The Summer Without You (38 page)

‘What? You really think I’d do that? I’d just walk away from my own family?’

‘You’ve done it once, Matt,’ she said tightly. ‘So let’s just get this done once and for all.’

He watched her for a moment, as though finally hearing what she was saying, his eyes finding the new distrust in hers. ‘You’d really rather stay there, even with all that shit going
on?’

‘That’s right. Even with all that.’

They stared at each other’s pixelated images on the flickering screen. ‘Then I’ll call you when I can,’ he said finally.

‘Fine.’ Her heart was pounding triple time, her breathing shallow.

‘Fine.’ He had dropped his gaze from her and the top of his newly bald head was the last thing she saw of him before he disappeared from view again. The screen went black and Ro
found herself alone in her room in her new life that didn’t include him.

She jumped up and began pacing madly, her hands balling into anxious fists, her feet coming down so hard on the floorboards that she knew the small wooden ceiling light downstairs would be
swaying slightly, disturbing Hump from his position on the sofa as he groaned that Big Foot was on the prowl.

Regret was already snapping at her heels like a nervy dog. Oh God, why had she said those things? It had been the opportunity she’d been waiting for since he’d left and she’d
just thrown it back in his face, rejected it. Rejected
him
.

She dropped her head in her hands, confused by her own actions. She said she wanted one thing and yet inexplicably did another. She felt caught between two worlds, trying to keep one leg planted
in each life, like a giant straddling continents. It should have been easier than this, just a light-hearted summer of weekends at the beach and driving on the right; but she hadn’t counted
on the sapling friendships that were springing up around her and steadily turning into oaks. Florence, Bobbi, Hump, Melodie . . . Each of them brought a new dimension to her life – spiritual
wisdom, motherly advice, sibling rivalry and peace – and she knew it wasn’t Matt’s fault he didn’t know that. He heard only the headlines, not the behind-the-scenes stories.
Yes, she’d been attacked, but if he only knew how tenderly Hump had put her back together again. And he wouldn’t implore her to leave Florence if he knew how isolated she was already
– he knew that she understood better than anyone what it was to be alone.

No. Ro straightened up, inhaling decisively. She was right to see this through. In less than two months, summer would be over and the contract fulfilled. Everyone would be gone from here, and
she and Matt would be back together in their cottage in Barnes. That was the plan they had agreed upon and were working towards. They needed to stick to it, even if . . . even if it was
that
life
that felt like the foreign concept now.

Ro sat on the bench, looking out to sea, her hair trying to blow in her face, but it wasn’t quite long enough these days. Rubbing against her left shoulder was a small
brass memorial plaque, given by the grateful family of one of the nursing home’s former residents, and she shifted position slightly, feeling its corners catching against the thin cotton of
her T-shirt. She noticed there were quite a few benches like this one in the gardens – everyone, it seemed, wanting a rest or a view. Or to be remembered.

She watched as, overhead, the precious piping plovers that seemed to be so famous in these parts wheeled on the thermal currents, gliding and swooping with a freedom she found dizzying. They
made it look fun, even to her, and freedom had never been something to celebrate in her book. It was the dark undertow she was constantly fighting. Sometimes she felt like her entire life was a
battle to belong to someone. Was it really too much to ask for the quiet happiness of someone to love and to love her back?

Her thoughts drifted to Matt, as ever. They hadn’t spoken since the fight, six days ago, but she, for once, wasn’t hovering by the phone. She hadn’t changed her mind about
leaving here. In fact, she was more convinced than ever that it was the right thing to do. It had been a revelation to realize that as much as she missed him, she didn’t need him – at
least, not in the way that she used to. Just over four months ago, he’d been her oxygen, the engine that powered her heart, and she couldn’t function without him. But he’d left
her alone, left her to fend for herself while he went off chasing dreams, and to her surprise as much as his, she wasn’t sinking.

She looked at the birds again. It did look fun up there, flying.

