Our Last Summer by Jennifer Joyce
Chapter 7
‘I’ll finish this later.’ I plonk the potato I’m holding in the display box and wipe my grubby hands down the sides of my jeans as I head for the counter. I’ll feel safer with the barrier between us. ‘Thanks for your help.’
‘No problem.’ Tomasz brushes the palms of his hands together. ‘I’d better grab the milk and get back to the pub. Gran’s gasping.’ He disappears down the first aisle, finding the milk in the fridges at the back of the shop. ‘It’s the pub’s grand opening tomorrow. You should come.’ Tomasz places the bottle of milk on the counter. ‘Although I’m not sure it’s going to be as grand as Mum’s making out. It’s just a few nibbles, really. But Grandad’s making wuzetka. It’s a—’
‘Polish cake.’ I remember, though I wish I didn’t. Franciszek Nowak baked delicious cakes, and the chocolate sponge cake squares filled with whipped cream and plum jam were a firm favourite of mine. I haven’t had a piece since Tomasz’s grandmother’s funeral.
‘Have you had it before? Because even if you have, you need try Grandad’s. He used to have it back in Poland, before the war, and he craved it so much that he tried to make his own. It was a disaster, according to Gran. But he tried it again. And again and again, until he got it right. I don’t think it’s exactly the same as the ones he used to buy, but they’re amazing. You should definitely come and try it. Tomorrow, from two.’
‘I’ll try my best.’ I can’t say anything else; I don’t want to commit but neither do I want to pop Tomasz’s enthusiasm bubble. I know how much he cared about his grandparents, and it shines through whenever he talks about them.
Tomasz pays for the milk and heads for the door. Part of me is glad he’s going, but another part wants to beg him to stay for a bit longer. To tell me the story of how Franciszek and Irene met, here in Little Heaton, and how they’d held on to each other for so long. I open my mouth to make the request, but the door bursts open, almost taking Tomasz out with it. He stumbles backwards to avoid the impact as my sister charges into the shop. She stops when she sees me behind the counter, her eyes narrowing to slits.
‘You are here.’
I open my arms wide. ‘Just like I said I was.’ I’d finally replied to Heather’s text, to let her know I’d started my shift at the minimarket and therefore – unfortunately – I’d have to bow out of the loft clear-out. ‘Did you think I was lying?’
Heather shrugs. ‘Wouldn’t put it past you. You were messing about in the woods like an overgrown kid earlier instead of helping.’
I wish I had a witty or scathing comeback, but this is true. ‘Did you want something, or are you just here to check up on me?’
‘Mum wants wine for tonight.’ Heather wanders to the right-hand side of the shop, where the booze is stored. I follow, safe to step out from behind the counter now that Tomasz has gone.
‘What’s tonight?’
‘Duh.’ Heather grabs a bottle of red and tucks it under her arm. ‘Celebrity MasterChef. Laura’s coming round so they can perv over Sam Nixon again. It’s so gross. He’s young enough to be their grandson.’
‘Grandson? He’s older than us.’
‘But he looks about twelve …’ Heather plucks a packet of hand-crafted crisps from the aisle we’re walking down. ‘And it’s so embarrassing the way they lust over him, like he’s the only bloke left on the planet.’
‘You’ll find a bloke you’ll lust over one day.’
Heather stops, turns, and stares me dead in the eye. ‘I doubt it. I have much more important things to concentrate on than boys. Like my degree and getting out of this place.’
‘I’m getting out of here too.’ I’ve reached the counter again and I spot the Walkman tucked away on the shelf, the earphones’ wires wound around it. A reminder of my life away from Little Heaton.
‘You?’ Heather snorts as she places the wine and crisps on the counter. ‘Where are you going? You’ve got no qualifications.’
‘I do have qualifications.’ I scan the wine aggressively, zapping the label while imagining I’m zapping Heather’s stupid face. Four years away clearly hasn’t been enough.
‘What, GCSEs and that tourism thing you did at college? You really put that to good use, didn’t you?’ She looks around the shop before smirking at me.
‘I wouldn’t be too smug if I were you.’
‘Oh?’ Heather grabs a Wispa Gold from the rows of chocolate bars strategically placed for impulse buys at the till. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Because I will get out of here.’ I snatch the chocolate bar and scan it before thrusting it back at my sister. ‘And you – with your degree – are going to be stuck here, in Little Heaton.’
‘We’ll see.’ Heather sings the words, the smirk back on her face. I don’t tell her that I have seen it. That I’m not simply daydreaming about the future. I have a life outside this village – I just don’t know how to get back to it.
Ed and Yvonne are waiting for me when I lock up the minimarket, perched on the war memorial’s base while they giggle at something on the phone held between them. It’s after eleven and the village is still in a way that LA never is. I can almost hear my own thoughts in the calm.
‘At last. We nearly went without you.’ Yvonne hops down onto the pavement and slips the phone in her jacket pocket. She’s no longer wearing the Mickey Mouse T-shirt she was earlier. She’s changed her entire outfit and is wearing a hot pink skirt and a cropped white top. The Sacha effect. He’s been in the village for less than a day and he’s already changing things.
‘Bonjour jolie fille.’ Ed pushes himself away from the plinth and heads for the minimarket.
