Page 82 of One Summer

‘Absolutely, but I’m not very wise. I don’t know very much at all,’ she says, ruefully. ‘But I do know that you need to take the YouTube app off your phone. Right now, preferably.’

‘I’m not ready for that yet,’ I say. ‘Is there an intermediate step?’

‘Yes, reading all the episode notes before you freak out. The Jewel of the Mile woman’s surname is Honeycake. She’s Greta’s cousin. Breathe.’

Sixty-Eight

Lifejacket

The next morning, I can’t stop yawning. I’ve slept for eight hours, and I don’t feel as if I’ve slept more than thirty minutes. I make myself a strong instant coffee and try to psyche myself up for the day.

I’m getting nowhere with my jewellery making. I have no creative energy to express, no motivation, and no desire to do anything except go back to bed. However, given I have about two hundred items on my ‘Reptile To-Do List’, I go outside for some fresh air and hope it’ll wake me up.

Caleb’s out there, writing something in a notebook.

‘Nice outfit,’ he says, looking at my favourite nightshirt, which features a spotty kitten holding a slice of pizza in one hand and a taco in the other. Like he’s in any position to critique my sartorial choices.

‘Right back at you,’ I say, because his shirt, the one he has specifically chosen to wear today, proclaims him to be the number one fan of the WISCONSIN BADGERS, which I assume is some kind of American sports team and which I strongly suspect that he has never supported. Just as I suspect he has never been to Wisconsin. And he most likely hates badgers.

‘Another shirt that your globe-trotting ex bought for you?’ I ask.

‘She wasn’t globe-trotting. She just travelled a lot for work.’

‘And bought you clothes she thought you’d like?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘She bought you clothes that she thought you wouldn’t like?’

‘It was more like that, yes.’

‘She sounds hilarious,’ I say. ‘I’m sad it didn’t work out between you.’

He looks at me sharply, wondering if I’m being sarcastic.

I try to picture this woman who loved Caleb. Whoever she was, she obviously had a sense of humour. Which she would have needed.

My head suddenly feels fuzzy.

‘I need some exercise,’ I say. ‘I might just head down to the beach with Ted. Have a paddle. Clear my head. Do you want to come with me?’

‘No, I have stuff to do,’ he says, enigmatically, before adding, ‘Don’t forget to look for the Lego. A lot of people have been finding it lately in the rockpools and shingle patches.’

I look at him blankly.

‘You must have heard of it,’ he says. ‘The Great Lego Spill. A cargo ship lost a container of Lego after it was hit by a rogue wave thirty years ago, and it’s still washing up on the Cornish coast and all over Loor. It’s highly sought-after. People have devoted decades of their lives to looking for it. It’s a massive deal when you find a piece. It’s essential that you post it all over social media, so people envy you.’

‘Maybe people are just finding Lego that kids have left on the beach earlier that day.’

‘Nope,’ he says. ‘This particular Lego is nautical-themed and there’s an index of all the lost pieces.’

‘What prize do I get if I find some?’ I ask, starting to get interested.

‘My gratitude,’ he says. ‘Because I’ll be stealing it from you.’

‘You can try,’ I say, already resolving to give it to him, if I do find any. ‘What are you writing?’

He looks down at his notebook.

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