Page 111 of One Summer

Why did he come to the island to live on his own when he clearly has a beautiful wife waiting for him elsewhere? Was it just to finish a book to deadline?

None of it makes sense.

Unless Caleb is a cast-iron bastard.

*

I sink down on Caleb’s sofa, and Ted jumps up next to me and whines. Given the events of the past couple of days, he’s hardly been out for any long walks at all. It’s not his fault that Caleb is a lying, cheating arsehole.

‘Come on,’ I say, grabbing his lead and locking the door behind us. If Caleb doesn’t have his keys, too bad – he can go somewhere else.

I’m walking on the headland, the wind so cold that I can barely think my way to the end of a thought, when I realise that I have to leave. I can’t stay here, with Caleb living just next door. I’ll keep bumping into him and it will be unbearable.

I’ll email Frank and tell him that he and Steve will have to come back from their journey to look after their reptiles and Ted, too – that there’s been an emergency. It won’t take long to sort out a plane reservation. Except, damn, they’re travelling by campervan, so they’re going to have to drive all the way through Europe. It could be weeks before they finally make it back, and that’s assuming the van doesn’t break down.

Whatever choice I make is going to hurt someone.

Ninety-Three

Clear

Maybe I should give Caleb a chance to explain, but what’s happened seems abundantly clear – especially in light of the phone calls I heard. He was trying to reassure Marlene that nothing was going on with the neighbour, because he was talking to his wife.

I pack up all my belongings, leave extra watercress and lamb’s lettuce for Buttercup, put Nemo in his carry case and text Halloon for a lift to the harbour.

The snakes have just been fed and watered, and Halloon has agreed to take care of them – following the instructions in the binder – until their owners can sort other measures.

It’s ferry day and I’m not going to miss this one.

I’m out of my house before Caleb and his wife are back from their walk. If he knocks – or rather, when he knocks, because of course he will – he’ll find me gone.

Ninety-Four

Comfort

The M.S. Kernowek is quiet. It’s mid-week, and most of the tourists will be staying until Saturday. Ted has already been sick twice, his stomach upset from the unrelenting rise and fall of the boat. I’ve settled him on my lap, his wide eyes watching me as I stroke his head so gently that I’m barely touching him, whilst also trying to comfort Nemo, who is crying pitifully from his travelling cage. There’s nothing I can do to help him. There’s nothing I can do to help any of us.

I have to go back to my parents’ house. Having burned all the bridges of my London life, I have no other options. I should have texted them to warn them I was coming, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I arrive in a taxi, ashamed and humiliated, a confused Ted and a distressed Nemo at my side.

When I arrive here, my dad is silhouetted in the kitchen window, doing dishes. He sees me and disappears from the window. Then both my parents are in the doorway, taking turns to hug me.

I don’t need to tell them how devastated I am. They can see it all over me.

When I’m calm enough to talk, my dad puts on the kettle, and I vomit up the whole mortifying, sordid story.

They don’t judge, they don’t commiserate, they just listen while my mum rubs my back in slow circles.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, welling up again.

‘Whatever for?’ my mum asks.

‘That you have such a failure for a daughter.’

‘What?’ she says. ‘You’re not a failure. We’ve never seen you that way, Lindy.’

‘I messed up my publishing job, my relationship with Max, and now my Loor Island fresh start is ruined.’

‘You tried. You did your best,’ Dad says. ‘That’s all anyone can ask of you.’

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