The Other Side of Summer (9 page)

Floyd would often skate all morning and then busk all afternoon at a place called Southbank, by the River Thames. I’d never been. Being older he was allowed to go on bigger adventures, or maybe it was just that Mum and Dad knew they couldn’t stop him. I’d always watch him leave. I could picture him now, winding down the road on his board without once faltering over the tarmac lumps and buckled paving stones of our neighbourhood streets. The guitar would be against his back like it was as much a part of him as his arms and legs.

And it was that picture that got me up the next morning with my own adventure in mind. I liked to think that he’d be following behind me this time.

Where are we going?

Just wait and see.

I was still getting used to hearing Floyd in my head again. It made me nervous but excited. Nervous because of the quiet time in between. Excited because I wouldn’t be going to the creek alone.

Dad and Wren were still sleeping. ‘Gone for a walk’, I wrote on the back of a supermarket receipt on the kitchen bench. Then I screwed it up, threw it in the bin, and wrote, ‘Gone to buy milk’ on the back of one of Dad’s flyers, because that was more specific and I hadn’t tested out my free-range theory since we’d arrived. I didn’t need the weight of Dad’s worry on my back as well as the guitar.

I tried to wear the Ibanez Artwood like Floyd used to but it was so big that it knocked against the backs of my legs as I made my way to the front door. I had Milo’s map in my hand and the first of Floyd’s songs folded in my pocket.

I passed my own guitar on the way out, propped in a corner. The way I felt about the two instruments was so different. Only one of these objects had a soul.

Once I was out the front, I could smell the morning: tangy cut grass. It was blue-sky pretty, with a chill in the air. The trees were barely clinging to their crispy leaves.

Sophie was out there. She had rollerblades on, knee pads, elbow pads and a sparkly purple helmet.
And
she was sitting on a bike.

Who’s this?

Some annoying kid. Ignore her.

‘Hi, Summer! Come and play!’

‘That’s a lot of wheels,’ I said, flatly.

‘Mum wants me to be good at both.’

‘Right.’

‘I know! I’ll rollerblade and you can have a go on my bike!’

The idea of hanging out with Sophie was out of the question but transport to the creek seemed like a stroke of genius, even if the bike was pink with a heart-shaped bell. I just needed to make the two things separate: yes to bike, no to Sophie.

‘How about I take it for a test-drive around the block first?’

‘Mum says I’m only allowed to the end of the street and back.’

‘But I’m older, Soph. I can go further. You wouldn’t mind, would you?’

‘What will I get if I say yes?’

‘Depends. What do you want?’

‘To see your room. And to hang out with you.’ Her smile dropped and her eyebrows drew together. ‘
All day
.’

Wow, this kid is determined! She likes you, sis.

She’s only nine. We’re not friends. I can’t stand her.

Whoa, Summer …

‘Fine. It’s a deal. Tomorrow after school.’ I’d find a way to get out of it later. Floyd had no idea what he was talking about. He’d only just got here, after all.

‘That’s a start, I suppose.’ I got the feeling that Sophie’s main talent wasn’t rollerblading but getting her own way. She clambered off her bike awkwardly and held onto the fence while I wheeled it towards me. It was the perfect height for me, which was embarrassing.

‘You go off and rollerblade, Soph.’

‘But you’re coming straight back, right? You promised, Summer.’

I definitely hadn’t. I started pedalling. ‘Sure. Bye, Soph!’

I got a glimpse of her doubtful eyes as she clung to the fence with both hands. ‘Okay! Bye, Summer!’

I pedalled away from her down the wide pavement and grinned as I picked up speed. There were young trees on my right and driveways on my left. I rang the heart-shaped bell and was surprised to find that my own heart seemed to ring with a happy feeling. It didn’t matter so much about riding a bike that was much too young for me, because no one really knew me here.
The thought made me feel lighter and made me pedal even faster. I could be strange here. I could be different. There was no one to care.

