Our Last Summer by Jennifer Joyce
Chapter 9
‘Turn that rubbish off, Elodie.’
I’m sitting in my parents’ living room, my feet tucked up underneath me as I sit on the sofa. Gran’s sitting in the armchair under the window, her slipper-clad feet crossed at the ankles, and she’s wearing a thick cardigan over a jumper even though it’s blazing hot. She waves a dismissive hand towards the telly, her lips and nose scrunched up in distaste.
‘I can’t listen to another second of this Brexit nonsense. In, out, who cares? It’s over with now, so let’s just get on with normal life.’
I tune in to the news report on the telly. From what I can gather, the referendum took place only a few days ago, so Gran’s in for a shock if she thinks she can escape hearing about it any time soon.
‘What time is the tennis on?’
I grab the remote from the coffee table and bring up the guide. ‘Not for another half an hour.’
Gran tuts and throws her eyes up to the ceiling, as though I’m personally responsible for making her wait, as though I’ve given up my job at the minimarket and become a TV scheduler. But wait. This isn’t the same time period I hopped back to last time, when Sacha arrived in the village and Ed left for his French adventure. I do some quick calculations in my head, taking into account the fact Gran appears to now live here and the whole Brexit thing, and conclude that it’s the following year. Which means I don’t work at the minimarket anymore.
I look down at my outfit. I’m wearing unflattering navy trousers and a white tunic, which confirms my suspicions that I’m now free of Mrs Gacey and the minimarket, though I haven’t gone far. I haven’t made it to America, or even managed to stray out of the village; I’m now working as a chambermaid at the castle on top of the hill, which was turned into a hotel sometime after its requisition as a hospital during the war. The money isn’t great, but it’s more hours than Mrs Gacey was offering, plus I now know this is my ticket out of here. I didn’t know it at the time, but I am firmly on the path out of Little Heaton and I want to high-five past me and let her know that her Kim Wilde plan isn’t a silly wish, that her dreams will come true. At least, some of them.
‘When’s your mother due home?’
I’m flicking through the TV channels. There’s an ancient episode of The Bill on, which I know Gran likes, so I switch it over. ‘I’m not sure. Isn’t she at work?’
‘You tell me. I never know where she is. She’s always off gallivanting. She was in the pub until almost ten last night.’
‘It’s called having a life, Gran.’ I dump the remote back on the coffee table. ‘She’s allowed to let her hair down and enjoy herself.’ Even if the extent of the entertainment is bingo and quiz night at the Farmer’s Arms.
‘Without your father?’ Gran’s tone goes up, scandalised at the very notion. ‘My Roy wouldn’t have stood for it. Your father needs to put his foot down.’
‘Mum and Dad are fine. They don’t need to spend every minute of every day together.’
Gran tuts and shakes her head. ‘You youngsters. You haven’t got a clue. It’s no wonder there’s no ring on your finger.’
I hold out my left hand, splaying the fingers. All of them are bare. But so what? I’m still young. Ish. There’s plenty of time to find The One. Or The Two, since I’ve already found and lost the person I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with.
‘I was married with three children by the time I was your age.’ Gran says this as though it’s something to envy, but I can’t think of anything worse. I wasn’t ready for babies when I was twenty-five, and I’m about to say so when there’s a rap at the front door to the tune of Inspector Gadget that snatches my attention.
‘Does he have to do that every single time he knocks on the door?’
Gran recognises the signature knock and so do I, even after all these years. My lips spread into a huge cheesy grin in response, because as annoying as I found it at the time, I missed it once it was gone. I fly into the hallway to wrench the door open. Ed’s standing on the doorstep. He’s grown his hair long on top and even though it’s warm out, he’s wearing a leather jacket over his South Park T-shirt and jeans. He leans in to kiss me on the cheek and I get a whiff of warm leather that makes every cell of my body ping with the nostalgia hit. I’m really back here, back with Ed, and I know it’s crazy, that time travel isn’t possible, but how can something feel, sound and smell so real if it’s a figment of my imagination? And I hopped back to the present, didn’t I? Even if it was only for a few seconds. I was back on the plane with Dolly as though not a second had passed before hopping back in time again.
