The Other Side of Summer (12 page)

The boy’s eyes popped open as if he’d been woken from a deep sleep by a loud noise. And when he’d taken in where he was, fear transformed his face and deepened as each second passed. His eyes darted around my bedroom.

I could see his fear but I could
feel
mine. So why wasn’t I screaming? Why didn’t I run?

I tried to listen for Floyd’s voice but it was like putting my ear to a shell. There was nothing but a
shhh
sound.

Bee got up from my bed and lay on her belly right in front of the boy, where he was sitting on the floor with his back pressed into the corner. Why did Bee
trust this stranger? If he hurt her, I’d … Well, what
would
I do? What
could
you do to a ghost-boy? Because he had to be a ghost. How else could he be here? He wore board shorts and a dark singlet. His feet were bare. I couldn’t remember what he’d been wearing the other times but wouldn’t a ghost always wear the same thing?

If I stayed still and silent, maybe he’d disappear.

He rested his forehead on his knees, his shoulders heaving as he took a few deep breaths. Then he looked up again and the same confusion passed over his face.

‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ he whispered. Finally he looked at me.

Yes,
I’m
here, I thought. This is
my
room.
My
place. You’re the one who keeps showing up.

Maybe I wasn’t afraid of him after all. Maybe I was just angry that he kept invading my space. Maybe fear and anger were the same thing, sometimes.

He clasped his hands together. They were shaking. I held the guitar against me like a shield. Was he going to speak again? Ghost-boy, creek-boy: come on, I thought, tell me why you’re here.

‘What do you want?’ I said.

He didn’t reply and I couldn’t read his face.

‘Were you in my garden the other night?’

He glanced at my window and then at Bee, who now lay on her side, showing the boy her soft golden
tummy. She lifted one paw and batted the air with it, as if she were waving, trying to attract the boy’s attention. My brain kept flicking between how calm Bee seemed and how impossible this was. I glanced at the door and couldn’t think why I was petrified that it would open again at any moment.

‘You’ve been in my room before, haven’t you?’

‘I think so.’ His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t used it for a while, and he cleared his throat. ‘It was dark. I didn’t know where I was. I thought it was a dream.’ His excuses almost sounded like saying sorry.

‘But
this
isn’t a dream,’ I said. ‘I’m awake. The sun’s out. It’s the afternoon.’

He shook his head but then shrugged, as if he’d changed his mind. The more unsure he looked the more my anger and fright turned to frustration. Why wouldn’t he tell me what was happening, what he wanted?

He looked younger than I’d thought before. Definitely a boy, not a man. Fifteen, maybe. His face was like Floyd’s had been: smooth cheeks and bright eyes, lanky arms and legs that were feather-haired. And his hair was in black dreadlocks, wild and stiff like sea anemones, with hidden bits of coloured wool wrapped in the depths of some of them. They ran to his jawline and he kept tucking them behind his right ear, though they were much too unruly to stay put.

His face was mesmerising. He had brown skin with a streak of white that ran through his left eyebrow, down the middle of his eyelid, bleaching his eyelashes. It was like chalk. The iris of his left eye looked grey; the right one dark brown. Every one of his features was defined; every bone wanted you to know about it, like a sculpture.

But even though I could see what he was made of, he didn’t have the solid look of the other things in my room. He looked half-here, half-not. He had to be, as I’d first thought, a ghost-boy.

‘Why do you keep coming here?’

‘I’ve got no idea. I thought
you
were making it happen.’

The feeling that I’d seen him before any of this happened wouldn’t go away. ‘When I first saw you at the river, I thought I knew you from somewhere else. Maybe I met you back home in London. Have you ever been there?’

‘Never. I’ve never left Melbourne, not even once.’ He looked out the window. ‘We are in Melbourne, aren’t we?’

I nodded, but we were getting nowhere. ‘What were you doing at the river that day? Was someone chasing you?’

‘What’s with all the questions? I didn’t ask for this to happen. Get lost.’

‘This is
my
house. You’re in
my
room.
You
get lost.’ Bee got up in her ungainly way and she barked, first at the boy, and then at me.

‘What’s his problem?’ said the boy.