At first it was awkward to ride along with such a big guitar on my back, but once I started I wasn’t going back. It was so much quieter here than back home in London, hardly any traffic. I held the map down on the handlebars with my thumbs and stopped at every corner to figure out where to go next.

At the third corner I heard a deep bark. I turned and saw Bee. She’d caught up with me! She raced towards me in a ghostly streak and when she got next to the bike her front legs stopped before her back ones and she almost fell over. I loved the way she was ladylike one minute and lumpish the next.

‘Good girl! Coming with me?’

For a moment she sat still with her head on the side, looking at me. Maybe she was wondering if this was a good idea. Or maybe it was her way of telling me off for not taking her with me in the first place.

‘Sorry, Bee. I’m used to being by myself, that’s all.’

She barked once and raced ahead. We were off! She was easily as fast as I was, even with a good wind pushing me from behind. Bee was bigger than the bike, the guitar was nearly bigger than me, and I couldn’t help laughing at what we must have looked like.

I felt a rush as I cruised off the pavement and onto the smooth tarmac of the road, laughing with a ripple in my heart, the way I used to when Floyd would chase me up the stairs.

You used to scream your head off.

I’ll scream right now if you like!

Go on!

‘Aieeeeeeeee!’ I laughed again.

The wind had whipped up the dry leaves from the ground, making them look like they’d decided to come along with us for the ride. A few leaves skimmed the guitar and sailed over my head. Bee jumped up mid-run to snap at them. I barked a laugh and she echoed me happily. On we went, creating a storm of whizzing wheels, racing paws and flying leaves: a strange sort of crew on some kind of adventure.

We were there in ten minutes; Milo’s map was perfect. I stopped to look at the entrance sign to this bit of bushland. It had a whole list of warnings about the water as well as some drawings of wildlife to look out for: kookaburras, lorikeets, magpies, frogs, eels and flying foxes. There was a word hand-painted: Wominjeka. In small letters underneath, the sign said it meant ‘Welcome’ in the language of the Aboriginal
people who’d lived here first. I liked that. It felt like I was arriving somewhere special. Bee barked once to hurry me up.

There was a bike path all along the river that stretched around a bend in either direction. I followed Milo’s arrows. ‘Stop here for Growling Grass Frogs (endangered),’ the map said. It was amazing: one minute I couldn’t hear a thing, the next it was as if the frogs had all started croaking just for me. I stopped the bike for a moment to listen. It was a funny griping sound, as if they were complaining about the weather.

I continued along the path. Sometimes the water sounded like whispering, other times like people clapping. Sometimes it looked deep and dark and other times rocks peeped out and the water frothed around them. I couldn’t identify a single plant or tree except for plain old ‘grass’ – and even the grass was a different, tougher kind. Wren’s giant paintbox didn’t have this many greens and browns. I never knew a place could be this lovely without all the other colours.

Milo’s biggest cross was on a little rock that looked like it was a few metres from the path, right down the steep slope. As I came close to where I thought it would be, I got off Sophie’s bike and wheeled it along. When I was sure I was in the right place, I hid the bike in a bush and headed down, Bee bounding in circles around me
with every step I took. Her energy had infected me but I was puffed now. My back was hot and sweaty under my jumper and I couldn’t wait to off-load the guitar and sit down for a rest.

‘Look, Bee, that’s it there.’ It was exactly as Milo had drawn it: a flat rock jutting out of the water like a natural dock. Three brown ducks sailed around its edges like small boats. The rock was in the shade of tall trees that crowded the edge of the water, and the mossy ground around it was soft and lumpy like a cushion. I took off the guitar and sat down. Bee’s leathery pink tongue was lolling out of the side of her mouth and her ears moved to the sound of birds messaging each other high above us.