Oh my God. I’ve actually travelled back in time. To be with Ed. To be with Tomasz. How or why doesn’t seem to matter and I couldn’t explain it even if I tried so hard my brain exploded all over Ed’s lovely leather jacket.
‘Pub?’ Ed’s voice pulls me away from my internal babbling. I’m still standing on the threshold and Ed has made no attempt to step into the house. ‘Yvonne’s finishing up at the salon and then she’ll meet us there.’
I pull at my tunic top. ‘I’ll have to get changed first. I’ve only just got home from work. Which is where you should be, isn’t it?’ I’m stalling, because although I’m beyond excited to be back with Ed and Tomasz, there are serious consequences with time travel. What if I’m able to actually change events but I mess it all up? I’ve seen The Butterfly Effect. One little tweak in the past could change everything. What if I inadvertently send us on a completely different path in which my sister ends up marrying Sacha Nowak instead of the head teacher of Little Heaton’s primary school? Or worse. What if I come to on the plane and realise I’m heading back to England to witness Heather marrying Tomasz?
‘I had a dentist appointment so I took a half-day, remember?’ Ed looks up at the sky, squinting as the sun makes a sudden break from the clouds. ‘And it’s a gorgeous day. Perfect for sitting out with a pint.’
Sitting in the beer garden of the Royal Oak sounds blissful. It’s been ages since I’ve had a pint on a sunny day. The bars just aren’t the same in California and the atmosphere is lacking. But can I sit with Ed and the others, pretending everything is fine? And if not, what is the alternative? I can’t tell anyone what’s happening to me, because who would believe that I’m not really from here, that I’m really Elodie from the future? I can’t quite believe it and it’s actually happening to me, so I can’t expect anyone else to think I’m anything but losing the plot big time.
‘Give me two minutes.’ I pull Ed into the hallway and shut the front door. He immediately pulls at the collar of his leather jacket, wafting it back and forth while puffing up his cheeks. ‘Sorry. The heating’s whacked up to the max again. Gran can feel draughts even in summer. Try not to melt while I get changed. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
Ed steps into the living room and I can already hear him chatting to Gran as I head up the stairs. The airing cupboard has been removed and the bathroom squished up to make room for the new set of narrow stairs up to the loft, and I’m glad I’ve skipped the whole loft conversion because it was bad enough living through the chaos and the dust the first time around. The area has been cleared and transformed into two small rooms, giving me and Heather our own space for the first time. I’d longed for my own room for so many years and I get that same thrill I did back then as I step into the bedroom on the left.
The space is small, but it doesn’t feel cluttered. There’s my bed, neatly made out of habit after working at the hotel, with a slim wardrobe on the left and a chest of drawers under the window. On top of the drawers is a jar, half-filled with pound coins and fifty-pence pieces, with a handwritten label and a red, white and blue stripy ribbon. My America fund, set up last summer after I’d discovered the Kim Wilde cassette and a seed had been sown. Propped up against the jar is the postcard Ed sent me from France last summer, and next to it is the Walkman, loaded with the Kim Wilde cassette as always, and the poster is tacked to the front of my wardrobe.
Pulling my phone from my trouser pocket, I check the date, confirming my suspicions as I sink onto the bed. I am replaying a summer day from seven years ago, and the latest photos on my camera roll further corroborate it: the last photo I took was of Ed and Yvonne, champagne glasses in the air as they toasted Ed’s mum and stepdad on their fifteenth wedding anniversary. I swipe to see Laura and Jim dancing, her arms draped loosely around his shoulders as she gazes at her husband, radiating pure adoration, and swipe again to see Ed and his mum cheek to cheek, grinning at the camera. There are so many photos from that party, mostly of Ed and Yvonne, but a few of Mum, Dad and Heather have slipped in, and there’s even one of Gran dancing with Reverend Carter. I delete the photo of Gran and Ed’s grandfather and throw my phone down on the bed. I don’t want to look at that man, knowing what he is. Knowing how tangled up he is in Ed’s death.
I change out of my work uniform, pulling on a floral slip dress and a pair of sandals before hurrying back downstairs to rescue Ed from Gran. She’s currently berating him about his lack of commitment, between bites of the sandwich he’s presumably made for her, so he looks like he could weep with relief when I drag him outside.
