Our Last Summer by Jennifer Joyce
Chapter 35
We run through the village, our shoes slapping on the wet ground. The rain escalated from a few drops to full-on, puddle-forming sheets of rain in a matter of seconds, as though someone has tipped a giant bucket of water down on Little Heaton. I’m drenched, my hair plastered to my head and my face, and I’m shaking uncontrollably, though it has nothing to do with the cold. I remember this bleak, relentless rain as though it had poured down on me yesterday.
Tomasz pulls me towards the flat when we reach the high street, but I resist, tugging him in the opposite direction, more insistent. He relents and we scurry towards the pub, crashing through the doors and dripping water onto the carpet.
She’s here. Ronnie. Standing centre stage, the child resting on her hip as she faces Sacha. They’re standing near the bar, the girl’s face half-hidden as she tucks herself into the safety of her mother’s neck. Yvonne’s standing to the left of her boyfriend, a couple of paces back, while Micha leans across the bar, straining to hear what is being said. The bar is littered with empty glasses and bits of fruit and decorative paper straws. I can’t see Micha’s husband or father-in-law but everyone else in the pub is watching the scene in front of her, shamelessly twisting in their seats to gawk.
‘What’s going on?’ Tomasz looks at his brother and his mum for an answer, but it’s Ronnie who responds.
‘Hello, Tom.’ I flinch at the shortening of his name. Nobody calls him Tom, ever. ‘Long time, eh? I thought it was time I introduced you all to Poppy.’ She shifts the child on her hip, so she’s sitting more upright. ‘Your niece.’
Tomasz laughs. He frowns. Turns to his brother. ‘She’s joking, right?’
Sacha runs his hand through his curls, his face all scrunched up, somewhere between discomfort and pure agony. ‘No.’ He glances at Micha before fixing his gaze on Yvonne. ‘I’m sorry, but she’s not joking. Poppy’s my daughter.’
‘No.’ Everyone turns to Micha, who’s shaking her head, over and over again. ‘No. This isn’t happening.’ She looks at Sacha, her eyes blazing. ‘It’s my cocktail night. You are not ruining my cocktail night. I was just making a Bellini. Here, Elodie. Taste this. It’s gorgeous.’ She thrusts a champagne flute topped with a slice of orange towards me and she has such a wide-eyed desperate look that I take a couple of steps forwards and take it gently from her hand. ‘You do not have a daughter.’ She’s no longer looking at me. Her eyes are boring into her oldest son. ‘Because you would have told us. And she’s, what? Two? Three?’
‘She was two in January.’ Ronnie tilts her chin upwards. ‘And Sacha always said he was going to tell you. Clearly he hasn’t, because he’s a coward. Always has been, despite the big-man act.’ She looks Sacha up and down, lip curling. ‘You’re not a man at all, are you? You’re a silly little boy who’ll never grow up.’
Sacha looks at his mum, but Micha holds her hands up. ‘I’m not going to disagree with that.’ She lowers her hands and snaps her gaze back towards me. ‘How’s that cocktail, Elodie?’ Her lip is trembling but she’s refusing to give in. She will stay strong. In control. Even if it means pretending none of this is happening and it’s just her planned cocktail night. I play along – and not just for Micha’s sake – and gulp half of it down in one go.
‘It’s good. Delicious.’
Micha nods, her lips trembling again as she attempts to smile. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ She’s glaring at Sacha again, her arms folded across her chest. Sacha shrugs, dropping his head so he’s looking down at his boots.
‘I was going to, but it was hard. And the longer I left it, the harder it got. And then Poppy was born and I couldn’t exactly go up to you and say, hey, guess what? You’re a granny. And so I left it a bit longer and it got even more ridiculous. She started crawling, eating solid food. She turned one. Then she was walking and talking and I couldn’t tell you then, could I? Not after so much time had passed.’
‘So you said nothing at all?’ Micha shakes her head. Her mouth is all squashed up and her nostrils are flaring as though flames are about to erupt from them. ‘Where’s your dad? I can’t cope with this on my own.’
‘He’s gone out with Grandad.’ Sacha peeks up at his mum. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.’ He turns, his hand reaching out for Yvonne’s, but she doesn’t take it. ‘I should have told you.’
