After Summer Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Five years ago...

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty One

  Twenty Two

  Twenty Three

  Twenty Four

  Twenty Five

  Twenty Six

  Twenty Seven

  Twenty Eight

  Twenty Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty One

  Thirty Two

  Two months later...

  The Girls of Summer Series

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you!

  AFTER SUMMER

  SR Silcox

  Copyright SR Silcox 2016

  Published by Juggernaut Books Pty Ltd at Smashwords

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. No reference to an real person, living or dead, should be inferred. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without consent is strictly prohibited.

  Cover design by www.goonwrite.com

  Click or visit:

  www.srsilcox.com

  For my wife’s sixteen-year-old self.

  After Summer

  S R Silcox

  Five years ago...

  The old shed shook with every crash of thunder and every flash of lightning. Riley huddled so close against me, I thought she was going to crawl into my skin. I pulled her tighter against me and stroked her hair, telling her it was going to be okay. For me, this storm was nothing to be worried about. They came and went so quickly up here in the tropics, I was used to them. Riley only came up here for a few weeks in the summer, so she wasn't used to them being so ferocious.

  The sky lit up, and a flash of lightning boomed somewhere close, shaking the ground and the shed with it. Riley whimpered and curled up tighter. I wrapped my arms around her and rested my chin on the top of her head. “It's okay, Rols. It'll be over soon, I promise.”

  Another boom of thunder. Riley shuddered.

  “Brooks?” she whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “If I die—”

  I almost laughed. “You're not going to die, Roly,” I said.

  She picked at the friendship bracelet on my wrist. We’d given them to each other last summer. “If I die,” Riley said, “you need to know something.”

  “What?”

  Riley looked up at me and I could see the terror in her eyes. Our faces were so close, I could feel her breath on my skin. She whispered, “I love you, Brooks.”

  One

  Riley

  If you don’t count Mum’s funeral four months ago, today is the first time I’ve seen my dad in over five years. After my parents split up when I was three, he’d fly me up to Roper’s Beach after Christmas every year for his access visits. When I was eleven, he started to get really busy with his company and got remarried. I guess after the first year he cancelled, it was easier to just not come up anymore.

  By the time I fly into the airport in Townsville, it’s seven at night. I had a six hour delay in Brisbane thanks to storms rolling through up here in the north, and even though this last flight was only two hours, I’m so tired, I can’t even really feign the excitement I should probably show when I see Dad standing at the arrivals gate. He looks as dishevelled as I feel. When I was a kid he used to pick me up in board shorts and thongs. Now he’s standing in front of me in a crumpled business shirt and dark jeans. He rushes over to grab my bags from me and gives me an awkward hug.

  “Sorry the flights were a pain,” he says. “Storm season’s started early up here.” I shrug in response. He hoists a bag over each shoulder, and as he leads me out of the terminal he says, “Trip home’ll take longer than usual. Julie called and said there are some trees down on the road in. Should be cleared by time we hit the turn off though.”

  We get to Dad’s car, (a convertible of some sort, which is a huge upgrade from the surfie van he used to drive), and my legs are starting to feel like lead. I can feel my body fighting off sleep. Dad throws my bags in the boot and when he goes to take my backpack, I pull it away from him. “I’ll hold onto it.” He doesn’t question me, and as I sit in the passenger seat he says, “Put your seat back and have a sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

  I tuck my pillow between my head and the window and as we head out of the car park, I close my eyes and drift off.

  Dad woke me as we got to the turn-off, just like he used to if I’d fallen asleep in the car on the way in, but all he’s said to me since then is, “I hope you like the new place. It’s a lot bigger than the old shack.” I think I grunted in reply. I liked the old house Dad used to live in up here, but I guess when you have a new wife and a step-son, you need something bigger than a two-bedroom shack to live in.

  It’s around ten by the time we turn onto the esplanade at Roper’s Beach. It’s also raining, which means I don’t get to see the water as we drive along the foreshore. When I used to come here, if I got in at night, the moon would reflect off the water like a spotlight and I’d be able to see the silhouette of the island, but tonight it’s dark and miserable.

  I look past Dad and out his window at the houses as we drive along. The speed limit on the esplanade has always been slow, so I get a chance to take in what I can see through the rain and the orange street lights. There are big new double-story houses that look like fortresses behind their tall fences in amongst some older weatherboard ones. It’s funny how the old places never seem to have fences but the new ones do. Dad probably built the newer ones. We drive past the little shopping strip that’s been here since before I was born and I’m happy to see that the Burger Hut is still there. It looks like it’s expanded on the side, but apart from that, the sign with the hot dog eating a burger from one hand and holding a milkshake in the other still stands proudly on the roof. I’m not sure why, but seeing that hot dog man makes me feel a little better about being up here.