A sudden shriek – a joyous, playful sound – made her turn and she saw Florence just inside the building, sitting in a wheelchair, watching two little boys fist-pumping the air like
they’d won the Superbowl. They ran out into the garden together, away from where she was sitting, holding what looked like a piece of paper between their hands. A young woman – their
mother presumably – was crouched down beside the chair, her hands resting gently on Florence’s, eyes locked on her face. She was talking intently to her and Ro took in the similarities
of their profiles: small, deep-set eyes, rosy complexions and high foreheads, with hair that naturally swept back, as though a lifetime of Alice band-wearing had conditioned it to grow in that
direction. Ro thought she’d seen her before. But where?

Florence appeared to say something, and it made the woman – her daughter surely? – laugh, the sound as sudden and arresting as the childlike noise that her sons had made moments
earlier, piercing the thick skin of convalescing silence that blanketed the nursing home like an anaesthetic. But then something changed and the young woman had her hands cupped over her face; her
shoulders were shaking in small hiccups. She wasn’t laughing after all – she was crying. Ro watched Florence’s hand lift slowly – the effort clear even at this distance of
fifty metres – and she began slowly stroking her daughter’s fine, blonde hair, the woman shaking her head all the while, seemingly embarrassed by the strength of her emotions but unable
to stop them.

Ro looked away, feeling intrusive, and watched the boys instead. She was pretty sure they were twins – same height, same build – but one of them had a shock of orange hair, the other
blond. Ro guessed they were around six or seven. They were standing close together, heads almost touching, one hand linked. She peered closer – were they thumb-wrestling? Both seemed
oblivious to their mother’s tears, their grandmother’s infirmity.

By the time she turned back, the woman was standing, wiping her hands lightly on her khaki shorts, her face flushed but nothing more telling than that about the storm that had just raged through
her.

Then, suddenly, they were looking over at Ro, and Ro felt herself blush, embarrassed to have been caught intruding on their private moment. Should she turn away? Stand up and walk over?

The decision wasn’t hers to make. In the next instant, Florence was being wheeled through the doors and along the smooth path to where Ro was sitting, pretending to enjoy the view.

‘Ro.’

The weak voice could barely be heard above the breeze and Ro didn’t pretend, for pride’s sake, that she hadn’t heard.

She jumped up from the bench. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can always come back another time if—’

The woman stepped forward. ‘Not at all. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. I’m Casey.’

Her voice was softer than Ro had anticipated. She looked just like one of the yoga bunnies from Bobbi’s class, with tight skin and stealth-wealth style, but she had Florence’s warm,
expressive grey eyes and a welcoming smile.

‘Ro. Hi,’ she replied, lightly shaking her hand.

‘Mom told me what happened to you too. I’m so sorry. Are you OK now?’

‘Absolutely. It was nothing really,’ Ro said, not wanting any sympathy distracted from Florence’s plight, before realizing she was rubbing her arms and forcing herself to
stop.

‘It was not nothing,’ Florence said, and the fragility of her voice made Ro look down in alarm, all manners forgotten. She took in the sight of her, up close now, cushions plumped
all around her like airbags, a blanket covering her legs.

‘Are you out of the wind, Mom?’ Casey asked, positioning Florence’s chair to a different angle.

Florence nodded, not wasting her strength unnecessarily.

‘Well, then I’ll leave you both to talk.’ Casey looked at Ro. ‘She’s been very anxious to see you. I’m sorry we’ve hogged all the visiting slots up to
now.’

‘You’re her daughter,’ Ro smiled. ‘Frankly, I’d have been alarmed if you hadn’t.’

Casey called the boys over, introducing them quickly as Freddie and Jude, before restraining them from throwing their arms around their grandmother’s neck. ‘Remember, you need to be
gentle with Grandma now.’

Ro waited for them to walk away before she sat down. She felt suddenly nervous.

‘Well, it’s official. I’m now old,’ Florence half-whispered, pointedly smoothing the blankets on her legs. Her voice may be weak, but her spirit clearly wasn’t. Ro
leaned forward, lightly touching Florence’s shoulder, too scared still to touch her hands, forearms or face. Her eyes were clear grey again – thank God – and her complexion all
but free of the liverish pallor. ‘Not old. Temporarily below par.’

Florence smiled at the vast understatement.

‘Are they looking after you properly?’ It seemed to Ro that Florence had lost more weight.

‘Well, the cook clearly thinks everything tastes better when it’s covered in vinegar.’

