Summer Secrets (6 page)

“Hi there.” The girl smiles, coming to a stop in front of me and Clover, her friendly garnet-blue eyes crinkling at the corners. She’s staring at Clover’s face, but is clearly too polite to say anything about Clover’s disfiguring skin disease.

Clover wipes the cereal off with the back of her hand. It drops to the floor and the dog starts to wolf it down.

“Dante!” The girl pulls him back by his collar. “Bad boy.”

Clover laughs. “It’s only Rice Krispies.”

“Oh, ay? Good for the skin, is it? Like a face mask?” the girl asks.

“Something like that. I’m Clover, by the way. And this is my niece Amy. We’re staying here for two weeks. Do you live on the island?”

“Ah no. More’s the pity. Beautiful, isn’t it?” She waves her hand around the garden. “I live on the Baltimore Road. Sorry, I’m Martie. I look after Haven House for Esther; she owns the place.”

“Does Esther have a son?” I ask. I’m dying to find out more about the boy from the maze.

Martie shakes her head. “No. Why?”

“There was a boy here yesterday. With a dog.”

She looks at me for a moment as if deciding what to say. “That would be Kit Harper. He’s the gardener. He wasn’t rude to you, was he?”

“What? No. Not at all. Didn’t say much, really.”

“That’d be Kit all right.” She smiles gently. “Best left to his own devices.” She sighs. “We’ve had a few complaints about him from the people renting Haven. Nothing serious. But some people round here think he’s trouble.”

I can almost see Clover’s ears prick up at the word
trouble
.

“But he’s a brilliant gardener, that’s for sure,” Martie continues. “The place has never looked better. Esther has a bit of a soft spot for him. Says he’s—” She stops as Gramps walks out through the French doors.

“There you are, girls,” he says. “It’s like World War Three in there, so I thought I’d join you.”

Gramps drove down on his own late last night to avoid the traffic. I think he was also trying to avoid being lumped with either Alex or Evie; there was talk of separating them to make the trip easier for Mum and Dave, but in the end it didn’t happen. Much as Gramps loves his youngest grandchildren, he likes peace and quiet while he’s driving.

“Hello.” He puts out his hand politely to Martie. “I’m Len Wildgust. Clover’s dad and Amy’s grampa.”

Martie shakes it heartily. “Martie Coghill.”

Gramps stares at her, still gripping her hand. “Did you say
Coghill
, my dear?”

She nods and smiles. “That’s right. It’s a funny name, isn’t it? My family came from England originally.”

Gramps realizes he’s still clutching her hand and lets it go gently. “You don’t know an Esther Coghill, by any chance?”

Martie nods. “Aye, Esther’s my nan. Owns this place, in fact. Lived here for years with my grandad before he died. She moved off the island a few years back, when it got too much for her. Not that she’d admit it, of course. I’ve taken over most of the rental work, but she still deals with the bookings and the paperwork.”

Gramps staggers a little and then sits down on a chair beside me. He looks very shaken. “Esther,” he whispers. “Fancy that.”

“Do you know Nan?” Martie asks him.

“Was her maiden name Smylie?”

Martie nods. “That’s right.”

“Then I do.” He smiles softly. “I met her when she was nursing up in Dublin. She was my first love.”

Clover gasps and nudges me with her elbow. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she whispers.

“Operation Emma?” I whisper back.

She looks at me blankly.

“Jane Austen,” I add.

Still nothing. She clearly doesn’t know her Austen very well. If she did, she’d know that Emma Woodhouse was one of Austen’s best-ever heroines. Much more interesting than those drippy Bennet girls from
Pride and Prejudice
. Emma was a matchmaker. It all went a bit wrong in the end, but her heart was in the right place.

“Operation matchmaker!” I hiss back.

Clover grins. “My thoughts exactly, Beanie.”

Chapter 10

“Gramps
hasn’t seen his sisters for over forty years. Isn’t that amazing?” Clover stops, puts a hand on my shoulder, lifts her flip-flop and shakes it. A pebble plops out, and we start walking again. The sun is shining and we’re on our way to one of the island’s private beaches.

“I think it’s kind of sad,” I say. “And the whole business with Esther is sad too.”

As soon as Martie left, Gramps told us the whole story. He met Esther Smylie forty years ago at a tea dance in the Royal Marine Hotel in Dun Laoghaire. She was there with a gang of nurses from the Adelaide Hospital and he was at a farewell celebration. His twin sisters, Mabel and Tully, were emigrating to Australia; he hasn’t seen them since.

“Should we ring Esther now?” I say. “See if she’ll go for dinner with Gramps?”

“I’m not sure, Beanie. They parted on pretty bad terms. She might not be all that impressed with the idea.”

“She can’t still be angry after all this time, surely?”

She shrugs. “Some people hold grudges all their lives. And Gramps did stand her up… Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

“He just got the time wrong.”

Clover sucks in her breath and shakes her head. “But she waited for over an hour. In the pouring rain. And then he disappeared for a week without any real explanation.”

“For work! And that’s not true, anyway; he left her a message. She’s more to blame than he is. And he called in to the hospital to see her the minute he got back from his trip – she refused even to speak to him! It wasn’t
all
his fault, Clover.”

“Maybe,” she says slowly. But after a moment, she hands me her mobile. “Go for it, Beanie.”

