A Second Chance Summer Read online

  The other thing Julie is determined to re-live is going on the pull. I’m not kidding; she must have got off with four different men already, and it’s only week two.

  She laughs when I mention this. “Making up for lost time, aren’t I?”

  I can’t help but think of Gabe and how he would feel about this. Julie doesn’t know but he came to see me, the night before we left. I’d just got back to Mum and Dad’s, after making sure I’d cleared the flat for Lee, and there was Gabe, sitting in his car.

  I spotted him before he saw me; he was gazing into the distance and he looked so sad. I knocked on his window and he jumped then opened his door, smiling at me.

  “Hi Alice, I’m sorry to just turn up like this.”

  “That’s alright!” I said, giving him a hug. “You could have knocked on Mum and Dad’s door, you know.”

  “I didn’t want to disturb them,” he said, “and I’m not sure where I’m welcome anymore. I’m not sure…”

  His voice drifted away and I waited a moment for him to finish his sentence but it seemed he couldn’t.

  “You’re not sure of anything much?” I suggested.

  He nodded and his eyes filled with tears. I put my hand on his and pulled him towards Mum and Dad’s. “Gabe’s here!” I called, pushing him up the stairs as I knew he wouldn’t want them to see him crying.

  “Alright, love!” Dad’s distracted, TV-watching voice drifted back.

  Gabe and I sat quietly for a while and he pulled himself together, which I could see was an effort.

  “Look after her, will you, Alice?” he asked, his brown eyes fixing mine.

  “Of course I will,” I said. “And I’m sorry, Gabe.”

  “Don’t be!” He laughed without any humour. “I messed up. I just… got lazy, I suppose. I should have known not to do that with Julie. You know what she’s like; strong, wild… it’s what I love about her.”

  I couldn’t help but agree, internally at least. I’d been amazed when Julie had moved in with Gabe, and more so when they’d got engaged, because although she was rarely out of a relationship, I hadn’t ever imagined her really settling down. But I could see he was good for her. However, I think he dropped the ball if what she’s told me is true, and what he said seemed to back it up.

  Gabe didn’t stay long but I promised I’d keep in touch with him while we were away. “I don’t want to know what she’s up to,” he’d smiled sadly, “I just need to know she’s OK.”

  I gave him a hug.

  “Don’t tell her I’ve been to see you, please, Alice. She’ll think I’m trying to get to her through you. I’m not, I promise.”

  I think Julie probably just needs to blow off steam. She is careful to make sure it’s tourists that she targets, so that she doesn’t get a reputation around town.

  “Why aren’t you getting stuck in, anyway?” she’s asked me.

  The answer is, I just don’t feel like it. Unlike Julie, I don’t think I have anything to prove to anyone. I’ve had a few boyfriends over the years since we were last here but I’ve learned to be cautious since Geoff.

  I got together with Geoff a few months after the golden summer, after I accepted that Sam and I were not meant to be, after all. It was probably a rebound thing and Geoff was so different to Sam but he was so intense. After three dates, he wanted to be with me every night, and when he realised I loved Cornwall so much, he said he’d quit his job and we could move down here. Well, I knew I wanted to move down here, but I found it a bit unnerving that he was ready to pack everything in for somebody he really hardly knew. He had a good job, and a place to live, and seemed really well set-up. He changed his mind about Cornwall after a few months, anyway, but I carried on dreaming.

  In the early days, Geoff would bring me flowers, chocolates, bottles of wine. He had a nice car and took me out to the countryside for walks, evening meals at nice pubs, that kind of thing. On paper, I guess it all looked good. He seemed the romantic type and was very attentive. Only for me, he was too attentive. I was, after all, only nineteen. He was twenty-three, which seemed very grown-up back then. I could tell Mum and Dad had their doubts but somehow I stayed with Geoff for well over a year. It doesn’t sound long now but it felt like ages. When I did finally gather the nerve to tell him it was over, it was awful. He sobbed, and sobbed, then sobbed some more. He asked what he could do differently. He said he was going to ask me to marry him.