‘
Her
.’ I had a feeling that Bee didn’t like us arguing. The boy got up a bit but only to his haunches. I stayed standing. Bee stayed where she was, looking down to the boy and then up to me.

‘What’s that smell?’ he said, wrinkling his nose.

I blushed and said, ‘Nothing! What smell?’

‘School dinners. Bleach, maybe.’

I couldn’t smell anything and felt embarrassed. You couldn’t smell your own scent as well as other people could. I remembered that Mal’s house smelled of cinnamon and Gran’s like a wood fire, but they probably didn’t know that.

‘You said your name was Sophie, right?’

‘I did, but … it isn’t. It’s Summer.’

‘Summer. Okay. Just tell me for real, are you making this happen to me?’

‘No!’ I sounded so sure but I wasn’t. ‘I can’t be. Well, not on purpose. I don’t know anything about …’

‘About what?’

I didn’t want to say the word ‘ghosts’ out loud.

He pushed his finger and thumb into his eyes, trying to rub me away, perhaps. Maybe he was a ghost
who had taken a wrong turn. Or maybe he was new at this.

‘What’s your name?’ I said.

‘It’s Gabriel. Gabe. My friends call me G.’

I didn’t think that could be an invitation, and my mind settled on ‘Gabe’, which I thought suited him.

‘Man, this is so messed up. What am I still doing here?’ He made a cage around his head with his arms.

Bee got down and rolled right over, like I’d taught her. She lay with her legs comically bent in the air until eventually Gabe looked at her and smiled. ‘I like her.’

‘She’s mine.’ I felt stupid for saying it, like Sophie snatching away her favourite toy. ‘Her name’s Bee,’ I added.

Bee looked around at me. She knew her name but what else did she know that I didn’t about this boy? She seemed to trust him straight away. I knew what Mal would do. She’d just come out with it. ‘So, I guess you’re … I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but … you’re dead. A ghost.’

Gabe looked surprised for a moment but then he smiled and actually laughed at me. ‘Sorry to disappoint you but
I’m
definitely not dead. Are you?’

‘Am I what?’

‘Dead, obviously.’

‘No!’

‘See how it feels?’

‘Yes, but …’ I wasn’t going to argue now. I’d wait for him to confess. I’d be the one to hold out the longest. Floyd and Wren used to do this. They’d play tricks on me and would never let up until I said I believed them. I wasn’t going to let this boy win. Whether Gabe believed it or not, he had to be a ghost. I’d been talking to Floyd since before Christmas – just a voice, though, I’d never seen him – so maybe things had got mixed up and they’d sent me the wrong spirit or illusion, or whatever a ghost was. Maybe that explained why I couldn’t hear Floyd’s voice when Gabe was around.

I couldn’t make up someone like Gabe. I’d never find that detail inside myself. And I’d never seen a scar or birthmark like the one on his eye.

After what felt like ages he said, ‘It’s lasting longer this time. It was only about a minute when I was in the garden, the same when I was here the first time. More when I saw you at the river.’

‘Where did you go after I left the river? And after every other time?’

‘Home, I guess? Except –’ his face screwed up ‘– when I’m home, I don’t remember this crazy stuff. Life just carries on.’ Suddenly his face looked terrified, as if he’d just remembered something.

‘What is it?’

‘What? Nothing.’ He seemed annoyed with me for asking, but I couldn’t stop my questions now.

‘Can you feel the floor?’ I said.

Gabe put his hands flat either side of him. ‘Why? Is there a portal under here or something?’ He smiled. Every time he did, I felt I could relax a bit.

‘No, I just wondered if … if you could
feel,
you know?’

‘I can feel.’ He shrugged. ‘Look, I can pat your dog.’

I froze as he reached out a hand and put it gently on Bee’s head.

‘There. Warm, hairy, like a dog. What did you expect?’

But that’s when I knew that Gabe really couldn’t be in my world, because if you ever touched the top of Bee’s head she’d stop you. She didn’t like it. She’d swivel her chin up to let you know that she preferred to be touched under there, or down her chest. She did it every single time, to every single person. And Bee hadn’t moved a muscle. Bee couldn’t feel Gabe’s hand. Gabe was either imagining it or lying to me.