‘Yes.’ Yvonne jams her hands in the pockets of her dress. ‘You should have.’
Ronnie steps to the side, so she can get a better look at Yvonne. ‘And who are you?’
Yvonne opens her mouth to reply, but it’s Sacha who gets in first. ‘My girlfriend. Yvonne. I’ve mentioned her before, the last few times I’ve been down to see Poppy.’
Ronnie hitches her daughter further up her hip. ‘I see. And I thought this was why you’d stopped … well, you know.’ She places a hand on her stomach. ‘Thought baby number two had scared you away.’ She arches an eyebrow. ‘See what I mean? Coward.’
‘Baby number two?’ Yvonne takes a step back, her hand reaching up to cover her mouth. She looks like she could throw up on the carpet. My shoes squelch as I stride towards her, putting a hand on her arm. I should have warned her about Sacha’s double life with Ronnie and their daughter. Tried harder to stop her getting together with Sacha. I’ve failed as a friend because I was focusing so much on my relationship with Tomasz and trying to save Ed.
Oh, God. Where’s Ed? He can’t be with his grandad. He can’t. I stopped this. I changed the timeline. Ronnie was here after Irene’s funeral instead of today. Unless …
My knees feel as soft as dough and my grip loosens on the champagne flute. I’ve been an idiot! It wasn’t the butterfly effect that made Ronnie arrive earlier than she originally did: she must have arrived on the day of Irene’s funeral originally, thought twice about dropping her bombshell on such an emotional day and returned a few days later. She was always going to return today, while it’s lashing it down outside and Ed is dropping a bombshell of his own. I haven’t saved him at all.
‘She’s pregnant again?’ Micha looks as though she’s about to vault over the bar and throttle her eldest son.
‘No. I mean, I don’t know.’ Sacha shakes his head, his finger pointing at Ronnie’s stomach. ‘But that’s nothing to do with me, I swear.’ He looks at Ronnie, meets her gaze, his jaw set. ‘We haven’t been together since Christmas. There’s no way that baby is mine.’ He turns to Yvonne, trying to catch her eye but she won’t look at him. ‘I swear, Yvonne. I promise you. That baby isn’t mine.’
Ronnie snorts. ‘A coward and a liar. What were you going to do, keep this one a secret as well, just like Poppy?’
‘I can’t believe this.’ Yvonne covers her mouth to catch a sob. ‘All this time, wasted. Everyone was right about you.’ She swipes at her cheeks, taking one last look at Sacha before she storms out of the pub. Sacha tries to follow but Ronnie grabs his arm.
‘You can’t leave me here like this. What about Poppy?’
Sacha reaches out, stroking the curls on his daughter’s head. He stoops to kiss her forehead and then he’s striding towards the door.
‘No you don’t.’ Micha’s marching out from behind the bar, her face thunderous. ‘You’re not going anywhere until you’ve explained properly what the hell is going on.’
I leave Sacha to battle with Ronnie and his mum, and rush outside in search of Yvonne. A car engine startles me. Hand on my chest, I turn my head, instinctively taking a step away from the kerb. The car is opposite the pub, outside the salon, its wipers waving manically against the sheets of rain. My attention is snatched away as the doors to the pub swing open so aggressively, they smash into the walls either side. Sacha strides out, followed by Micha and Ronnie, who are both yelling at him, none of their words decipherable as they collide. Tomasz plucks Poppy from Ronnie’s hip and takes her back inside where it’s dry, away from the shrieking. I’m not sure Ronnie even notices. I know I didn’t the first time. I only knew Tomasz wasn’t there, stopping it all from unfolding and I punished him for it afterwards. By the time he’d joined us again, it was all such a mess and I blamed him for not doing enough to keep my friend safe.
‘Where’s Yvonne?’ Sacha zones out the words flying at him, focusing entirely on me. I turn and he follows my gaze, watching as Yvonne’s car pulls away. He swears, stamping his foot down on the ground, splashing water up my calf. There’s more yelling, masked by Ronnie and Micha at first, but growing louder and louder. I hear bits and pieces – disgusting, disgrace, danger to those children – but I’m watching Sacha, unease turning my stomach as he disappears around the side of the pub. I hear the roar and I think I’m being pulled away, pulled back onto the plane, and then I realise the sound isn’t just for me. It’s an actual sound that everyone else can hear. They all turn. I run.
