In the Summertime (24 page)

‘Really? So are they just hanging about on the beach still?’ Miranda noticed that Clare always looked much less troubled after she’d been swimming. There must be
something incredibly soothing for her about being in the water. Maybe she should try it herself, but she still had a bit of fear of what was under the surface in the sea. She didn’t trust it not to turn nasty on her.

‘Bo’s on his way back up here but Silva’s talking to the boy with the streaky hair.’ Clare laughed. ‘She looks a bit star-struck, bless her. Are you making coffee? I think I might have toast.’

As Clare went to the larder to find bread, Miranda caught sight of Harriet outside on the terrace, still in last night’s cute lilac shift dress and half hiding behind the big hibiscus. She must be freezing, Miranda thought, going to let her in. But Harriet peeped round the plant and waved, putting her finger to her lips in a plea for secrecy. Miranda nodded to her and pointed towards the larder, indicating to her to wait. Harriet gave her a grin and went back behind the shrub.

‘The bunting’s going up in the village,’ Clare said, putting the loaf on the board and hunting in a drawer for the right knife. ‘It’s tatty old stuff and I bet it’s the same as when we were here last. I wouldn’t be surprised. I mean, who buys new bunting?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, what about for the Jubilee? Royal weddings?’ Miranda suggested as she poured boiling water into the cafetière, conscious of Harriet shivering behind the hibiscus.

‘But it’s probably a parish council matter and they’d discuss it till they all got bored to buggery and then not
make a decision and all go home with nothing sorted. Imagine being a councillor. Also, you can feel the season turning. By the middle of August the flowers have all started to go over. The gardens are looking tatty. I think people forget that England really peaks in May and June, not the main school holiday. Everyone should get plenty of time off when the colours are at their clearest and the plants are at their most flourishing. Then there’d be time to stand back and appreciate it all in its full glory.’

It was just starting to rain. Miranda thought of Harriet in her silky dress, out there in the wet. She’d do better to go down and shelter in the pool hut. She glanced out through the terrace doors but Harriet was still there, a tiny bit of lilac fabric visible through the leaves.

‘Tell you what, Mum, why don’t you go and have a shower and get dressed and I’ll do the toast for you?’

‘Oh – well, that’s kind. Are you sure?’

‘Yes, yes – you must be feeling cold.’

‘Well, I am a bit. And Miranda? Will you talk to Steve later? About the boat? When this bit of horrible weather’s over we could, you know, do the thing for Jack?’

‘OK, I will, I will. Now go, or the toast will be done and cold before you’re back.’

As soon as she’d gone, Miranda opened the door and let her sister in. ‘So, the walk of shame,’ she said, laughing. Harriet’s hair was a bit wild and she was carrying
her shoes. Miranda didn’t blame her; they weren’t exactly built for walking. ‘Are you going to tell me where you’ve been all night?’

‘Hang on. I’m dying for the loo.’ Harriet peered round the kitchen door into the hallway. ‘Where’s Mum?’

‘Upstairs having a shower. But you’re not a kid; I think she’d agree you’re allowed out. She’d probably congratulate you.’ Lucky girl, Miranda thought, feeling envious but pleased for Harriet, who was looking disgracefully radiant.

‘I know, I know. Just give me a minute.’ Harriet bolted up the stairs and was back in what seemed like seconds, in denim shorts and a pale blue cashmere jumper. She hugged her arms round her body and shivered. ‘Bloody cold out there, Manda. Like
winter
.’

‘Hot night, though?’ Miranda asked as she stuffed more bread in the toaster, then went to look in the fridge. ‘Bacon sandwich for you, or have you had a leisurely breakfast in bed?’

Harriet giggled. ‘I could murder a sarnie, thanks, and no, I didn’t. I had time for a shower then just coffee and a teeny choccy croissant. I was too excited to eat. Ooh, Manda, he is just …’ Harriet sighed like someone from an old movie romance. ‘He’s, you know … he’s just
gorgeous
. I think I’m in love. I am. Definitely.’

She started twirling round the kitchen. Miranda watched her, loving how excited and sparkly she was.
She couldn’t remember the last time she herself had felt like that.

‘You’ve got a big case of POG.’ Miranda laughed. ‘You should see yourself!’

‘What’s POG?’ Harriet stopped twirling and looked puzzled.

‘Post Orgasmic Glow,’ Miranda said. ‘Haven’t you heard that one before?’