Then again, Bee was behaving as if she could not only see Gabe but as if she liked him, too.

‘You’re the best, aren’t you, girl?’ said Gabe. He held out his hand to her nose. She sniffed it, but she didn’t lick it.

I got up, nervously, and walked over to him.

‘Touch my hand.’ I reached out, keeping as much distance between us as possible.

‘Hang on. You still think I’m not real, don’t you?’

‘It’s impossible for you to be real!’ I took my hand back.

‘I’m not a ghost, Summer! I’m alive. My name’s Gabe. Gabriel de Souza, if you want the official version. You can look me up. I’m fifteen and I live … Wait, where are we?’

‘It’s called Fairfield.’

‘I live only a few k’s from here! In a unit – not a grave or wherever you’ve pictured me. With a family. Well, with my mum, she’s my family. I’m there every day. Every. Day. Believe me, Summer, I’m real. I’m
real
.’ He smacked his chest several times and I swear I could
almost
hear the sound of it. ‘This is happening to
me
, got that?
I’m
the only one being shifted about all over the place. Not you.’

‘Don’t shout. Someone will hear you.’

‘So what? Maybe they can help me. You won’t be able to if you don’t even believe I’m real. Look.’ He stood up and I felt small and somehow in the wrong, even though my head was telling me I couldn’t be. ‘I can feel this wall. Your dog. Your pillow. Are you watching? One’s cold, one’s warm and shaggy, one’s
soft. I can
feel
them.’ He touched each one in turn but his hand left no mark on my pillow. I kept that to myself and just stared at him. ‘I can feel and I
have
feelings. So I’m
real
.’

He must have seen the look on my face, though, because he said, ‘Fine. Give me your hand, then.’

My fingers were shaking. When I saw his hand up close, I watched it flicker from solid to transparent from second to second as if with every blink of my eyes he was here and then not here. When our fingers were as close as they could be, an electric shock coursed through my arm and we both pulled back.

‘What was that?’ he said.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Did I hurt you?’

‘No, I’m fine.’

‘Good. This is just … Sorry, I can’t get my head around it. But Summer, I’m real, okay?’

‘Okay. I’m sorry, too.’ I moved my fingers, touching the tips where the calluses from playing guitar had grown again and the nerve endings weren’t as sensitive. But every nerve I had remembered that electric touch.

Gabe looked like he was on the verge of tears. His expression changed when he noticed the guitar. ‘Is that yours?’ he said, frowning.

‘Yes. Can you play?’

He paused and blinked slowly as if he’d gone somewhere in his mind. ‘Always wanted to. Never had one to learn on.’

A new idea rose like bubbles in my mind: the guitar is part of this. At the creek, at my bedroom window, Sophie playing just now.

But before I could stretch out that thought to make any sense, Gabe started to fade.

‘I think something’s happening. You’re going,’ I said.

Gabe looked at his hands, then at Bee, and then at me. ‘How can you tell? I can’t see any difference.’

I could. Gabe was spreading and fading like smoke. His arms and legs, boneless, and his face slipping and twisting away until finally there was nothing in the corner of my room but dust motes.

For a moment, my room held the echo of him. Then it exhaled and my ears popped like when we landed here in the aeroplane. Suddenly the sounds around me were louder: a lawnmower, and kids’ voices from a nearby garden.

He was gone, but where?

I opened my door, unsure if everything on the other side would be as it was. Everything looked normal, except … from the top of the stairs I saw Sophie’s plaits just whipping out of sight at the bottom. Had she been up here listening all that time? Would she tell?

Staying out of sight, I listened and heard Sophie crying to her mum about the way I’d shouted at her. She didn’t say a word about hearing me talk to Gabe, though, so she can’t have had her ear to the door. So what had she been doing all that time, then? I was sure she wouldn’t waste the chance to get me into trouble after what I’d said to her.

I knew three things. One: I wasn’t imagining Gabe – Bee could see him as well. Two: Gabe had to be my secret. And three: now this mysterious thing had started, I needed to know how, and especially why.

My feelings jangled like wind chimes, hinting at change. I had to see him again, as soon as possible.

Not here, though. Not in this house, with Wren and Dad always watching me and nosy neighbours who never left us alone. But I knew just the place.