No, not again. He can’t. I won’t let him.
My hands are held out in front of me as I approach the motorbike. Sacha is sitting astride, ramming his helmet down on his head.
‘Sacha, you can’t. The weather. It’s too dangerous. You’ve been drinking.’ My hand covers my mouth as I gasp. ‘Yvonne’s been drinking.’
‘She hasn’t.’ Sacha yells over the noise of the engine but I still have to concentrate to pick out his words, muffled by the helmet. ‘She’s got a hen party booked in the salon in the morning. She didn’t want to spoil it with a hangover.’
My hair is wet through and sticking to my face. I peel it away. ‘Please, Sacha. Don’t do this. She’d be devastated if anything happened to you.’
‘I have to find her. Explain. Make her see.’
He wasn’t running away from his responsibilities the night of the accident, like I always thought he was. He was running to Yvonne. To try to make things right.
‘And you can. Later. Or tomorrow.’ I take a step towards the motorbike, wincing at the noise. ‘But only if you turn off the engine. You won’t be able to do much explaining if you’re stuck in hospital.’
Sacha snaps down the visor of his helmet. He isn’t listening to me and he could easily swerve around me. Or plough into me. What do I do? How do I stop him?
‘I’m not listening to another word.’
I turn, momentarily distracted by the voice behind me. The motorbike surges forward but I hold my hands up, stepping into its path. Sacha snaps the visor up and swears.
‘Get out of my way, Elodie.’
I shake my head, strings of wet hair slapping me in the face. I once accused Tomasz of giving up too easily – I can’t do the same. ‘It’s too dangerous.’ Especially with Ed so close by. I can hear him more clearly now, arguing with his grandfather.
‘I only told you because I thought you loved me enough to support me.’
‘Support you? I despise what you are.’
The motorbike surges again. I move, hands held out in front of me. This can’t happen again.
‘And I despise what you are, Reverend.’
I know Ed’s right behind me. I can feel him. Can feel my despair churning. This can’t happen again.
‘Where are you going?’ Ed yells over the noise of the engine as he strides towards the motorbike. ‘In fact, doesn’t matter. Take me with you anyway. I need to get out of here.’
‘Ed.’ I reach out to him, but I can’t move away from the bike as Sacha will use the opportunity to slip away. I can’t let him go, even without Ed, can’t let him put himself in danger. I couldn’t live with myself if I knowingly sent Sacha on his way. ‘Ed, wait. Let’s talk.’
‘Nah.’ Ed clambers onto the back of the bike. ‘I’m done talking.’
Sacha whips up his visor, turning to glare at his hijacker passenger. ‘Get off. I don’t have time for this.’
Ed loops his arms around Sacha waist. ‘Then let’s go.’
There’s a moment of hesitation. I think Sacha is going to give up. Turn the engine off. Go back inside and wait for Yvonne to cool off. But the visor is snapped back down.
‘Sacha, wait. He doesn’t have a helmet.’ I point at Ed. There are tears streaming down my face now the panic is setting in, but the rain is simply washing them away. Sacha’s shoulders rise and fall. He doesn’t care about Ed or the lack of helmet. He just wants to find Yvonne, to explain, to make her not hate him. Because I see now that he does care about her. He may be an idiot. A coward, like Ronnie said, but he needs to find Yvonne and he doesn’t care about the consequences. But I care. I’ve seen what such recklessness can cause. I’ve lived through it and I never ever want to go there again.
‘Elodie. What are you doing?’ Tomasz is here. I feel him pulling on my arm but I shrug him off.
‘I won’t let you do this.’ I step directly in front of the motorbike, my feet just inches from the tyres, my fingers clutching the handlebars. If he wants to go that badly, he’ll have to knock me down first. ‘Think about Poppy. Your daughter. She’s in the pub, wondering what the hell is going on. And you’re out here, playing the big man. Proving Ronnie right. Have you ever done the decent thing in your life?’
I’m shouting the words over the engine roar, through the rain and the tears. Even if Sacha doesn’t hear me, I need to know that I tried. That I did absolutely everything I could to save Ed. To save Sacha. To save everyone the heartache of what is about to happen.