The Summer of Secrets (2 page)

‘Seth’s your other brother?’

‘Yes.’ Pippa had turned towards the shed. ‘Are those garden canes? Do you ever play horse jumping?’

They made an efficient team, Helen loosening the compacted earth with an old screwdriver, Pippa driving in the canes. The course had four jumps, ranged around in a circle, crossed canes held together with oddments of old twine, and single poles balanced across them at varying heights. Helen listened to Pippa’s chatter as they worked. There was the holiday in Spain, the older brother who’d stayed behind, although he’d be back soon, the older sister who was cross a lot. Hadn’t her mother said something once about the Weavers, from the big, new white house up by the crossroads, having a timeshare in Spain? Pippa and Will must be their grandchildren. The Weavers were newcomers. Helen had only seen them from a distance, but she wasn’t surprised Pippa hadn’t suggested building jumps in their pristine garden.

Pippa stood up and planted her hands on her hips, surveying the course. ‘All right, we’re ready for the competition.’

Abruptly, the game became ridiculous. Helen took a breath. She couldn’t galumph about pretending to be a horse, not even with Pippa as the only audience.

‘I’ll time you.’ She twisted herself round, trying to see where she’d left her watch.

‘But that’s no fun!’

Helen had never seen anyone actually make their lips tremble. Pippa even had tears welling up.

‘Look, how about—’

Before she could finish, something jumped out from behind the shed with an ear-shattering howl. The jolt of adrenaline that kicked at her ribcage stopped Helen from saying anything.

‘Will!’ Pippa’s voice trembled on the edge of tears. ‘You spoil
everything
.’

Will went around the course with his legs thrashing out wildly, yipping at a high pitch. He caught his foot on the final jump and ended up sprawled full length on the grass. He didn’t seem the worse for it. ‘I’m having another go, that didn’t count.’

Pippa pushed him out of the way. ‘No, it’s my turn.’

Will pushed her back, pulling a face and imitating her in a high-pitched tone.

‘Helen, tell him it’s my go!’ Pippa’s face was red, and her eyes appealing, but the injured expression didn’t stop her digging her twin hard with her elbow. ‘We
made
the jumps, he has to do what we say!’

Or we could stop being horses?
Helen didn’t say it though. She stared at them in turn, her mind a blank. She had no experience to draw upon. It had always been only her and her parents. She sent a hurried glance to the gate, hoping for an adult, any adult. The lane was empty.

‘How about Will has another go, and then you have two in a row?’ Even to herself this sounded a lame compromise.

Pippa crossed her arms and turned her back on her twin. ‘It’s not fair, and he knows it,’ she began. ‘I’m always having to give in to him because I’m the sensible one.’

‘Why don’t I time you both together?’

Pippa thought this over, sucking on the end of one plait. ‘All right.’ She flicked the plait back over her shoulder and took a step towards the start before running back to whisper in Helen’s ear. ‘Watch out for him, he cheats.’

Will had wandered off, scrabbling for something in the long grass. Pippa heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes at Helen, and counted herself down. ‘Three, two, one …’

And Pippa was racing around the jumps and Will was chasing after her, a spare cane in his hand, swiping it through the air towards her legs. As Helen jumped up, ready to protest, Pippa let out a long howl, drowning out Will’s cowboy whoops.

A voice from the gate broke into the noise.

‘Pippa! Will!’

There was a pause in the furore and then they both burst out with their grievances.

‘He hit me with that cane! It
hurt
, look at my leg!’

‘I was only being a trainer. It made her go faster.’ Will gave Helen a sideways glance before dropping his head and scraping at the ground with his cane.

It was a girl of about her own age, but so different that she could have been dropped from another planet. She had long hair, heaped and knotted at the back of her head, and she was wearing a tie-dyed sundress, pink going through purple into blue, brown leather sandals with toe-posts, and yellow nail varnish. Helen realized she was staring, but couldn’t stop herself. The girl was ignoring her anyway, addressing Pippa alone.

‘I don’t care what he’s done, you need to get here.’

This must be the twins’ sister, thought Helen. She had been expecting someone older, more … governessy. As the girl’s gaze briefly flickered over to her she knew exactly how she must look: too-tight cut-offs that were the wrong colour denim. White legs. T-shirt shapeless from being tied in a knot. Fingernails dirty and broken from digging holes for the canes. She put her hands behind her back.