  I was in my second year at university. Getting married was the last thing on my mind. I also knew that I still harboured thoughts of Sam, which confirmed that Geoff was not the right person for me. Geoff’s sorrow quickly turned to anger but I had made up my mind and I knew I had to stay strong.

  Now I’m back here, I can’t help but think of Sam and he is on my mind every day. It seems like every corner I turn, a memory floats up. The wall where he was sitting when he’d pulled me to him, and kissed me on our first proper date, when he’d tried unsuccessfully to teach me to surf then bought me chips and tea, in polystyrene containers. Somehow, nothing had ever tasted so good.

  In the evening, we’d walked for some time then we had stopped at this wall. Sam smelled of the sea, and smoke from the bonfire down on the beach. I can even remember what he was wearing; a dark-blue hoodie, which was soft to the touch, and a pair of knee-length shorts, which hung gently from his frame and revealed his blonde-haired, tanned legs. His arms reached inside my zip-up jacket, and encircled my waist. Gently, he reeled me in.

  Sam’s eyes were brilliant blue (I concede I have maybe embellished my memories but this is how I see them in my mind) and his hair was wavy; neither long, nor short, dark-blond. A typical Cornish surfer, I suppose. But one of the funniest, kindest people I had ever, and have ever, met.

  I do keep wondering what would happen if I bumped into him but I know he was itching to leave Cornwall – strange though that may seem to me. He had laughed when I said I wanted to move here.

  “Oh yeah? Going to open a beach café?”

  I’d blushed a little as, in my teenage mind, that was exactly what I was going to do. It was going to be amazing. Julie and I had already discussed the idea.

  “Go surfing every day?” He’d pushed his point a little further.

  “Erm…”

  “Ah, I know, it would be amazing, but I’ve seen so many of those businesses come and go. Seriously, Cornwall might be beautiful but there’s fuck-all for folk to do and fuck-all money ‘less you’re a second-home-owner from the Home Counties.”

  That was me put straight.

  I wonder what he has ended up doing. His dream was to work in wildlife conservation but he hadn’t been too hopeful that he would be able to follow it. And anyway, people change. When I was eighteen, I didn’t know what I wanted to do – maybe work for a charity, or work with animals - but I did know I didn’t want to work in an office. I ended up selling stationery. Could Sam be working in the City, in London? I just couldn’t put him in a suit and tie, somehow.

  Maybe a super-cool digital designer based somewhere like Bristol, or Brighton.

  I knew where his Auntie Lou lived – or at least where she had lived ten years ago – but it is a little way out of town and I had never met her so I couldn’t just happen to be passing and pop in to say hello. And the flat above the fancy dress shop, where Sam sometimes stayed with his mate Christian, looks like it’s no longer lived in. But anyway, Sam is not why I’m here. He’s just a happy memory from this place. I am not about to become a stalker. I am not Geoff.

  So far, whenever Julie cops off with somebody, I’ve taken it as a chance to actually go to bed a bit earlier. I make sure she is OK, and happy, but I can’t just stand around like a lemon while she’s got her tongue down some bloke’s throat. I ask her to text me when she’s heading home, and I wait up to make sure she’s safe, even though she tells me I don’t need to.

  I’m not exactly averse to some romance if it should come my way, but I am not interested in pointless, drunken snogs. Besides whi
ch, I haven’t seen anybody with whom I’d like to share a pointless, drunken snog.

  Tonight, as it’s Saturday, it’s extra-busy everywhere. There are rumours of a party on the beach and I’m quite keen to go. I used to love those parties: music pumping out of somebody’s speakers; fires crackling, the heat sending the air wavy; the sound of the sea rushing across the sand towards us, trying but failing to find us; retreating in the darkness.

  This is the kind of evening when I could be tempted into a kiss, I suppose. There’s something far more romantic and exciting about a beach party than a heaving, too-hot club.

  Julie and I have both had an afternoon snooze, in preparation. Tomorrow, Sunday, is our day off, so we don’t have to think about getting up early. I am really looking forward to lying in my bed, reading all morning, maybe having a little doze, listening to the gulls, and the people passing by on the street below.