The river was murky and tanned, whipped up like someone blowing hard on a cup of tea. Only, this water must have been freezing. I breathed in slowly and tasted leaf and earth, water and sunshine, cold air and silence – all of that. There were silvery needles of light where the sun caught the water as it coursed over tree roots and rocks. It was a place where you could be small and still, just noticing things.

My breath and Bee’s breath and the rush of the water were becoming one peaceful sound. Just like Milo had said, it was a place that felt like nowhere else.

Bee caught my eye.

‘Like it here?’

She tipped her head to the side as if to say, ‘Who wouldn’t?’

‘Me too.’

I held the guitar in my lap and pinned down the ‘Let It Be’ sheet music in front of me with a small rock.

‘No one will hear me, Bee.’ Except Floyd, I thought. And hoped.

Bee lay on her belly and rested her head on her front paw.

I’ve waited months for this, Summer.

I don’t want you to be disappointed.

As if, Sum.

I gulped and looked at the chords. There were only four to get right, and a melody for the last line of the verse. Then I began. I was cautious at first, bracing myself for the sting of the steel strings of the Ibanez Artwood, which were harder on the tips of my fingers than the nylon strings of my own guitar. The first chord change was horrible, but I kept going. I pressed a little harder and ran my right thumb down and up. Back up, down again, bolder this time. I was mumbling the words of the chorus, humming the rest, and concentrating on the chords.

Am I doing this right, Floyd?

He didn’t answer. Maybe that was his way of pushing me to be better. I was starting to feel the old magic of the two of us playing together. When I closed my eyes I imagined I could hear Floyd’s first guitar – the one he used to let me practise on – playing along with me. Soon a joyful laugh was rising in me like bubbles. I carried on, louder and faster and louder and faster.

Suddenly Bee scrambled up on her long legs and barked.

‘Sh, it’s okay, I’m just practising.’ I giggled, feeling silly for getting carried away and spooking my dog. But Bee wouldn’t settle. Towering over me, she put her nose in the air and barked again. Come on, Bee, I thought. I didn’t ruin the song
that
much.

I plucked out some more notes and tried to make the melody flow more smoothly from my fingers. ‘Your lessons with me must have stuck, don’t you think, Floyd?’ I’d never talked to my brother out loud before but it seemed all right in front of our dog and out here. ‘It’s sad you didn’t know him, Bee. You two would have got along like a –’

Bee sat down very deliberately and howled. It was sad and insistent and directed across the water to the bank on the other side of the creek.

Over there, a twig snapped. I looked away from Bee and saw a boy stumbling backwards and landing
awkwardly. There was someone else here? But that side of the river was rough and tangled with trees and shrubs. There was no path over there that I could see.

The boy seemed confused. Shocked, even – I could tell from his movements. I watched as he stared up at the canopy of trees. He looked along the creek each way and then behind him into the brambles and long grass.

I was frightened.

Bee and I stood up together and I put my hand on her back. This boy looked like he was in trouble. Maybe he was hiding from someone. I had a horrible feeling that I’d stumbled into someone else’s drama and should get out of there as quickly as possible.

As I struggled to get off the rock I could hear the boy muttering quite clearly, even though he was over the other side.

‘What the …? Holy … I must be dreaming. Please let me be dreaming.’

I tried to stop staring at him. My fingers fumbled with the guitar strap as I struggled to get it on my back. Bee was dancing on her toes. She looked from me to the boy, me to the boy. As I started to get away, she sat down stubbornly and made a strange whining noise.

‘Come on, Bee!’ I whispered.

In her eyes I saw longing and sadness. Or did I? That was silly. What did I know about dogs? And what did dogs know about a situation like this? I was in charge here. I had to make a decision, and that was to leave. Dad and Wren didn’t even know I was here – no one on Earth did.

But I couldn’t help myself; I looked over again. The boy had stepped out of the trees’ shade and onto a rock that was in direct sunlight. Now I saw him properly, and a sound halfway between a gasp and a cry came out of my mouth as it hit me: I’d seen that face before.