Twisted Summer

• Title Page
  
• PART ONE
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• PART TWO
  
• PART THREE
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• EPILOGUE
  
• About The Author
  

www.lucyvmorgan.com

TWISTED SUMMER

LUCY V. MORGAN

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 by Lucy V. Morgan

Front cover design by Kenny Wright

www.kennywriter.com

Back cover design by Patti Roberts

All lyrics by Matthew Gordon

© Dexter’s Noose

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

As always, I’ve had a lot of help putting this project together. Huge thanks to my lovely team of friends-slash-professionals who make this kind of thing far easier than
it is for many; to my editor and designers, thank you. You’re awesome.

Additional thanks to the various people who provide ad hoc childcare for the small wonder that is my daughter. It makes working possible, and that’s very much appreciated.

Finally,
thank you to the people who continue to buy my books. I write for you. I’d quite like to keep on doing it.

For A, who would just love it if I wrote something cheesy for him here.

Unless, of course, it was
too
cheesy
.

July 2nd 2012

“
The most beautiful things live and die in a day

You may think that it’s quick, they don’t feel any pain

They are drowned in a teardrop, crushed in your palm

In the blink of an eye, they’re alive…then embalmed
.”

Dexter’s Noose

I wished I’d never opened my mouth.

“Seriously, Mum.” I prodded her in the shoulder from the back seat of the car. “We can turn around any time you like. I was joking. I didn’t mean it—”

She waved me off, and it wasn’t exactly gentle. “No, no. You said it: you’d rather live in the middle of nowhere than spend another minute in our
poxy little house
. So that’s what you’ll do for a weekend. Then we’ll see if you still feel the same way.” She huffed and puffed like an indignant rhinoceros. “Don’t put this on me, Danielle. I’ve had enough of your backchat.”

My middle finger was rising when my phone went off. I flipped it open. “Boyah.”

“Danni. Just got your message. What the frick is going on?” Esmé’s voice dragged with disappointment and my heart sank into my belly. We’d bickered enough these past few weeks—this was the last thing I needed.

“I’m sorry. It’s all crap. I can’t go see Dexter’s Noose on Saturday.”

“But I got those tickets specially for your birthday. You’re going to miss—”

“I know, baby.” I glared at my mum in the car mirror and she rolled her eyes in return. “It’s not my fault. I had this stupid argument with Mum and now she’s making me spend the weekend with my weirdo uncle.”

“He’s not your uncle,” Mum snapped.

“What? Why?” Esmé tutted. “Did you slag off her cooking again?”

“Something like that.”

“But it’s only Thursday, and you’re eighteen now. You can do whatever the hell you want—”

“Her house, her rules, blah sucky blah.”

Esmé sighed. “I didn’t even know you had an uncle.”

“Yeah, well…step uncle. I haven’t seen him since I was, like, the size of a midget. He lives in some crappy cabin on the coast.”

“The coast?” she exclaimed. “Where are you?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Devon.”

“
Devon?
Dan. That’s like a hundred miles from here.” She sniffled a bit. “I can’t believe I don’t get to see you all weekend.”

“I know…but I’ll be back on Monday, I promise. We’ve got the whole summer. I’ll make the concert up to you.” I toyed with a streak of my dark hair. “I love you.”

Esmé made that little
heh
noise which meant she was biting her lip. “I love you too, pixie.”

Then she hung up, and I found my middle finger wasn’t quite as twitchy.

“Are you happy now?” I said to Mum. “Esmé’s really upset.”

She shrugged. “Not my fault.”

No, not her fault at all that I was headed farther and farther from civilization with every mile. Out on the narrow A-roads, the shapes of overhanging trees swallowed us in shadowy gulps. When the sun shot sporadically through the branches, it flashed against the windscreen and turned the inside of the car into a yellow blur. My phone signal was waning, I felt hot and sticky, and frankly, was in indecent need of an ice cream. I finally got up the guts to express how much I hated sharing our house with Malcolm the Moron, and this was what I got in return? Great start to my summer. Everything about it sucked.

“Gabe’s going to meet us at the bottom of his track,” said Mum. “He reckons I won’t get this piece of junk up there.”

His house really
was
out in the sticks. “He’s got running water there, right?”

“Why would you need running water? Beach on your doorstep…you can wipe your bum on bits of seaweed…”

“Ha bloody ha.” I blinked. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

She smirked at me in the mirror and I put my face in my hands.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled out of the woodland and onto a tiny road. Mum’s little Nissan had barely navigated a few twists and turns when a tall figure came into view, waving an arm inward:
this way.

“Is that Uncle Gabe?” I squinted at him in disbelief.

“For the last time, Danni—he’s not your uncle.”

“
But he’s
your
brother—”

“
Step brother. Lucky me.” She huffed to herself again. Mum had family drama that she never talked about, and it had never really occurred to me to care before so long as they still put money in my Christmas cards (which was really crass of me, actually, wasn’t it? But I never noticed until recently. Maybe Mum had a point about my
attitude
. Still). The only time we really saw family anymore was our yearly holiday in Wales—which not-uncle Gabe had never attended.

The only memory I had of him was from when I was six. He’d come home from university with some friends, and I was seriously peeved that they were taking up all of Grandma’s garden with their barbecue because I wanted to make mud pies for Ziggy the grasshopper. No amount of stamping my feet or screaming hysterically would move them, and when they offered me one of their stupid hotdogs, I
may
have fed it to the cat.

Then the cat was sick all over Gabe’s bed at about three in the morning. He hopped and cursed in the hallway, his shoulder-length braids matted with chunks of feline vomit. He was huge and gangly, and I remember giggling to Grandma that he looked like a scarecrow.

Not now.

Gone were the braids and the awkwardly thin jaw; he’d filled out and his cheekbones jutted at model-fine angles. He’d cut his dark blond hair into a short, flicky style, and his tanned skin glowed; I half expected him to toss his head back and wink, like the star of a sunscreen ad. His faded T-shirt and surfer shorts made him look younger than I’d expected. No aging hippy here.

I prayed he wasn’t the sort who tried too hard to be cool.

Mum put a hand up at him as he guided us into the turn-off. Once we parked, I slid out of the car. The air smelled incredibly fresh compared to the city; like cut grass and mud warmed beneath afternoon sunshine. The lack of town buzz—the silence besides the call of seagulls and rustling leaves—was pretty stifling.

“You must be Danni.” Gabe shook my hand and I went a bit stiff against his cool, smooth palm. “I haven’t seen you since—”

“Yes, well. We all know why that is.” Mum cleared her throat. “No need to be soft with her, Gabe. She’s here to be punished.”

“I’m aware of that.” He looked me up and down with a pair of silver-gray eyes.

I glanced away, embarrassed.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “There won’t be any teddy bears’ picnics.”

“
I mean it.” Mum hauled my suitcase out of the boot and it landed with a
crunch
. “No day trips. No presents. Absolutely no drinking and if I so much as smell a whiff of weed on her—”

“Hey.” He threw his hands up in defense. “Jess. What do you take me for?”

Her upper lip twitched. “Sorry.”