  We drink a gin & tonic in my room, Julie mucking about with some new glittery make-up she’s bought. I have gone light on the make-up, with a little bit of mascara and eye-liner. I feel like my skin’s already caught the Cornish sun and I leave it bare. I’m wearing a FatFace tunic, with some shorts underneath and a hoodie I bought here ten years ago zipped over the top. The other thing I love about beach parties is that there is no pressure to dress up. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’m very happy to dress down.

  Julie is in cut-offs, with a hooded vest top. Her dark, curly hair is loose down her back and she’s bought a silver anklet which sets off her dark-skinned legs beautifully. She is stunning, Julie, and I always tell her that she really doesn’t need make-up but she never believes me.

  “Fancy another?” she asks me, sucking an ice cube from her empty glass.

  I laugh, and gulp my own drink down. “Why not?” I feel that familiar excitement of a night out, followed by a day off. I feel suddenly, headily, free. I hug Julie.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Just… this. I’m so happy. What a great idea. Thank you, for making me do this.”

  “That’s OK! Thanks for coming with me. I don’t know what I’d have done if you’d said no. Probably have gone back to Gabe.”

  “You wouldn’t… would you?” I don’t like to think that I’m behind them being apart. I want to tell her about him coming to see me, but he asked me not to. And really, what good would it do to tell her? It would just make her feel worse about things.

  “Nah! But I don’t suppose I’d be here. I do kind of miss him, but I’m too angry at him to miss him too much.”

  “Well… I hope he’s OK. I do like him, you know that. But you’ve got to do what’s right for you.” I consider telling her about his visit the night before we came down here but I don’t see what good it will do any of us.

  Julie nods, and pours an extra dash of gin into her drink. “You’re right. I have. To freedom!”

  She clinks her glass against mine; a tad too vigorously, I think, as some of my drink sloshes over the side, onto my bare legs.

  “Freedom,” I agree.

  Beach party, here we come!

  The streets and the pubs are busy as we walk through town; people are crowded onto and around the tables outside the Mainbrace.

  “Stop for one for some Dutch courage?” Julie asks.

  I would normally say we’ve already had enough Dutch courage, especially given that our bags each hold plenty of ready-mixed gin & tonic (this would have been cider ten years ago; maybe I have changed more than I thought) but I’m filled with excitement and nerves and another drink doesn’t seem like a bad idea. “Go on, then!”

  We push our way inside, and I take in the warmth of the pub; its atmosphere – there is a mixture of locals and holiday-makers, chatting and laughing. This is one pub where anyone and everyone can feel welcome. Julie edges her way steadily to the bar, and I keep close behind. The crowd seems to part for Julie and admiring glances are cast her way but she doesn’t notice. In her wake, I’m looking around surreptitiously. No matter how hard I pretend otherwise, I’m keeping an eye out for Sam.

  Julie turns suddenly. “You’re definitely going to bump into him this summer, I can feel it.”

  “What? Who?” I ask, unconvincingly.

  “Don’t give me that!” She grins. “You two were in lurve, properly. I know you’re looking for Sam.”

  She turns abruptly at the sound of the barman’s voice, and I can tell from his reaction that she is giving him her most winning smile. “What’s it to be, my love?”

  “We’ll have two G&Ts please, barman.”

  “I’m guessing you two ladies don’t need slimline tonic?”

  Smooth.

  “Too right. Full fat tonic for us, please.”

  “Here you go,” the barman smiles at us both, wiping the bar with a small towel before he places the bottles and glasses in front of us. “What are you two up to tonight, then?”

  “Beach party,” Julie says as I hear a guy behind us muttering that he’s dying of thirst.

  “That right, eh? Well, don’t forget us, if you get a bit cold down the beach.”

  “We won’t!” Julie scoops up both glasses and bottles, and flashes a winning smile at the very thirsty man behind, before sashaying through the waiting drinkers with me once more following on.