  “Gloria and Stav still own it,” Dad says as we cruise past. “They just got some new pizza ovens, so that’ll be a nice change. We won’t have to go into town to grab a pizza anymore.”

  I don’t say anything in reply, but continue watching as we drive along the road. We drive past a couple of vacant blocks of land and then the caravan park comes into view. The few times Mum came up with me for holidays, we’d stay there instead of at Dad’s. The wooden palm tree with the missing branch that Brooks Doherty and I broke when we tried to climb up the side of it is still out the front, lit up by a spotlight. There’s a sign tacked onto it that says ‘Bait sold here’ but the one that catches my attention is the one that says in bright red letters on a white background ‘Under New Management’. That one throws me a little because it used to be run by Brooks’ Uncle Pete and if Pete’s not here anymore, then there’s a good chance Brooks will be gone too. She always said she’d b
e getting out first chance she got.

  “Isn’t Pete here anymore?” I ask.

  Dad looks a little surprised by my question, but that’s probably because I’ve hardly spoken to him the whole trip. “He’s on holidays,” he replies. “Sold his share back to the other owner and they got a semi-retired couple in for a couple of months until they can find someone more permanent.”

  “Oh.” I turn back around in my seat to look out at the blackness that would normally be the beach.

  Dad slows down and turns into a long driveway. “Here we are,” he says. We pull up in front of a double-bay garage and wait for the automatic door to open.

  We park beside Dad’s work trailer, ‘Scott Fisher - Builder’ emblazoned on the side. It doesn’t look like it’s been moved in a while, judging by the deflated tyres. There are surf boards and mountain bikes stored above it on the ceiling and the whole place is so neat and tidy, I have to wonder whether Dad is even a builder anymore. Maybe being married again makes him more organised. Or maybe Julie’s the neat one?

  Dad carries my bags for me, and I follow him around the back of the house where he leads me past the pool down to what looks like a tiny house. “I’ve put you in the guest house. Thought you might like your own space.” Dad slides open the glass door and turns on the inside light. “It’s all fully self-contained, so you’ve got your own shower and everything. Kitchen too, if you want to do your own cooking.”

  He looks proud of himself, so I fake a smile. I can’t believe he doesn’t want me in the main house but I’m too tired to argue right now. He drops my bags in the middle of the floor and after digging around in his pockets, produces some keys. He hands them to me. “These are your set for here and the house. You can come and go as you want over the holidays and after you’re settled in we’ll discuss house rules. Did you want to come up and have something to eat?”

  I shake my head. “I’m good. I think I’ll just have a shower and go to bed.”

  Dad nods. “Okay then.” He takes a step back towards the door and then stops. “Oh, before I forget. I called the moving company today, and they should have your boxes and things up here some time over the weekend. So, anything you need, just ask.”

  “Thanks,” I reply.

  “Tomorrow morning, just come up when you’re ready and Julie will get you some breakfast. Or whatever,” he says. “And um.” He waves in the general direction of the guest house. “Just make yourself at home.”

  “Okay.”

  He taps his hand on the door and gives me a quick smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Goodnight, Riles.”

  “Night, Dad.”

  I take a moment to check out the guest house. It’s basically one big L-shaped room, with a bed in one part, a small lounge under a window in front of the bed, and where I’m standing near the door, a kitchen sink and a round wooden table with four chairs. There’s a door off to the side of where the bed is which I assume is the bathroom. At least I won’t have to share a bathroom with my step-brother, Jason.

  I put my backpack onto the table, open it up and take out Mum’s wooden ashes box. After the long day I’ve had, it feels heavy in my hands. I trace the laser-cut rose on the top of it with my fingers, the design she picked out herself, and sigh. If she’d been able to hold on for just one more year, I wouldn’t have had to come back up here. I shake my head to get rid of that thought, because of course Mum had no say in when she died. I look around for somewhere to put the box and settle on the bench by the window, which has a view of the pool outside. Mum always said she wanted a room with a view.

  I stand for a moment and look out the window where the rain has finally stopped and the yard is lit up by the blue lights from the pool. I wish I didn’t have to be here, but there’s nowhere else I can go. I touch Mum’s ashes box one more time and head over to my suitcase to find my pyjamas. I don’t want to think about the fact that the rest of my so-called new family is in the other house right now. I just need some sleep.