‘Sorry about that.’ I close the front door behind us and thread my arm through his, holding on extra tight as we wander along the path towards the gate. Although I was only back on the plane for a matter of seconds and didn’t have time to process my feelings – relief that I was back to normal, confusion over the weird timeslip thing, sadness that I’d never get to see Ed again – I felt such a rush of joy when I saw Ed standing on the doorstep. I still have no idea what’s going on, but Ed is here and I can’t wish that away, even if it means being back in Little Heaton.
‘It’s fine. I quite like being told I’m feckless. I don’t hear it enough, to be honest.’
I scrunch my whole face up, squeezing my eyes shut as I groan. ‘You are not feckless. You are feckfull. Overly full of feck if you ask me.’
‘A massive fecker, you might say.’
‘Easily the biggest fecker in Little Heaton.’
Ed places a hand on his chest. ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.’ He swings the gate open and I’m forced to unlink my arm from his so we can step out onto the pavement, but I grab hold of his hand as we fall into step side by side. This feels glorious. The sun is shining. I’m joking around with one of my best friends. And we’re on our way to the pub. My heart feels full and I can’t remember the last time I felt this content, the last time I felt this relaxed and free, as though the world is full of goodness again.
‘Little Heaton looks so pretty in the sunshine, don’t you think?’
Ed gives me a puzzled look. ‘Are you feeling okay? You never say nice things about the village. Ever. Not even when they light up the high street at Christmas and give out free mince pies and mulled wine.’
‘I just think it looks lovely today.’ I look around me, at the window boxes bursting with blooms, at the hills dotted with sheep in the distance, at the bunting left over from the last street party.
‘Exactly how much do Yvonne and I have to drink to catch up with you, because you’re obviously pissed.’
I nudge Ed with my elbow, though there’s no intent there, and we chat as we wander towards the pub. Yvonne’s already there when we arrive, and she’s bagged one of the picnic tables out in the beer garden at the back with Tomasz. Her heart doesn’t look full. Her mouth is downturned and she barely moves her head to look at us as she rests her cheek on her upturned hand.
‘Hey, you.’ I plonk myself next to her and swing my legs over the bench. I can feel Tomasz’s eyes on me but I’m trying not to look at him because I’ll want to leap across the table and snog his gorgeous little face off and I’m pretty sure that if I can alter things here in the past, kissing Tomasz now would get the butterfly’s wings flapping and turn the world as I know it to utter shite. So I focus my full attention on Yvonne. ‘Ed doesn’t think we tell him how much of a fecker he is, so feel free to let rip.’
‘Apparently, I’m the biggest fecker in the village.’ Ed sits next to Tomasz on the opposite side of the table. I look at Yvonne. Really, really hard. But there’s nothing from her. Not even a hint of a smile.
‘She’s sulking because my brother isn’t here.’ Tomasz stands up and I sneak a peek at his hands as he gathers the empty glasses and crisp packets from the table. Tomasz has a smattering of pale freckles across his nose and there’s a cluster of them near his thumb that almost form a heart shape. Yvonne shifts, the movement causing me to drag my eyes away from the heart-shaped freckles, and when I look at her, her features have morphed into a glare that’s aimed straight at Tomasz. But he doesn’t see as he’s already turned around and is heading across the lawn towards the door. He’s tossed the grenade and now he’s running away, and he knows it by the flash of a grin I clock as he looks back at us over his shoulder. His eyes lock on to mine and I almost snap my neck as I twist back round to face Yvonne.
‘It is not that at all.’ Yvonne swipes a clump of hair off her forehead. The clouds have started to thin out and her forehead is shining from the heat. ‘I don’t even care where Sacha is. I’m totally over him.’
Ed catches my eye and I can tell he’s holding in a belly laugh, because Yvonne was totally not over Sacha Nowak. She’d spent the past year following him around the village, but she wasn’t alone in her adoration. It seemed like the female population of Little Heaton had fallen for the village bad boy, and there’d even been a rumour that he’d had a fling with the married owner of the local hairdresser’s, which made for an awkward situation for Yvonne, who was green with envy, no matter how much her boss rebutted the claim. The salon was the perfect breeding ground for gossip, and the affair became more salacious with every snip of the scissors.