‘No, I haven’t – but,’ and she looked prettily bashful for a moment, ‘I can’t say you’re not right. Wow, very right. I’m so
happy
. Squee!’ She hugged Miranda and then said, ‘Oh, and I forgot to say … I saw your Steve last night.’

‘Not
my
Steve. Did you? Where?’

‘At the Pengarret hotel, quite early on. He asked if you’d be around tomorrow but I told him you had a meeting in London and would be off on the train in the morning and away for a couple of days.’

‘Oh, right. Thanks.’ So at least he hadn’t completely put her out of his mind, Miranda thought, her spirits rising a bit, unless he was just making conversation with Harriet out of politeness.

‘He had that Cheryl girl from the shop with him,’ Harriet said. ‘And I have to admit, she might be a total cow but she scrubs up pretty good.’

Miranda reached into the oven to get the bacon out from the grill and managed to burn her hand.

‘Ouch!’ she squealed, going straight to the tap and running cold water over it.

‘What have you done?’ Harriet came over to look and gave Miranda a hug. ‘Oh, poor you! That’s going to sting.’ She passed Miranda a sheet of kitchen roll. ‘Here, wipe your tears with that. I always cry as well when I hurt myself. It must be a family thing, cos it’s not as if it’s
that
painful. I expect it’s just the shock.’

‘I expect you’re right,’ Miranda said, blowing her nose on the paper. ‘I’m sure that’s all it is.’

‘Do I
have
to?’ Bo hunched so far into his hoodie that Miranda wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d furled his body up into a ball and vanished inside the fabric. His hands went up into the sleeves and his head drooped.

It actually wasn’t an unreasonable question, in Miranda’s opinion, but it wasn’t about her or about him. In the middle of the drizzly morning, when Harriet had given in to lack of sleep and taken herself off to bed and Bo and Silva were starting to argue and muttering about wanting to watch mindless television, Clare had taken a look at the rain and the wind-blown trees and brightly suggested a trip out ‘as a family’. That she’d managed to say this without also welling up at the poignant thought of the one who was missing made Miranda feel that yes, whatever the children thought about it they were to be dragged along, and they’d
bloody well enjoy it even if she had to bribe them. She quite liked the idea, herself, thinking how good it would be to get out of this house of Steve’s and inhale some invigorating fresh air miles out of the village. She’d have preferred a long, tough walk on the coast path but this would do perfectly well instead and had the advantage that she could call in at the supermarket after and stock up on food for the rest of them while she was in London. Clare might argue that she didn’t need to but Miranda was feeling childishly cross about the idea of putting money into Cheryl’s greedy till. In a spirit of envy that she knew was totally unjustifiable yet satisfying, she’d have the whole village boycott her if she could. Not kind.

‘Sorry, but I think you do. It’ll make your gran happy and hey, it’s only half a day; a few hours out of your life. Be nice, please?’

‘S’pose. But it’s for, like
kids
,’ he groaned. ‘I mean, a
seal
sanctuary. Big floppy seals that don’t like
do
anything except swim and smell.’

‘There are otters too. And some penguins, I think. Or at least there were when I was your age.’ How long did a penguin live, Miranda wondered. If there were some there still, they couldn’t be the same ones, surely?

‘Oh, well, that makes a massive difference. Not.’ But there was a hint of a smile and Bo’s hands started to emerge from his chewed cuffs like the head of a shy tortoise tempted from its shell by the promise of a
strawberry. At least Silva was happy about the outing and Miranda felt grateful that she hadn’t so much as pulled a face. She could already be moody when she felt like it and by this time next year she’d probably go into a gigantic mega-sulk at the very idea of anything as uncool as being seen in public with her mum and her gran.

Just as they were leaving, Clare surprised Miranda by saying, ‘Er, I hope you don’t mind, but Eliot called me and he says he’d like to come too and bring Lola. Is that all right? I said we’d meet them there.’

‘Fine by me,’ Miranda said, but she looked at the children and noted their contrasting reactions. Bo seemed in danger of looking positively cheerful, but Silva was now the one with her hands huddled away in her jumper and a face like the rainclouds that were gathering over the village. ‘Do they
have
to come?’ she whispered to Miranda as soon as Clare had got into the car and shut the door. ‘Lola’s like, y’know …’

‘I thought you two got on OK?’ Miranda said.