  We take the drinks outside and lean against the pub garden wall. I am happy to just rest here for a while and watch the boats bobbing in the harbour. I always used to love watching them as the night slowly seeped into the daytime, bringing moonlight and mystery.

  “He was cute!” Julie says.

  I roll my eyes. “Who was?”

  “That barman.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Come on, you miserable bugger, lighten up! He was cute. And charming.”

  “Charming… or slimy - I don’t suppose you ladies need slimline tonics – how many times a night do you think he says that?”

  “Well, I liked him!”

  “You like everyone.”

  “Do not!” Julie nudges me in the ribs and we both break into laughter.

  Despite her tendency to cop off with a different bloke every other night, I am really loving having all this time with her. It’s just like it used to be. We have known each other since we started secondary school, so we’ve done all our growing up together. Periods, bras, first kisses, first sex… first ex… We know each other without having to explain ourselves or make excuses. I’ve missed her since she’s been with Gabe. I decide to tell her.

  “Have you really?” she asks.

  “Yes, of course I have, you wally. I mean, I was always really happy that you two were happy. And you know I liked… like Gabe a lot. I wasn’t jealous, and you never made me feel like a gooseberry or anything but, you know, when people settle down together, things inevitably change. They have to. I totally understand.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about that now!” Julie clinks her glass against mine.

  “You do miss him, though?”

  Her face softens, and saddens a little. “Yes, of course I do. How could I not? And I still love him, really. But I’m not sure that’s enough.”

  “Have you heard from him?”

  “Not much, not these last couple of weeks, but that’s probably my fault,” she admits. “I went to see him the day before we travelled down here and told him I didn’t want him to get in touch for a while. I think I was a bit of a bitch, really.”

  I think again of his visit to me. I guess that followed whatever Julie said to him.

  “Why don’t you give him a ring?”

  “I will, I suppose. Someday soon. But not tonight. Come on,” Julie pulls on her determined and happy expression, “drink up, we’ve a party to go to.”

  I had half wondered if we might stick out like sore thumbs on the beach – if everybody else would be eighteen and we’d look like old fogies. I needn’t have worried. By the time we reach the beachside road, the light is fading, highlighting the bright swipes of orange and pink ac
ross the sky, above the setting sun. Occasional vapour trails criss-cross the colours, gradually vanishing as the planes which expelled them disappear across the ocean.

  I am gripped by excitement at the sight of the beach, which appears to be hosting not one but four parties – each with a fire at the centre, each competing for the title of Loudest Music.

  I want to laugh aloud. I feel like I’m eighteen again.

  I don’t. I’m not.

  Julie and I look at each other. Where to begin? Both suddenly swept by the same inspiration, we pull off our shoes on the sandy pavement, which is still warm from the heat of the day. We each take hold of the other’s hand and we run down the slipway, onto the sand, laughing as our feet sink into the soft, white grains. We nearly run headlong into a man with a crate of beers under his arm. “Steady on, girls!” he grins.

  Girls! He called us girls. Maybe we’re not so old. We remain holding hands as we wander tentatively towards the closest fire. Here, the party-goers are, if anything, older than us – and much, much younger. There are families with kids, who dart about round the fire, not quite ignoring their parents’ pleas to be careful. There are coolboxes, and disposable barbecues. Picnic blankets, and plastic cups and plates. These are organised people. This is not for us.

  I smile at a little girl who goes to hide behind my legs, and stop for a moment while the boy chasing her tries to make up his mind if it’s OK to carry on while she’s hiding behind a stranger. I grin at him and move quickly out of the way. He pounces, and the girl giggles. “Sorry!” I say to her and Julie and I walk on.

  The next party is the opposite. This is what I had feared; teenagers, some of whom are already too drunk to walk and talk sensibly, some of whom are clearly smoking drugs and making no effort to hide the fact, and a couple of whom are getting intimately acquainted in the sand, with little regard for anyone else on the beach. Julie and I glance at each other and swiftly move on.

  “I’m starting to feel like Goldilocks!” I say. “The first party was too old, the second party was too young… and the third party was just…”