‘Where is Sacha?’ Ed spots a fragment of crisp and flicks it off the table.
‘Where do you think?’ Yvonne’s shoulders sink. ‘Nottingham. Again. I swear he’s there more than here. Why did he move in the first place if he’d rather still be down there?’ She folds her arms across her chest and scowls at a pigeon who’s working on the flicked-away crisp.
‘Because if he hadn’t moved here, you wouldn’t have fallen madly in love with him.’ Ed yelps. I suspect he’s received a swift kick to the shin under the table. ‘You are in a mood today.’
‘I am not.’ Yvonne’s scowl deepens, to prove she isn’t in a mood. But if she isn’t in a mood right now, she’s about to be. Craig Radcliffe, the ex-boyfriend of her youth, is sauntering towards us across the lawn. His ego had never quite recovered from Yvonne dumping him so he used every opportunity to beat his chest in front of her, like a gorilla, albeit with a weaker grasp of the English language, fewer manners and far worse dental hygiene than an ape.
‘Whoa, what happened to your hair?’ He points at Yvonne’s hair, which is dyed pastel pink. ‘You weren’t ugly enough with its normal colour?’ His mean face is creased up, his yellow teeth on display as he chortles.
‘What happened to your knob? Stopped growing at birth?’
The laughter ceases and Craig’s lip curls as he looks at Ed. ‘Why are you so interested in my knob?’ He grabs his crotch and jiggles his fist up and down. ‘Wanna suck on it, eh?’ Craig was the typical school bully who hadn’t grown out of picking on anyone he saw as inferior. Last I heard, he was doing a stretch for battering his girlfriend in a drunken rage. Nice chap.
‘Oh, look. It’s Tom-ass.’ Craig sticks his butt out to the side and jabs his index finger into its cheek as Tomasz makes his way over to the table with a tray of drinks and more crisps. ‘Do you like his ass, Ed? Is he your boyfriend?’ Craig lifts his hand and makes a flopping motion with it.
‘Is that your latest baby mama?’ Tomasz nods across the beer garden, to the woman and small child sitting at a picnic table in the corner. ‘How many kids you got now? Too many to count? Defo too many to actually look after. Wasn’t your Riley nicked for shoplifting last week?’
Craig’s face scrunches up, making him look meaner than ever. I think about Craig Radcliffe of the near-future. Of the drunken rage. The photos of his girlfriend’s swollen and bruised face in the papers. Perhaps best not to poke the beast.
‘Why don’t you just go back to your family?’
Craig sneers at me. ‘Why don’t you just shut your gob?’ But he starts to back away, kicking out at the pigeon who’s searching for more crisps on the ground. The pigeon takes off in a flap and, satisfied he’s riled the bird at least, Craig turns and saunters back to his girlfriend and child. I reach across the table and take Ed’s hand. It’s okay. He’s safe. For now.
‘What did you ever see in that loser?’ Ed is still watching Craig as he swaggers across the grass, so I pull his chin gently to bring his focus back to us.
‘It was the alcopops, and don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy them as well.’ Yvonne yanks a packet of crisps open and shoves a handful in her mouth. ‘Thanks for sticking up for us, Tomasz.’
Tomasz shrugs and plonks himself down on the bench next to Ed. ‘We get idiots like that in here all the time. You get used to it.’
‘But this isn’t even your job.’ Yvonne shoves another handful of crisps in her mouth, wiping her greasy fingers down the front of her dress before she pats Tomasz on the arm. ‘So we appreciate it.’
Tomasz rolls his eyes. ‘When your mum and dad run a pub, it’s always your job. You have to get good at creeping around unseen, otherwise they rope you in.’
‘You’re lucky though.’ Yvonne grabs another handful of crisps. ‘Rumour has it Shaz is selling up Lady Dye, so who knows if I’ll have a job if she does. With your mum and dad here, you’ve got a job for life.’
But she’s wrong, because the Nowaks will move on. How could they stay around in a place like Little Heaton after what happened to Ed?