Page 87 of One Summer

‘I really don’t know. It seemed a bit salacious, but in a really obtuse way.’

‘Who would even print that on a T-shirt?’

He throws up his hands and goes quiet.

‘It was as soft as rabbit fur, too,’ he says, sadly.

‘And the third time?’ I ask.

‘I don’t want to talk about the third time.’

‘That bad?’

He nods. ‘Do you have time to go for a walk with Ted now?’ he asks. ‘I haven’t seen him much in the past few days.’

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Just give me five minutes.’

Seventy-One

Attack

We’re walking past an old, stunted hedgerow, when I notice that someone has rammed a stick into a wasp nest.

‘That’s so cruel,’ I say. ‘Why would somebody do that?’

‘It was probably just a child,’ he says. ‘Kids don’t know any better.’

‘I’m going to take it out.’

‘Don’t do that,’ he says, gruffly, putting his arm out to stop me. ‘Not a good idea.’

‘Why? I’m not just going to leave it like that.’

‘Think about it. The wasps might think you put the stick there, Lindy.’

‘Why would they think that? It’s probably been there for hours. The wasps will just be grateful that a massive log is out of their bedroom. I’m getting rid of it.’

He breathes through gritted teeth and walks in front of me. Very slowly and carefully, he removes the stick from the wasp nest and throws it in the hedgerow. There’s a brief moment where we both smile at each other, knowing we’ve done our good deed for the day, and then the wasps start coming.

They ignore me entirely, but they really have it in for Caleb. He’s stung on the arm, on the cheek and on the back of the head. All while running at full speed away from the nest. We’re neck and neck in the first straight, but he takes the lead on a bend in the path and ends up ten paces ahead. By rights, the wasps should be coming for me, but they are still absolutely focussed on Caleb.

Eventually, having been stung at least twenty times, Caleb runs to the beach and dives into the sea.

This is awkward.

The saltwater seems to be soothing the stings, but every now and then he lets out an unmistakeable yell of pain.

He hasn’t blamed me for this unfortunate event, well, not in words, but every now and again he directs a disapproving look at me.

‘Sorry,’ I call to him, over the swash of the waves. ‘I didn’t expect that to happen.’

‘I did,’ he says. ‘That is pretty much exactly what I expected to happen.’

‘Well, why did you pull out the stick, then?’

‘Because if I didn’t, then you would have.’

‘That’s very chivalrous but there was no need. I was willing to take my chances.’

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