Our Last Summer by Jennifer Joyce
Chapter 21
‘Now remember, love, just try to be calm. You’ll get there. It takes practice, that’s all.’
Dad’s words are encouraging. His face is not. It’s all scrunched up, apart from his eyes, which are wide and darting from my hand on the handbrake and the road ahead. We’re sitting in his car, still parked up outside the house, and he’s already in panic mode. As well as paying for lessons, I’d been practising my driving with Dad.
‘Take it easy now. No rush.’ His eyes bulge even further as I move off, and my smile of satisfaction as it goes smoothly does nothing to ease his anxiety. ‘Eyes on the road, Elodie! Eyes on the bloody road!’ He’s clinging on to the dashboard as though he’s on a speeding, loop-the-loop rollercoaster and not going at five miles an hour along a residential street.
‘What happened to keeping calm?’ I speed up, moving up into second gear as we near the cricket grounds.
‘You’re right. Sorry.’ Dad takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He repeats this, finishing off with a nod of his head. ‘You’re actually doing really well.’
‘You sound surprised.’
‘Last time we came out, you nearly took out the war memorial.’
‘It came out of nowhere.’ I turn to smirk at Dad, but he jabs his finger towards the windscreen, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull again. ‘I remember that day. I was swerving to avoid the pigeon.’
I also remember Dad’s fury, his hand clutching his chest after he’d screamed at me to pull over. His ‘sod the bloody pigeon. That can fly out of the bloody way. That can’t’. His hand had trembled as he pointed at the war memorial. Which was still standing. I hadn’t even clipped it with my wing mirror. Dad was being dramatic.
‘I’ll never forget it.’ Dad clutches his chest, as though his heart is still going at a million beats per minute, as though it hadn’t happened six years ago. Though, thinking about it, it hadn’t been six years for Dad. Maybe it hadn’t even been six days.
‘Sorry. It won’t happen again.’
‘I hope not.’ Dad points up ahead. ‘We’re going to turn right. What do we on the approach?’
I carry out the manoeuvre, and Dad’s impressed with the ease and accuracy of my driving until we reach the high street and a motorbike zooms right at us. There’s an animalistic yelp from Dad, a cross between a screech and a whimper, before he waves his arms around.
‘On the left! On the bastard left!’
I move over just in time, narrowly avoiding the motorbike, which I’m pretty sure is going too fast.
‘Pull over.’ Dad’s voice cracks. I think he’s going to cry and he’s clutching his chest again. ‘Please, for the love of Mary and every other bugger in the Bible, pull over.’
I pull up outside the salon. I can see Yvonne inside, her bum wiggling to whatever’s playing on the radio as she snips at her client’s hair. The new owner stands at the window, mug of tea in hand, probably wondering where all the customers are. I watch her take a sip of the tea instead of looking at Dad because I don’t want to see the fury or the fear – whichever has claimed dominance – on his face.
‘That was …’ Dad takes a deep, shaky breath. ‘My God, Elodie. My life just flashed before my eyes. I think I saw Jesus. What were you thinking?’
I was thinking I was still in LA. I’m so used to driving in the US that I was on the wrong side of the road. It’s an easy mistake to make. Frightening, obviously, and I doubt Dad will ever sit in a car with me as the driver ever again, but understandable under the circumstances.
‘Sorry, Dad.’ I turn away from the salon but I still can’t look at him, my gaze fixed on my lap instead. I hear the rumble, growing louder and louder, and I expect to be flung back onto my flight with Dolly. I’m half looking forward to it because although I haven’t saved Ed yet, I’m not exactly thrilled that I’ve just made my dad swear. He never swears – not the bad ones, anyway, not even when he’s ranting about the Tory government. There’s the odd bugger (so to speak) but never anything stronger. But it isn’t the time travel thing claiming me back. It’s the motorbike, heading back our way. Sacha stops right in front of us, his tyre almost touching the car’s bumper, and when he removes his helmet, he’s glaring right at me. He stomps his way to my window, which I wind down just a little bit, keeping my finger on the button, ready to roll it back up should the need arise.
‘What the fuck was that?’
I swallow and try to arrange my features into a look of contrition. ‘Sorry about that. It was totally my fault.’