‘Mostly. But you never know what mood she’s in. Bo likes her.’

Miranda hugged her, feeling Silva’s slender body stiffen in protest as she held her. ‘Gerroff, Mum. It’s OK.’ But her face promised that it wasn’t acceptable at all. They could do without this.

‘Yes. It
is
OK and it had better stay that way. As I said to Bo, it’s just a few hours. How much can it hurt?’

As she said it she felt a twist of pain inside herself, pushing at the ridiculous nagging ache that had been there since Harriet so casually mentioned that she’d seen Steve with Cheryl. But if she could put a brave happy face on, and if Clare could manage it in the middle of all her grief, then the children would just have to as well. She stroked the soft ginger head of Toby the cat, who was sitting in his usual place on the stone wall watching the seagulls, and got in the car and switched on the engine, mentally telling the ache to go away and leave her alone and let her enjoy the moment. She’d be halfway back to London this time tomorrow, and frankly she could hardly wait. Surely she’d slough off this idiotic unrequited teenage-crush feeling the moment the train crossed the glorious Brunel bridge at Plymouth. Even now, driving out of the village made her feel she could breathe a bit more easily. What she needed was a girly evening out in London, with plenty of white wine. Bring it on. Unless, and knowing her luck just now it’s how it would be, all her mates would be off on their own holidays somewhere.

Eliot and Lola had got there first and were waiting outside the Gweek Seal Sanctuary. Lola was looking as moody as Silva had been, gazing at her shoes in a glowering adolescent way. Eliot was reading a poster on the wall and looking quite cheerful.

He came over to the car, opened the door on the passenger side and gave his hand to Clare, who smiled
up at him as she took it. Neither seemed in a hurry to let go of each other, Miranda noticed with something of a shock as she locked the car. Clare looking that way at someone who wasn’t Jack? She must be imagining it, she thought. It had only been six months. Getting involved with someone else would be the last thing on her mind. It was just a happy rekindling of a long-ago friendship and she was just projecting how
she’d
been feeling. She had that jolt again, like being lightly but menacingly punched. There’d be this trip to London, then back for the last week here and she could go back to real life and never think about Steve again. Maybe.

‘I’ve already got tickets for us all,’ Eliot said, then chuckled. ‘I always get a kick out of being a concession, even though it’s a swings and roundabouts thing, isn’t it?’ He looked fondly at Clare. ‘Not that you’ll know about that for many years yet.’

‘Ha, not that many,’ she said.

‘Ah, well for sure you’ll need to carry ID with you at all times. They’ll be thinking you’re an ol’ liar, claiming to be over the age for the discount, so they will.’

Clare went pink and giggled briefly like a young girl. Bo looked at Miranda and muttered, ‘
Wha’?
’ at her.

Miranda shook her head and whispered, ‘Shh! He’s always been an old charmer.’ But she knew as she said it that this, for Bo, wasn’t the point.

‘But …
old
.’ Silva caught up and joined in, looking confused.

‘Shush! And hey, listen you two, you can feel just the same at seventy as you do at seventeen. Don’t ever forget that.’ They didn’t believe her and both burst into a chorus of the inevitable ‘eeuw’ and ‘yuck’ that they always came out with when faced with any unappealing fact about anyone more than ten years older than themselves, as if the teen years were the only valid age range on the planet.

Signs at the entrance warned that it was a long walk down to the seal tanks, but all Miranda’s party rejected the idea of an easy ride in the little train that was on offer. Bo, Silva and Lola ran off ahead down the path and soon were out of sight. Clare and Eliot walked together, talking, but with people coming up in the opposite direction and so many of them pushing prams there really wasn’t room for three abreast so Miranda dropped back and let them go ahead. The path was enclosed by trees and bushes, but glimpses through the foliage to the trees blowing wildly on the far side of the river told her that the day was getting more stormy by the hour, and when she reached the seal enclosures and emerged from the shelter of the surrounding shrubbery she felt the full force of the high wind and her hair whipped harshly against her face. The air was strangely hot, which seemed all wrong in the strong wind, and it felt heavily charged too. The forecast thunder surely couldn’t be far away.

Miranda caught up with the others by the largest
enclosure where the seals were waiting for feeding time and the humans had gathered to watch them being fed. The seals honked and shuffled, keenly anticipating their food on the poolside, and children wailed about the strong fishy smell and whinged for ice-cream.