Page 68 of One Summer

‘Really?’ I say, lighting up.

‘He’s a handful, Nan,’ Caleb says, frowning. ‘I don’t think you should.’

‘No, he’s not. And it’s the least I can do, after feeding you drugs, Lindy. You have a nice walk now and drop Ted at mine whenever you’re ready. Caleb will show you the way. In the meantime, commune with the spirit of the island!’

I laugh. A sudden giggle shoots from my mouth like projectile vomit. I’m not a giggler. I haven’t giggled since primary school. And yet here I am, giggling, at something that was not even funny.

‘Look at you, happy as Larry,’ she says. ‘The island is already working its magic on you. Although it’s probably the cannabis.’

‘I think I need some exercise,’ I say, keen to get away before I say something that I don’t mean to. This is why I rarely drink alcohol and never take drugs. I don’t like being uninhibited. I like to hold myself together.

‘Caleb will go with you,’ Betty says. ‘It’ll be good for your recovery, boy. Right, go on now. I need to practise my hovering.’

Recovery? What kind of recovery is he in? Is he addicted to something?

I shake my head. And yet, I hear myself say, ‘Oh, the more the merrier.’

‘Buy one of those eagle kites from the shop,’ Betty says, unexpectedly. She takes a fiver out of her bag and hands it to Caleb before he can stop her. She refuses to take it back, even lets the note drop to the floor at one point.

‘There’s nothing like flying a kite when you’re stoned. The wind’s just right today.’

‘Ted’s afraid of kites,’ Caleb says. ‘The flapping noises freak him out.’

Betty looks at Ted, who is panting and lying down on the grass. Admittedly, he looks as if he’s had enough exercise for the moment.

‘You know, Ted might as well come home with me now,’ Betty says. ‘I’ll give him some chicken and rice for lunch and then I’ll take him to see the neighbours. Goodithea and Radigon have already been asking when they can next hang out with the walking teddy bear. Would you like that, Ted?’

Ted would. At the word ‘chicken’, Ted leaps to his feet and starts doing his happy dance.

‘Go on, now. You’re burning daylight,’ she says, shooing us in the direction of the shop. Ted is already standing beside her, waiting for his chicken.

Fifty-Seven

High

We walk in silence along the coast path until Caleb suddenly bursts into ‘Loor guide mode’, which takes me by such surprise that I don’t do anything except listen. Perhaps this hyperverbal response is his reaction to the cannabis. He tells me how the north-facing side of the island is home to the longest stretch of beach, and is therefore the best for running, which he tries to do every morning. The east side of the island is all sand dunes: a wilderness of reptiles and marram grass, given over as a refugium for the island’s most ecologically fragile species. At the west side, there’s an offshore lighthouse, the largest of three on Loor. Puffins and kittiwakes nest around here in their thousands, and seals rest in narrow coves inaccessible to humans. He tells me how humpback whales and sunfish have been spotted from this side of the island – the tallest part – and how, once, a huge, white-bellied shark leaped from the water in the midst of a pod of dolphins, which made the front page of every tabloid newspaper in Britain.

It wasn’t a great white shark, he tells me, it was just a harmless porbeagle, but all that news coverage was a major boost for tourism.

In between all the wild coasts are fields with grazing sheep. He explains how the farmers have had multiple offers from land developers to sell their valuable acres, but they refuse. It’s a family way of life and has been for centuries. They have children who want to stay on Loor, and they know that if they sell up, they’ll never afford to buy back.

We take the kite, and we walk towards the beach in sudden amicable silence.

‘I think I want to swim,’ I say, staggering slightly even though I’m on an even surface and wearing flats.

‘Not swim,’ he says. ‘Too cold. How about jog? We should jog.’

It quickly becomes very clear that we can’t run because we are both too stoned and uncoordinated, and I keep stumbling and kicking the kite. We make it three hundred metres, before he spots a grassy area, a little way from the footpath. It’s just wide enough to seat two people, and slopes down towards the cliff-edge.

So long as we don’t fall asleep and start rolling, we’ll be fine.

It’s lovely: the sun is directly overhead, and we’re drenched in warm, golden light. I rest my head back on the spongy grass and try not to think about insects crawling through my hair. There’s a man next to me in a stupid outfit, and I get the strangest urge to reach out my hand to him.

It’s been ages since I was intimate with a man, and my body seems to want to touch him.

‘Caleb,’ I say, turning to him, but he’s fallen asleep.

I should stop looking at him. It’s weird to look at somebody when they’re sleeping. It’s an intrusion, a violation of their privacy.

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