I find the yellow sticky note in my pocket and tap in Esther’s number. It was rather conveniently written in the house’s big blue folder of instructions. Clover leans right in so she can eavesdrop.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice answers.

“Hi, Mrs Coghill. My name’s Amy Green and I’m staying in Haven House with my family.”

“Hello, my dear. And do call me Esther. Anything wrong? Water hasn’t gone off again, has it?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. This might seem a bit out of the blue, but we were talking to Martie earlier and it turns out Gramps – sorry, my grampa – knows you. He’s staying with us. He got chatting to Martie, who mentioned your name, and he remembered you from years back…” I pause and take a breath. “Len Wildgust?”

I wait for Esther to say something. Finally she says, “Len, eh? Now there’s a blast from the past.” She gives a short laugh. “What a coincidence. I can’t believe
Len’s
staying on the island.”

I take another deep breath. “Gramps, sorry,
Len
, would love to see you again, Mrs Coghill – I mean, Esther.”

“Would he now? … Well, why not? I’d love to catch up with him. He always was such a tonic. And a very accomplished dancer. Would he like to call over for tea? Or maybe something stronger? Does he like sloe gin? I make my own.”

“How about dinner in Skibbereen?” I suggest. “Thursday night? Around eight?”

“Perfect. And he must come here, Autumn Cottage. I insist. I’ll cook up something very special. Martie can give him directions. She’s up at the house most mornings, talking to the gardener. But I have to ask, my dear, why is it you ringing and not Len?”

“He was a bit nervous,” I say, not wanting to give away how much I know. “He hasn’t been on a date since my granny died.”

“A date?” She laughs. “Oh my. No wonder he’s nervous… Thursday it is. Tell Len I’ll see him then.”

I click the mobile off.

“Yeah!” Clover says, clapping her hands together and doing a little wiggly dance. “Way to go. Gramps has a hot date. And talking of ‘hot’, I’ve been dying to know all morning – what does he look like? Kitty Kit. The one who’s trouble.” She puts on a dramatic deep voice when she says “trouble”, like someone from a movie trailer.

“Utter swoonsville,” I admit. There’s no point trying to hide things from Clover. She’ll see him herself soon enough, anyway. “Black hair, tanned. Amazing body.”

“Do I detect a mini-crush?”

“Not at all.” I try not to sound too defensive. I had a dream about him last night. He was running with his dog on the beach. Then the dog turned into Billy, Seth’s dog, and Kit turned into Seth. It was all very weird.

Clover chuckles. “I’m only teasing. I know you’re hopelessly devoted to Sethy baby. But it’s an added bonus having a bit of eye candy in the garden, don’t you think?
Trés
Desperate Housewives
.”

We reach the beach and lie down on our towels to soak up the sun. I close my eyes and wonder what Seth’s up to in Rome right at this minute. I’m starting to miss him.

Chapter 11

On
Tuesday afternoon there’s a letter waiting for me on the kitchen table. It’s from Seth; I’d recognize his sprawling handwriting anywhere. I rip open the plump-as-a-pillow envelope, and small black razor-thin stones fall on to my lap. I pick them up and pile them on the table in front of me, where they wink in the light. Then I pull out a crumpled browning leaf and two squashed and bruised white flower-heads.

The letter is on white paper with a torn, wiggly left-hand side as if it’s been ripped out of a notebook. I start to read:

Hey babe,

A little bit of Italia, just for you.

Missing you already. It’s not bad here, but a bit snoresville. We’re staying in a villa in the hills, just outside Rome. Mum is teaching twice a day, in the morning and then again in the early evening. Too hot to concentrate in the arvo, apparently.

The olds in Polly’s class are way dodgy-looking: lots of men in big baggy shorts you could hide a whole kennel of dogs in, and women in Jesus sandals with gnarly yellow toenails. There’s one girl who always wears bikini tops and rainbow tie-dyed skirts with bells on the hem which makes her sound like Tinker Bell when she walks. She winked at me this morning and she’s at least seventeen! She’s here with her mum.

I saw a firefly last night – amazing! Wish you’d been here to see it too: flitting around the place with its own little light source. Mad to watch.

What’s the house like? Is it old and haunted? Whoooooooooooo! (That’s a ghost, by the way.)

Spookily yours,

Seth XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tinker Bell winked at him, did she? Cheeky minx. I read the letter again. Nothing about him ignoring her. In fact, he sounds proud of himself. Yikes! She could be cheerleader material with big wobbly boobs straining out of that skimpy bikini top. For all I know, he could have winked back. Maybe he fancies her.

I throw the letter down on the table in annoyance. Then I notice a second page, peeping out from under the first, like a shy twin.

It’s a poem. Written out carefully and neatly. It must have taken him ages.

For Amy

You Make Me Smile

The denim night sky stretches out in front of me,
The spikes of the stars jut into my senses.
I remember sitting under a tree, just the two of us;
I remember silence.
I remember warm arms, warm lips, warm hearts.
Oh, wrap me up in the comfort of those arms
And take me home.
I am yours
Because you make me smile.

Seth X

For a second the world stops dead; all I can hear is the sound of my own heart beating.
Thump, thump, thump
. Seth wrote a poem – for me! It’s the most romantic thing that has ever happened to me in my whole entire life. I clutch the page to my chest, close my eyes and give a big swoony sigh.