‘Of course it was your fault. You were on the wrong fucking side of the road.’
‘Now, now.’ Dad leans across to speak to Sacha. ‘There’s no need for language like that.’
‘You what? She could have fucking killed me. She shouldn’t be behind the wheel.’
She could have fucking killed me.Is that the answer to the Ed dilemma? Off Sacha before he kills my best friend? I’ll admit it’s a tad dark, but it’s something to mull over.
Dad holds a finger up at Sacha. ‘She’s a learner, as you can see from the L-plates clearly visible, and you didn’t help with the speed you were going at. What were you doing then, son? Do you even know how fast you were going? Because it wasn’t within the limit, was it now?’
Sacha kicks at a stone, his jaw clenching. ‘Just be more fucking careful, yeah?’ He continues to glare at me as he climbs back on his bike, and I know he’s still glowering even when the helmet goes on and the visor’s down.
‘Thanks for that, Dad.’ I pat him on the knee as Sacha roars away from view.
‘Don’t thank me.’ Dad unclips his seatbelt. ‘I agreed with every word he said. Even the bad ones.’ I nod. I can’t argue with that. ‘Do you know what that pillock did the other week? He tore through the kiddies’ playground on that bike. One of the little girls was so scared she wet herself on the slide. But do you know what? I’m sorry to say it, Elodie, love, but I’d feel much safer on the back of his bike than in this car with you behind the wheel.’ He opens the door and twists his feet out onto the pavement. ‘I’ll drive us home.’
Later, in the pub, Ed thinks my account of the driving lesson is hilarious. Yvonne is only interested in how sexy Sacha looked while angry.
‘Where is he, anyway?’ She looks around the pub. Micha Nowak is behind the bar while her husband is collecting glasses from the pool table area, ribbing Tomasz about the shot he’s just taken. Even Franciszek and Irene are sitting in the alcove, enjoying a drink after their walk. The whole Nowak family is here apart from Sacha.
Ed catches my eye and flicks his gaze up to the ceiling, giving his head a small shake. ‘Nottingham, probably. He’s there most weekends. But what does it matter?’
‘It matters to me.’
‘But why?’ Ed places his hand on top of Yvonne’s. ‘Look, you know I love you to death, even though you’re a nightmare to live with and be around in general, but this crush is getting ridiculous. It’s been, what? Two years? If nothing’s happened by now, I don’t think it ever will.’
If only that were true.
Yvonne snatches her hand away from under Ed’s. ‘You don’t know that.’
‘No, you’re right, I don’t know for sure, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.’ Ed picks up his empty glass and stands up. ‘Another?’
I shake my head – I’m due in work in ten minutes – but Yvonne says it’s the least he can do for bringing her down with the Sacha thing.
‘He’s right though, don’t you think?’ Ed’s at the bar, being served by Micha, so I inch closer to Yvonne into the space he’s left. ‘Nothing’s happened with Sacha over the past couple of years. Nothing even close. You should move on. Find someone who deserves you.’
I’ve decided – selfishly – that I couldn’t handle a life stretch behind bars, so I’m not going to go down the murder route to save Ed. Instead, I’m going to go about it in a more roundabout way. If I can prevent the drama of that night from happening, Sacha and Ed will never be on the bike in the first place, and the best way to do that is to steer Yvonne away from Sacha.
‘But I don’t want to move on.’ A smile flickers on Yvonne’s face. ‘He’s the one for me. I know he is.’
‘But why?’ I can’t think of any redeeming features. Yes, he’s good-looking, but he’s also moody and selfish and about as much fun as tap-dancing barefoot over Lego. I don’t recall ever seeing him smile, at least not through genuine happiness. And then there’s the Ronnie thing. Sacha is trouble.
‘I can just feel it.’ Yvonne closes her eyes, a smile playing at her lips, and I know she’s imagining a blissful future Sacha simply won’t deliver. I don’t want to take a giant pin and burst her daydream, but I can’t let my best friend sleepwalk into something that will devastate her – and everyone around her.
‘Sacha isn’t the one for you. He isn’t good enough for you.’