  Two

  Brooks

  I eye the yellow envelope sitting on the kitchen bench. So far, I’ve resisted opening it. Yesterday, it was sitting on the table in the hall where we put all the mail but Ben must have gotten tired of me ignoring it and put it where I have to look at it. It’s addressed to my parents’ house, so either Mum or Dad would’ve dropped it off here, and I can tell by the way the flap on the back is all mangled that someone, most probably my mother, has already opened it. That would explain why she wants to talk to me again all of a sudden. There’s a weight of expectation inside that envelope and I’m not sure I’m ready to see whether it’s good or bad just yet. Ben appears in the kitchen, a towel around his waist, his hair still dripping wet after his shower. “I wish you wouldn’t eat those,” he says, referring to my late night snack of Coco Pops. He opens a cupboard and pulls out his shake mix.

  “Like you can talk.” I tip up the bowl to get the last of the chocolate milk from the bottom.

  “This is much healthier than some of the stuff you put in your mouth,” he says, measuring out the powder into his shaker.

  “At least mine’s made from real food and not in some lab.”

  He snorts.

  “What?” I ask.

  “That is not real food. And it’s not good for you.” Ben shakes his dinner and then pops open the lid on the bottle and takes a long drink.

  “Says the chef who works the fryers at a burger place.”

  “I may make that crap, but I don’t eat it.” Ben drains his shake and rinses the bottle under the tap.

  “And don’t get me started on your smoking,” I say.

  Ben rolls his eyes. “It’s a stress thing, Brooks. I smoke for the same reason you run.”

  “Running isn’t bad for you.”

  “It is if you get hit by a car.”

  “That totally wasn’t my fault. And it was a nudge. I didn’t even get a bruise.”

  He laughs and leans back against the bench. He spies the envelope. “Read it yet?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “You saw who it’s from, right?”

  I nod.

  “And you don’t want to know either way?”

  I shrug.

  Ben walks over and stands beside me. “It’s not going to bite you, Brooks.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Ben nudges my shoulder with his. “Do you want me to look?”

  I let out a breath. “I don’t know.”

  Ben raises his eyebrow. “Someone’s got to look.”

  “Someone already has,” I reply, flipping the envelope over.

  “That would explain the answering machine messages then.”

  “Yep.” I walk around to the other side of the bench and rinse my bowl in the sink. I don’t want to think about that envelope anymore. “What time do you start tomorrow?” I ask.

  Ben lets me get away with the change of subject. “Not until eleven. Stavros gave Matt and I the morning off so we can work late for the community meeting tomorrow night.”

  “I don’t know why they’re bothering with it. Aren’t they starting work on the site next week?”

  “Yeah, but I guess they just want to let people know what’s going on. There’ll be a lot of construction going on for the next few weeks.”

  “If the tourists weren’t staying away before, they’ll be staying away now.”

  “Now, now,” Ben says. “You fought it, and you lost. Be a good loser instead of a bad sport.”

  Ben’s right, of course, but it still annoys me that he never really picked a side when we were protesting. He said he could see both sides of the argument for Scott Fisher’s stupid camping development on the island and didn’t really have an opinion either way. Probably because he wasn’t born here. He doesn’t have ‘skin in the game’ as my father would put it.

  “Hey. Are you coming to the bonfire tomorrow night?” Ben asks, in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

  I shrug. “I have to see if R
osie needs me to help out with the turtles.”

  “Yeah but that’s not til late, right? You can come to the bonfire and then go across to help Rosie out.”

  “I’ll see how I feel.”

  Ben leans in. “Jo asked if you were going.” He winks at me.

  I pull a face. “Ew, don’t do that. It’s gross.”

  Ben laughs. “Seriously though, Brooks. Jo’s been talking about you non-stop. She’s a nice girl. Though I have no idea what she sees in you, and I have no idea why you broke up with her.”

  “That ship has sailed,” I reply. “Anyway, at least I’m not like you, getting all mushy over Nicki when she comes in to the shop and not doing anything about it. Why don’t you just ask her out?”

  “Because,” Ben says, turning away from me and rewashing his shaker bottle. If he’s trying to hide his reddening face, he’s failing miserably. “She’s so out of my league it’s not even funny.” He turns back to me. “Besides, she’s heading back to uni after summer, so what’s the point?”

  “You know what your dad would say?”

  Ben rolls his eyes and puts on a mock-Uncle Pete voice, low and deep but a little more whiny than Uncle Pete would sound like and says, “Don’t die wondering, son. Life’s for living, not lazing.”

  “Since when does Uncle Pete have an American accent?”

  Ben pokes out his tongue I laugh. “I need to get going. Some of us need to work on our figures,” I say and shove Ben as I walk past.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” Ben calls as I head out the front door.

  I’m lacing up my joggers when my parents’ car pulls into the driveway. I’m relieved to see it’s just my dad. I don’t think I can handle another argument with my mother.

  Dad pulls himself out of the drivers seat using the door as a brace. “I was hoping you were home.” He hobbles around the front and leans on the bonnet. He really should get his knee looked at.