’ I’m already backing away, back into the kitchen. ‘I’ll see myself out.’ I hear Laura and Jim calling out their goodbyes but I’m already striding across the kitchen, away from that man. I’ve always blamed Sacha for what happened to Ed, but surely the reverend has to take some responsibility too. If it wasn’t for him, for his evil words …
‘Hello?’
I’ve dialled Ed’s number while I scurry through the cottage, and he picks up as I’m closing the gate behind me. It’s a relief to hear his voice, as though seeing his grandfather will have made him vanish all over again. But he’s here. He’s still here.
‘Hi.’ I try hard to keep my voice casual, pushing down the dread and anxiety Reverend Carter has brought on. ‘I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink or something? After work?’
‘I’m not in work. Booked an extra day off. I didn’t fancy facing all those kids with a hangover I’d been curating for four days. Though I don’t feel too bad, actually. Definitely up for a drink.’
‘Great.’ I place a hand on my stomach, hoping the churning will stop now. ‘Where are you?’
‘At home.’
I stop. Turn to face the cottage I’ve just left. Frown. ‘No, you’re not.’
Ed snorts out a little laugh. ‘I am. Been here all day, apart from when I had to go out for bread and milk. A bar of chocolate fell into my basket as well. For medicinal purposes, obviously.’
‘You’re not at home.’ I’m still watching the cottage. Still frowning.
‘I definitely am. Ask Yvonne. She’s been moaning at me since she got home.’ I hear Yvonne in the background, yelling about Ed being a lazy arse. ‘She’s just jealous because she had to go into work this morning while I had a massive lie-in. Didn’t get up until after one. Ow.’ Ed laughs. ‘And now she’s chucking stuff at me. Do not throw that. I swear if you do …’
Ed is at home, but his home is no longer at the cottage with Laura and Jim. I’d forgotten that he moved into the flat above the hairdresser’s with Yvonne after Christmas, once the sale of the salon and flat had gone through and Shaz had moved out. Yvonne had asked me if I’d wanted to move into the second bedroom but I’d decided to stay at home, where I paid minimal board and could funnel as much money into the America fund as I could, so Ed had taken it instead. A fresh wave of exhaustion crashes into me. This time travel stuff is hard to keep up with sometimes.
Ed and Yvonne meet me at the pub. We sit outside under the newly erected pergola, with music playing through the attached speakers. Later, as it grows dark, the strings of amber lights draped along the roof will give off a magical feel and outdoor heaters will make sure we keep warm, but for now we enjoy the evening sunshine. I haven’t eaten since my lunchbreak, so I fill up on smoky bacon crisps and roasted peanuts. Otis phones while I’m on my way to the loo, but it’s just a quick call, just checking in, really, and I remember that’s one of the things I liked most about our relationship. It wasn’t full-on. We weren’t in each other’s pockets. After living in a close-knit community, not knowing every little thing about the other person had been refreshing.
‘I’m quitting.’ Yvonne plonks a tray of drinks down on the table before throwing herself down in her seat.
‘As a barmaid?’ Ed lifts up one of the drinks, watching as lager drips from the bottom into the puddle on the tray. ‘I don’t think anyone would hire you in the first place.’
Yvonne gives him a dark look. She is not in the mood for playing. ‘As a hairdresser. Or rather, as a hairdresser at Lady Dye. It’s so shite since Carolina took over: the hours, the fact we have to share our tips, the lack of innovation.’
Ed lifts his eyebrows at Yvonne’s use of the word ‘innovation’ but cleverly keeps his gob shut and instead takes a sip of his pint. He doesn’t even complain about the drips on his T-shirt.
‘I suggested I go on a course for eyebrow-threading, so we could expand our services – I was even going to pay for it myself – and she said no. She said our clients don’t want their eyebrows threading. They want a cut and blow or a shampoo and set. I said maybe they’d want their eyebrows threading if we offered it, but she just walked away and told me to sweep the floor.’
‘To be fair, I don’t think the likes of Christine Gacey wants their eyebrows shaping.’
Yvonne slaps Ed on the arm. ‘But that’s my point. Our clientele is mainly pensioners, but that’s because we only cater for pensioners. That place hasn’t been updated since 1985. If we update it, bring it up to modern standards, maybe we’d get younger clients. Clients who want their eyebrows threading or a bit of nail art. We don’t just have to stick to curling grannies’ hair. Do you know what the old butcher’s is opening as?’ Yvonne looks from Ed to me. She folds her arms and sits back in her chair. ‘A tanning shop. Now, you tell me the likes of Christine Gacey is getting a spray tan. So there must be other customers in mind. Customers we should be encouraging through our doors.’
‘Oi.’ I playfully tap Ed’s hand as he reaches for my bag of nuts. ‘Get your own.’ I wait for Ed’s best wounded look before I offer him the packet. ‘You never know, Carolina might not last that long.’
Yvonne’s eyes widen. ‘You mean she might snuff it? Why? What’ve you heard? Is it cancer? Because she’s always chaining it out the back. And then she makes me sweep up the cigarette butts from the yard, obviously.’ Yvonne snatches up her drink, flicking out droplets of lager, and mutters something about Carolina being a lazy cow.
‘I mean she might sell up.’
Yvonne scrunches up her nose. ‘So what? I’ll only end up with someone else with no vision. And the flat.’ She nudges Ed with her foot. ‘If Carolina goes, we might lose the flat.’
‘But you probably won’t.’ In fact, I know they won’t. The new owner will keep them on as tenants, and he’ll modernise the salon. Maybe not to the extent that Yvonne is envisioning, but they’ll get a new set of backwashes and a rebrand. He’ll even throw in a bit of paint to spruce the place up.
‘But we might.’
‘That’s the way it goes with renting, I suppose.’ Ed shrugs as he shoves the last couple of peanuts in his mouth. ‘There’s no guarantee.’
‘I guess not, but there’s no way we could afford a place round here. Have you seen the price of the new houses they’re building? I wouldn’t be able to afford one of those in a million years. I’m screwed if Carolina sells the salon.’
Well, there goes my attempt to comfort my best friend with my insider knowledge. I haven’t made her feel better. If anything, I’ve made her more anxious for the future.