Our Last Summer by Jennifer Joyce

Chapter 27

I still have to work because as much as I want to drop everything and shout about how in love with Tomasz Nowak I am, losing my job will seriously hinder our new life in California. So it isn’t until it’s growing dark that I get to catch up with him properly. The grounds are lit up by now, from the path lights and the strings of fairy lights and from the castle itself, and it’s giving off extremely romantic vibes as we wander past the stalls. We buy chocolate-dipped strawberries to share as we make our way towards the stage. The area is heaving so we’re pretty far back, almost perching on a display of artisan bread from one of the stalls.

My break is over and I should be back on work mode but I stay by Tomasz’s side, and when the first firework screeches up into the sky, I don’t look up and follow its track like everybody else. My gaze is on Tomasz, making up for all those times I refused to see him. For the four years when I ignored the calls and messages and emails because I couldn’t face up to what I had done. What I had walked away from. I want to explain to Tomasz. To tell him that I never stopped loving him. That I didn’t mean all those things I said after the accident. That I never really blamed him for Ed’s death and that I wish I had never gone to America, because dreams change, don’t they? My dream was once to escape Little Heaton, to spread my wings somewhere new. Somewhere alive. But I didn’t realise that I had everything I wanted already, right here under my nose. I had Tomasz. I had a job I loved. I had a future, stretching out ahead of me, waiting to be filled with happiness.

But I can’t say any of this to Tomasz. It hasn’t happened yet and I’m determined it won’t happen again. So instead I reach out and take Tomasz’s hand in mine, threading my fingers through his. His gaze dips, away from the display in the sky, and he looks surprised at first, his eyebrows pulling down, but they quickly lift back up and he smiles at me. I feel his fingers squeeze mine and that’s when I move, leaning to the left as I reach up on tiptoe to kiss him because I really, really can’t wait another second.

I think it’s a particularly loud firework at first, but the noise is too aggressive. Too near. Roaring, right in my ear. I cling on to Tomasz, gripping his T-shirt in my fists as though if I can hold on tight enough I can stay here, right in this moment. Because I don’t want to leave. I don’t ever want to leave him again. But of course I can’t hold on tight enough and I’m pulled back, my eyes squeezing shut, hands finally releasing Tomasz as they cover my ears until the blessed relief of near-silence. Then there’s the rustle of plastic packaging, the odd cough and the light murmur of voices, but the roar has ceased.

‘I am so clumsy.’ Dolly’s still trying to mop up the water she spilled on her tray with a wad of sodden serviettes. ‘I didn’t get you, did I?’

I’m back on the plane. I’ve barely touched my food and there’s no way I can eat it now. Tomasz. Of all the times to tear me away, it had to be that moment. The most perfect moment there could ever be.

‘Elodie?’ Dolly waves the clump of serviettes. ‘Did I get you?’

I shake my head. ‘No. I’m fine.’ At least, I think I am. I’m frustrated that I left mid-first kiss with Tomasz, but I’m also elated. I kissed Tomasz. We will get together and live happily ever after.

But wait. Shouldn’t this be the happily ever after? Shouldn’t I be with Tomasz right now? If I can change the past and we got together five years ago, why am I still alone? Where is Tomasz?

Something must have gone wrong. Something must have pulled us apart.

Ed. I haven’t saved him. I had my chance, but what did I really do? I haven’t stopped the accident – that didn’t happen until the following year – but I should have done something. Something more than a silly little pep talk. I should have gone to see Reverend Carter and talked some sense into the man so the argument never happened. I should have made Ed talk to me. And I definitely should have done something about Sacha, because he’s still ready and waiting to wreak havoc and there’s nothing I can do about it now, stuck on a plane in the future, when it’s already happened.

‘They really don’t give you enough room.’ Dolly pushes her elbows out to demonstrate how little personal space there is for passengers. ‘It’s no wonder drinks get sent flying. Oh, hi there.’ She turns to the cabin crew and explains the situation with the spilled water. I shuffle out into the aisle as Dolly and the cabin crew clear up the table. The snorer isn’t pleased that he’s had to move, and I can still hear him grumbling as I move along the aisle, taking careful steps and gripping onto the backs of the seats because I’m very aware that we’re in the sky and I’m convinced any sudden move could send us lurching.

The toilet is thankfully vacant and I squeeze inside, locking the door before inching in front of the sink, my movements even more cautious because I feel increasingly vulnerable in this tiny room with little to hold on to for safety should the need arise. Clutching the sink, I twist so I can see my shoulder blade in the mirror. There it is, poking out from my vest top. The tattoo I shouldn’t have. Proof that I have time-travelled. That I altered the timeline.