‘Hi.’ Her mind was completely blank. She sounded like a fool. The girl ignored her, anyway.

‘Do we have to go?’ Pippa’s voice was desolate. ‘But we’ve got
horse
jumps!’

‘Yes, we do. And if you go off like that again without telling me, I’m going to tie your hair to the banisters.’

‘I
did
tell you. I called up the
stairs
. I …’

‘Pippa, get your shoes.’ She turned her back slightly. ‘And you, Will,’ She didn’t look at him.

‘It’s Fred. We decided.’ Pippa folded her arms and stared into her sister’s face. ‘And we
did
tell you.’

‘Pippa, shut up.’

Turning to Helen, Pippa spoke with trembling dignity. ‘This is my sister. She thinks she’s in charge but she’s only fifteen. She’s called Victoria. Like the Queen. Because they’re both grumpy.’ She trailed off across the grass.

Helen cleared her throat. She couldn’t work out if Victoria was angry with her. Should she have known that the twins weren’t supposed to be there? Sent them back earlier? She put one hand up to fiddle with her hair, remembered the dirt under her nails and jammed both hands in her pockets. ‘I like your dress.’

‘Thanks.’ Victoria gave a brief smile then went back to examining the grass along the edge of the path.

‘Are you staying with Mrs Weaver for long?’

Victoria glanced up. ‘Who’s Mrs Weaver?’

There was silence.

‘In the house up there.’ Helen lifted a hand to point but let it drop at Victoria’s expression. ‘Isn’t she, well, your grandmother?’

‘Is that what Pippa’s been telling you?’ Victoria glanced over to where Pippa was inching into her shoes. Her face was the same as Pippa’s had been when she was exasperated with Will. ‘What else has she said?’

‘She didn’t …’ Helen tried to remember what Pippa had said. ‘I thought perhaps …’

Her sunburn prickled across her neck and shoulders as she came to a halt.

Pippa wandered up to them. She seemed to have regained her equanimity. ‘Can I come again, Helen?’

Helen caught an expression of what could have been annoyance or distaste flash over Victoria’s face, although it was hard to read her properly.

‘I … uh …’ She felt bad. It had been kind of fun but, with Victoria standing there, she felt silly. ‘I’m – I’m not sure my dad’ll want to keep the canes up.’

‘What she means, Pippa, is no, she’s got better things to do than jump around like an idiot.’

Before Helen could say more, Pippa pushed past Victoria and started off down the lane, going towards the canal. ‘I hate you, Victoria Dover!’

Will slid past Victoria, giving her as wide a berth as he could before setting off after Pippa, all arguments forgotten.

Victoria made to follow them. Helen’s mind raced. There had to be some way of delaying her. It was one thing to make the best of an empty summer, but knowing someone like this was down the road, someone who’d never come back because of a stupid first impression: that would be unbearable. She spotted Will’s fishing net.

‘Do you want to take this?’ She bent to pick it up. Victoria had turned, and was staring at the net as if wondering what it was. Helen kept going anyway: ‘And will Pippa be OK? She can come over if she wants, I didn’t mean …’ She stumbled on what she wanted to say. ‘You know, I didn’t want to upset her.’

Victoria gave an unexpected laugh. ‘It is what you meant, though, isn’t it? I’ve done you a favour, believe me. She’d have taken residence, bridles and all.’

Helen smiled back. ‘I didn’t have anything else to do.’ She thought of something else. ‘Do they know about the canal down?’ She gestured in the direction Pippa and Will had gone. ‘Only, it’s quite deep.’

‘Yeah.’ Victoria passed through the gate and shut it behind her with a bang. ‘We’re living in a cottages on the bank.’

Helen waited for Victoria to look back as she followed the path of the twins, to wave, or make some acknowledgement of leaving, but she sauntered away with no sign, already in another world. Then, at the last moment, she seemed to lift the fishing net in a kind of salute. Helen raised a hand in response. The scent of the privet hedge was rising, as it always did at this time of day. It was an odd smell, coming from nowhere and setting off a tingle in the pit of her belly. Only last night, as she’d leaned out of her window, it had surrounded her with melancholy, reminding her of everything she hadn’t got. Now it promised excitement instead, the world outside, some half-acknowledged dream. Helen rested her forearms on top of the gate and dropped her chin down on them as she gazed out at the empty lane. A new summer seemed to be spread out in front of her, but it was still beyond her reach. If only Victoria would come back, then perhaps it would happen.