Yvonne’s eyes flick open. The smile is gone. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘Because it’s true.’ And because I know what will happen. I’ve been there and seen it play out already. Sacha Nowak is a liar and a cheat and I wish none of us had ever met him.
‘It isn’t true at all. How would you feel if I told you that Otis wasn’t right for you?’
I’d feel that Yvonne’s words were true. But again, this is only with the power of having lived through these events before. Otis is no more my true love than Sacha is Yvonne’s, and it’s something I’m going to have to face up to. But not now. Now I have to get to work.
‘Just think about what we’ve said today.’ I stand up and reach out to place my hand on Yvonne’s shoulder, but she flinches away. I need to tread very carefully with this, because as much as I need to save Ed, I don’t want to sacrifice my friendship with Yvonne in the process.
There’s a weird atmosphere when I arrive at the hotel. Whispers. Shifty looks between staff. Is someone getting sacked? Is it me? Because I’ve been on top form these past few days, even if I do say so myself. They’re paying for a receptionist/admin assistant but they’re getting someone with much more experience and expertise right now.
I scurry to the restaurant before my shift starts. If Heather’s here, she’ll know what’s going on. She’s that sort of person. The kind who knows the right people to befriend so you’re always up to date on gossip, so you’re always one of the first to know what’s going on. We’ve curled up on her bed gossiping and venting about work for the past few nights and it’s been nice having someone to chat with who gets it. Who I don’t have to explain everything to when I want to moan about Linda, or Marv and his drunken overfriendliness, or one of the others. It’s like having a shorthand between us, so we can get straight to stuff that’s irking us rather than having to wade through backstory first.
But Heather isn’t on shift tonight so I have to leg it back to reception still in the dark. I’m checking a couple in when I spot Gillian crossing the foyer. She has her jacket draped over her arm and her handbag slung over her shoulder, so she must be on her way home. I rush through the rest of my welcoming spiel – directing the couple to the lift, which floor to head up to, do they need a hand with their luggage? – before I run after the manager. Gillian’s at her car by the time I make it through the doors, her fob aimed, and I clatter down the stone steps, almost breaking my ankle on the loose gravel as I throw myself across the car park.
‘Gillian!’ I wave my hand about as I near, hoping to catch her attention. She’s sitting in her car now but she hasn’t closed the door behind her.
‘Everything all right?’ Gillian twists her legs out of the car, readying herself to step out again.
‘Everything’s fine.’ I hope. ‘I just wanted a quick word. About my performance.’ My palms are sweating. I can’t have travelled back in time and wrecked my career. That would be totally unfair. Plus, it’d leave me stuck here in Little Heaton. I really must be careful with how much I’m changing. One flutter of a wing can balls up my life. ‘I hope you don’t think I was wasting time setting up that database for the staff benefits yesterday? It’s just Lawrence asked me how many friends and family passes he had left for the gym, and then Aggie wanted to know how many discounted drinks Marv had on his shift last night as she thinks he’s taking advantage, and I thought it would save time in the long run to have all that information in one place, where it’s easy to pull up the data.’
Gillian holds up a hand. ‘The database is fine. Brilliant, in fact.’
‘So I’m not getting sacked?’
Gillian laughs. ‘Why would you think you’re getting sacked?’
I shrug. It seems silly now. The odd atmosphere and furtive looks could have been my imagination.
‘I just thought maybe I’d overstepped the mark. Nobody asked me to set up the database.’
Gillian shakes her head before resting it on one side. ‘Not at all. I’m impressed by your initiative. In fact, I’m so impressed by your work lately that I was going to run something by you tomorrow, but we might as well do it now.’ Gillian claps her hands together. ‘How would you like to help organise the Christmas Food and Drink Festival? It’ll mean more responsibility, and a lot more admin, so you’ll be working in the office a lot of the time rather than on reception.’ She twists so her feet are back in the car. ‘You don’t have to answer now. We can talk about it more tomorrow.’ She reaches for the door. ‘Keep up the good work, Elodie. It isn’t going unnoticed.’
She pulls the door shut and I head back inside. I’m not getting sacked. I’m doing a good job and being given more opportunities. I’m definitely on the right track out of Little Heaton. Which is absolutely what I want. Isn’t it?