But Ed still died. I can see it in my mind, as clear as though it happened yesterday: the row between Ed and his grandfather, Ronnie turning up, the screams and the shouts and the tears as Yvonne discovered who her boyfriend really is, the motorbike engine revving, the roar as it sped off. Two people left the village on that bike but only one returned.

I didn’t save him. I didn’t save Yvonne or my relationship with Tomasz. I failed, but there must be another chance. There has to be. This can’t be it.

The meal has been cleared away. The drinks trolley has done another round. The snorer is snorting and snuffling away, his blanket thrown over his head. And yet I’m still sat on the plane, frustration and inadequacy burning in my chest. I need to get off this plane. I need to go back, to save Ed, to put everything right. This can’t be it.

The plane dips and lurches. I close my eyes, squeezing them as tightly as I can as I ready myself for the transition, for the deafening roar, but nothing happens. The only noise is the background hum of the engines and the chatter of the passengers and when I open my eyes, I’m still sitting in the tight space between Dolly and the snorer.

‘Darn it!’

It’s Dolly who growls in frustration, but I share the sentiment. She jiggles her headphone wire at the port before settling back down to watch the film on her screen. But she’s cursing within minutes, jiggling the headphone’s wire again. She slips the headphones off her ears, resting them on the back of her neck.

‘I give up.’ She sighs and shakes her head. ‘I’ll be buying a set of my own for the flight back.’ She shifts in her seat so she’s facing me. ‘How long will you be in England?’

‘Eleven days.’ I’d wanted it to be less – show up, attend the wedding, home again – but Heather insisted I go to the hen night, which was a week before the wedding. I tried to reason with her, insist she have the hen night the day before the wedding, but she was having none of it on the grounds that she didn’t want to be hungover on her wedding day. Eleven days felt unreasonable. Now it doesn’t feel like enough.

‘Nice. I’m there for two weeks. Manchester first, to stay with my aunt, and then we’re going to the Lake District?’ Dolly turns the last bit into a question, tilting her head until I nod, signifying that yes, I know the place. ‘There’s a whole bunch of us going: me, my aunt and uncle, my cousins and their partners and kids. Fifteen of us all together. Can you believe it? It’s going to be so much fun!’ Dolly claps her hands together. ‘I haven’t seen my aunt or my cousins since I was little girl. I’ve never met their children – at least not face to face.’ The joy on Dolly’s face seeps away, her smile pensive rather than cheerful. ‘So many years. Too many years. You don’t realise how fast it’s going, do you? How much you’re missing out on.’

This is my life, my future, I realise. This is my first visit home in four years. I’ve already missed out on meeting Heather’s fiancé, missed their first date, their engagement, sharing the excitement of planning the wedding. What will I miss over the next few years? Babies? I’ll meet my nieces or nephews over FaceTime. Send them birthday and Christmas presents in the post. See their first days at school on Facebook, hear about nativity plays and certificates over the phone. And what about Yvonne? My best friend, who I haven’t seen in four years while grieving for the best friend it wasn’t possible to ever see again.

I’ve really, really messed up. I need one more chance to do things right.

Please.

‘My aunt and uncle – Sydney and Philip, did I tell you that? – are then taking me up to Scotland, just the three of us. To Fort Augustus. My mom was born there. Lived there until she was thirteen and Aunt Syd was nine. That’s when they moved …’

Dolly is still talking but I drift off. I can’t concentrate on her history when my own is in jeopardy. How can I fix things if I can’t get back? Does something trigger these time jumps or is it random?

‘… That’s when she met my father. Cute, right? But wait – it gets even cuter. They were married six weeks later. In Vegas. I got married in Vegas, the second time. It didn’t last as long as Mom and Dad’s marriage, though. They really were together until death us do part.’ Dolly chuckles. ‘Listen to me, going on and on. I’m like that. I have no off switch. I’ll shut up now. Let you get back to your movie.’ She points at the screen in front of me, which is still paused on the film I was watching earlier. I’m not interested in the film but I slip my headphones on anyway – any excuse to tune out Dolly’s chatter.

‘Darn it!’

I’m approximately thirty seconds into the film when Dolly’s annoyance punctuates the dialogue. She’s jiggling the wire again, trying to get the headphones to work. When it doesn’t happen, she wrenches the jack out of the socket.

‘This is ridiculous. I’m going to ask for a new pair.’

I hear the bong! of the assistance button as I tune back in to the film, but it isn’t Tom Hanks’s voice I hear. It’s a whooshing sound. I drag the headphones down and open my mouth to tell Dolly that mine are dodgy too, but stop when I realise I can still hear the whooshing even without the headphones in place. And then I feel it. The rumble, gentle at first but quickly increasing until my seat is shaking side to side. The whooshing is now a roar and I squeeze my eyes shut in preparation of what is to come.