A handful of letters slithered down on to the doormat as Helen came down the stairs the next morning. She knew without looking that they’d mostly be junk. There was already a heap of them on the hallstand now that her mother wasn’t there to sort and bin. Helen thought about adding the fresh arrivals to the pile, but she couldn’t be bothered to bend down and collect them up. She carried on to the kitchen instead, pausing as she always did to assess her father’s mood. If he was even a bit cheerful, it would validate her own feeling of lightness, meaning her anticipations were strong enough to be rubbing off.

He sat at the table, dressed but unshaven, his hair rumpled and greasy. There was an empty mug and a full ashtray at one elbow and he’d pushed the mess on the table aside to make room for the newspaper. Helen pictured the kitchen as she’d always known it: ordered, shiny, nothing ever out of place. It wasn’t big, and the layout made no pretensions to an efficient use of the space, one of her mother’s running complaints. It was too much to expect her to manage in such an impractical room, she said. She’d been promised a new kitchen and she wasn’t going to put up with this matchbox any longer. Helen packed the arguments back into their mental box and slammed the lid. She hated remembering them the trickle of helplessness as she’d watched them brew and the sick fear of what was to come. She didn’t want to feel sorry for her dad, either. His back wasn’t giving much away, but the air was free from any noticeable tension. She was an expert at spotting that.

He turned another page of the paper, and then picked up his mug, holding it out to one side. ‘Make me one, will you?’

‘If you’ll let me get by.’

He squeezed himself in a fraction, eyes fixed on the paper. ‘You’re up early today. Got a plane to catch?’

Helen pulled the kettle to the length of its cord and tilted it to fit under the tap. The sky was as blue as on the previous day, warm air pooling through the open window. She smiled inwardly as she spotted the garden canes scattered over the grass. Pippa was so sweet. The thought prompted her to lean over the sink so she could see the gate. Not that she was expecting to see anyone, of course. She held her breath anyway.

Water overflowed from the spout of the kettle, soaking the front of her T-shirt and spraying over the floor.

‘Damn!’ She let go of the kettle, grabbed at a tea towel to dry herself. ‘Shit!’ The tea towel had left a streak of grease down the white front of her top.

She had yet to get out of the habit of expecting a rebuke for clumsiness. There was something relaxing in the way Mick didn’t notice. Helen emptied some of the water out of the kettle and put it back down on the counter, flicking the switch and looking for the dishcloth. It was crumpled up behind the tap. She soaked up some of the puddle with it and then pulled at her T-shirt, wondering if rubbing at the mark would make things worse. Maybe her dad could help. She glanced at him dubiously. He did surprise her sometimes with things he knew, and she didn’t have another clean top. ‘How do you get grease out of clothes?’

‘Washing-up liquid.’ Mick turned another page. ‘Where’s my tea?’

Helen ignored the question and opened a cupboard door. There was an empty packet of cornflakes, and a tin of custard.

‘There’s nothing for breakfast.’ It was Mick’s turn to ignore her. She crossed to the other side of the table and peered in the fridge. ‘And we’re out of milk.’

Mick leaned back and stretched, nodding his head towards the door.

‘Doorstep. I haven’t brought it in.’ He rubbed at his temples. ‘Got a bloody headache again. Must be the sun.’

Or the whisky
. She tried not to notice the empty bottle standing by the toaster. Saying anything made it worse. The milk was on the back doorstep, the foil top of one bottle pecked out by a bird. The milkman had left a note. She brought it in with the bottles, and dropped it by her dad’s elbow.

‘Dad …’ She was stopped by the sound of the kettle. A plume of steam was bouncing against the wall, making wet runnels on the paint. There weren’t any clean mugs in the cupboard, so she made do with rinsing a couple from the crowded sink. ‘Dad, you know those cottages?’ She put the tea on the table.

‘What cottages?’ Mick turned another page of the paper, leaning in to study an advert.

‘The ones down on the canal.’

‘What about them?’ He put the paper down and reached for his tea. ‘Where are my cigarettes?’

Helen could see the tobacco tin under the edge of the newspaper. She sat down on the other side of the table and picked up her own tea. ‘Does anyone live there?’