‘You what?’ I pull the shutter down over the shop’s window and door, giving it a wiggle once I’ve locked it to make sure it’s secure.
‘Bonjour jolie fille.’ Ed rolls his eyes as I frown at him. ‘Hello, pretty girl.’
Of course. I get it now. This was around the time Ed went to France, working at a campsite for the entire summer, which is why we were in the woods earlier. Ed, Yvonne and I hadn’t spent more than a couple of weeks away from each other since we were four years old, so Ed going away for three months felt like a huge deal, like we were proper grown-ups now, with lives heading off in different directions. Obviously we already were grown-ups, with jobs – Ed was a youth worker and Yvonne was a hairdresser – but we all still lived at home and none of us had any real responsibilities. So living in a different country for three months was a massive wake-up call. Massive and scary, and we’d reverted back to the comfort of our old selves, just for one day, before he left.
‘Do you have to do that?’ Yvonne sucks in a breath and lets it out in a giant puff.
‘What?’ Ed slings his arm around me, pulling me in tight and kissing the top of my head. ‘Tell this girl that she’s the prettiest thing since sliced bread?’
‘Sliced bread?’ I elbow Ed lightly in the ribs. ‘You know that comparing me to bread isn’t a compliment, right?’
‘I was talking about the French thing.’ Yvonne mimes strangling Ed. ‘It’s so annoying and if you don’t pack it in, I’m going to shove a baguette up your arse, you pretentious knobhead. Although you’d probably like that since you’ve just admitted you fancy bread. Weirdo.’
‘Wow.’ Ed loosens his grip on me as he turns to Yvonne. ‘First of all, maybe chill the aggression? And second of all, I’m impressed. Not only did you use the word pretentious, you used it in the correct context. I didn’t know you had it in you.’
‘Are you saying I’m thick?’
‘Absolutely, but in the nicest possible, I-love-you-to-death kind of way.’
‘Pretentious and patronising. You’re the full package, Edward Carter-Brown.’ Yvonne sets off along the pavement, away from the minimarket and towards the footbridge over the canal, and already her gaze moves to the right, seeking out the Royal Oak. ‘I pity the French having to put up with you for the next three months. I reckon they’ll shove you on the first ferry out of there.’
‘I know what you’re doing.’ Ed and I have caught up with Yvonne, and he links his arm through hers, forming a three-person chain. ‘You can’t deal with how much you’re going to miss me, so you’re masking your pain by going on the attack.’
Yvonne snorts. ‘All right, Dr Frasier Crane.’
‘I’ll miss you too, you know. But we’ll keep in touch. I’ll even send you a postcard.’
Yvonne snorts again, but there isn’t nearly as much derision this time. ‘What, like it’s the old ages? Just send a text or email like a normal person.’
I lean my head on Ed’s shoulder. ‘I’d love a postcard. Nobody keeps a text forever.’
I didn’t keep the postcard either, though I wish with all my heart that I had. But I was careless. I had no idea how precious it was until it was too late. Still, I’m here with Ed now and I should treat it as the precious gift that it is.
‘Are you okay?’ Ed kisses the top of my head. ‘We came to find you, once I’d managed to prise Yvonne from the pub, but you weren’t there. You should have seen her flirting. Shameless!’ Ed laughs at the look Yvonne shoots him. ‘Heather said you were at work and we didn’t want to get you in trouble with the dragon.’
‘Again.’ Yvonne stops suddenly and points ahead. ‘Isn’t that the new guy from the pub?’
‘See? She’s obsessed.’ Ed’s teasing Yvonne, but my stomach has dropped to the pavement at her words. It drops further when I spot Tomasz and not his brother up ahead, perched on the rail of the footbridge across the canal. It’s grown dark outside, but he’s caught between the streetlights either side of the bridge, which are casting him in a warm glow. He looks almost angelic sitting there, so still and peaceful, his hands clasped on his lap.
‘Thomas!’ Yvonne holds up a hand and jiggles it about.
‘Thom-as.’
Yvonne rolls her eyes at Ed. ‘Whatever, bread perv.’ She turns back to Tomasz and breaks her arm free from Ed’s. ‘What are you doing out here on your own?’
Tomasz hops down from the rail and shoves his hands in his pockets. ‘Just having a nosy round the village. It’s quiet, isn’t it?’
‘That’s one word for it, I guess.’ Yvonne bounces up the steps onto the bridge and leans over the rail to look down into the canal, wrinkling her nose. In the sunshine, the canal glistens prettily, but in the dark the water looks like brown sludge. ‘Want to come on an adventure with us?’
‘An adventure?’ Tomasz tilts his head to one side, his eyes narrowing. ‘What kind of adventure?’
And there’s another stark difference between Tomasz and his brother. Sacha wouldn’t have hesitated for a second. He wouldn’t have questioned, wouldn’t have even thought to ask. In fact, he’d be the leader of the pack, the one forging ahead without care or consideration of the consequences.
‘We’re reliving our youth.’ Yvonne pushes herself away from the rail and heads across the bridge. ‘It’ll be fun.’
Tomasz looks at me and Ed, his pale eyebrows rising up his forehead. Ed fills in the blanks before we hurry across the bridge to catch up with Yvonne before she disappears into the woods on her own.