‘Oh dear.’

Florence glanced back at her. ‘No, I’m not complaining. I know I’m lucky to be here.’

Ro kept quiet. Florence had no idea
how
lucky. She had to assume her family were protecting her from the truth of what had happened. ‘The posters are up, by the way. I saw one by
the cinema earlier. They look really good.’

‘Thanks to you.’

‘
You
, you mean. Your idea.’

‘Your concept.’ Florence smiled weakly.

‘Team effort, then.’

‘Team effort.’

They fell silent again, Ro’s brain overloaded from feeling like she was going to trip over the ugly truth that had to stay hidden. She looked over and smiled as the silence lengthened, and
was surprised to find Florence already watching her.

‘How much longer must I stay here?’ Florence asked.

Ro swallowed. Her inability to lie was almost spectacular to watch. ‘Until the doctors are satisfied your s-skin is healing properly and there’s no risk of infection. Septicaemia
could be a risk if that happened,’ she said quickly.

Florence blinked patiently. ‘The real reason, Ro.’

Ro hesitated, staring down at her own hands, trying to hide the lies in her eyes. ‘Florence, it’s really not for me to—’

‘I may look frail, but I know what’s happening. You know I know. I tried to tell you, that day in the kitchen.’ She paused until Ro looked back up at her. ‘I always knew
you
were never the intended target. And this was no accident either.’

Ro frowned, shifting in her seat slightly. ‘You mean . . . you’re saying you think the two events are linked?’

Florence nodded slowly.

‘But why, Florence? What proof is there that what happened in the Pear wasn’t a random attack? Why should the two things be related?’

Florence sighed, a deep, heavy sound that echoed through her shrunken body. ‘Because there had been other things before. Warnings, I suppose.’

Ro felt her temperature drop. ‘What?’

Florence was quiet for such a long time, Ro wondered whether she was even going to answer. ‘They started off as sweeteners, inducements – offers for first-class flights anywhere I
wanted to go, jewellery, donations to my charities in my name, that kind of thing . . .’ Her eyes narrowed in concentration. ‘I think you were there when the necklace arrived, were you
not?’

Ro nodded. ‘Yes, the pearl necklace from Tiffany. I saw your expression change when you read the note.’

Florence gave a tiny snort of contempt. ‘Yes, well . . . I stuck to my guns and sent it back. I refused to budge, and that’s when things grew uglier: I received dog excrement in the
mail—’

Ro gasped in disgust. ‘But you never said!’

Florence blinked slowly. ‘And why would I have done? Would it have made it any less terrible burdening you with it?’

Ro looked away; she knew the real reason why Florence hadn’t told her – Ro hadn’t believed her when she had tried to bring it up. She realized now what she had seen in
Florence’s eyes that day in the kitchen – disappointment. ‘What other things were there?’ she asked quietly, ashamed that she had effectively turned her back.

Florence watched her for a moment, as though reading her like a book. ‘They were clever – making sure they left no trace, changing it up. A few silent phone calls, and I’m
pretty sure that for a few weeks someone was watching the house – I could see on the CCTV by the gates, the same car, always parked just forward enough that I couldn’t see the plates or
the driver. By the time I’d opened the gates they’d be gone. Then there were other things that were more nuisance than anything – my appointments would be changed without my
knowledge, making me look disorganized and incompetent in front of my colleagues; not to mention the missing money from accounts that only I can authorize. I’d come in from being out and find
the alarm off, even though I knew I’d set it. I’m not senile, Ro. I’m sixty-two, not ninety-two.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘But they were trying to confuse me. Making me think I couldn’t live on my own anymore, that I wasn’t responsible, wasn’t safe. Trying to force me out.’

‘Who’s “they”?’

‘The people who want the house.’

Ro blinked at her, not understanding, desperate to keep up. ‘Your house?’

‘Yes. The house next door is empty, has been for a few years. It was up for sale for a long time and the realtor did quite a lot of work to it, trying to upgrade it to match the rest of
the street. Then, finally, quite suddenly, it was sold just before Christmas – and that was when everything became unpleasant.’

‘So you think the people in that house want you out of yours – what, for the land?’