Page 98 of One Summer

He shakes his head. ‘I don’t smoke, and I forgot to bring my fire-lighting kit with me.’

There’s an awkward silence, where I wait to see whether he’ll try to do something. When he doesn’t, I stand up and grope my way to the kitchen. My phone is in my handbag somewhere, but I don’t know where I’ve left it.

I’m feeling my way into the cupboards behind the sticky kitchen cabinets when I feel a hand on my arm and there’s a jolt. His hand recoils, as if he’s felt the same thing.

It’s not chemistry, it’s just static electricity, built up from the atmospheric conditions of the storm and the rubber soles of our trainers.

‘What now?’ he says.

‘Hang on,’ I say. ‘I think there’s a tealight on one of the windowsills. We just need matches.’

I feel my way across to a drawer full of utensils and clasp my fingers around a small cardboard box that rattles when I shake it.

‘Here,’ I say, striking a match and letting it burn out.

The light catches his face. His eyes are serious. Worried.

He takes the box of matches and exhales, as if trying to calm himself.

‘What’s wrong?’ I say.

‘Bad memories,’ he replies, as the lightning flashes again.

‘I can’t find the tealight,’ I say. ‘It’s not on the windowsill.’

‘Brilliant.’

‘Should we go up to the chapel?’ I say, suddenly. ‘Churches always stand during storms and earthquakes, don’t they?’

‘Speaking for myself,’ he says, clearing his throat, ‘I’m going to be retreating to the pub. The Merry Maid has a generator.’

‘It’s midnight,’ I point out.

‘I guarantee you it’ll be open,’ he says. ‘And what’s more, I’ll bet you any money that Goodithea, Radigon and my nan are already in there hitting the sherry.’

‘All right, let’s join them,’ I say. ‘Come on, Ted.’

I watch as Caleb zips Ted into his big, waterproof coat, leaving his little head out at the top. Ted seems to be enjoying this development, given he’s licking Caleb’s neck profusely.

‘Are you bringing Nemo?’ Caleb asks. ‘I assume Buttercup and the snakes will be safe in their enclosures?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say, eyeing Nemo, asleep in his bed. ‘He’ll be all right here, won’t he? I don’t think he’ll much like the pub. All those strangers, and everyone’s probably going to be bringing their dogs. He’s only just learned to tolerate Ted.’

‘Leave him here, then,’ he says.

‘You don’t think the house will blow off the cliff, do you?’

‘No,’ he says, seriously. ‘It’s been here for decades. It’ll be fine.’

He unlocks the cat flap that Betty insisted we put in when she heard about Nemo’s newfound appreciation of the outside world – which she convinced Frank and Steve to permit – and it immediately begins whipping back and forth, with a rhythmic knocking noise.

‘Why are you doing that?’ I say. ‘I don’t want him to go out in this.’

‘Nemo’s got too much sense to go out in this weather, unless it’s a complete emergency,’ Caleb says. ‘But just in case it is an emergency – say, for instance, in the extremely unlikely event that the house does start to slide off the cliff – we’ll leave the cat flap unlocked so he has an escape route.’

‘Okay,’ I say, catching the faint scent of his sweat and feeling as if my whole world is about to slide off a cliff.

Eighty

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