Twisted Summer (11 page)

Summer kind of sucks without you. All the sunshine—which, yep, has finally reached Bristol!—just reminds me of your cabin and surfing and… Well. Stuff. Stuff we did (you totally want me for my sexy talk).

Cocktails were good. I didn’t have pear cider, but I do get the bottle you gave me out a lot and just kind of look at what you wrote on it. “What cider webs we weave.” I love you like a drunk spider loves its half-assed web, Gabe. That’s what you meant, right? :P

Esmé’s still…around. I promise I’ll get up the guts to dump her this weekend. Really. I have it all planned because going to uni’s a great excuse. No, it’s not even an excuse. It’s a reason. I know you like those ;) But I’ve been avoiding being with her like, you know, that, so you don’t have to worry. I’m yours, always yours.

And don’t even start talking about crap like taking advantage of me. I wanted you. I still want you. Our situation blows but we’ll figure it out. I hate the idea of you feeling bad about it.

Mum keeps asking about what we got up to. I told her what you said about cutting her some slack (which I’m doing) and she got all quiet and a bit tearful. I think she was actually impressed. Score. Also, we’re going to the family holiday thing in Wales in September before I leave for uni. I know you don’t normally go but maybe this time it could be different?

I have to get to work now (need to earn cider money) but I can’t wait for your next letter. Maybe we could do a phone call soon too. I miss your voice so badly.

Kisses,

Your Danni xxxxxx

P.S. :P means you’re sticking your tongue out. Sometimes it’s cheeky and sometimes it’s just plain dirty.

P.P.S. Hand-writing emoticons makes me cringe.

P.P.P.S. So am I actually your girlfriend?

27
^th
July 2012

Dear Gabe,

So I know it hasn’t been a whole week, but I suppose I just really miss you and I wanted to write again. Are you doing much this weekend? I’m working loads (which means avoiding Esmé. Which is good) and I’ve offered to cook for Mum and Malcolm the Moron, just to show how nice I am. See how much slack I’ve cut? (Why does that sound so wrong the other way around?)

Anyway. I hope you’re not scaring too many seagulls (or other forms of wildlife). Not much else to tell you, but pretty sure I’ve used up my brackets allowance for at least four and a half days.

Actually, I got my welcome pack for uni. AWESOME. All I have to do is wait for my exam results. I have lots of questions to ask someone who knows lots about uni. Maybe if you came to Wales, I could ask you there. It’s not the same doing it by letter. A lot of things aren’t the same.

I miss you, like always. I miss owning moments and breaths and heartbeats with you.

Your Danni xxxxxxxx

August 1
^th
2012

Danni,

I’
m sorry. I just can’t.

We can’t.

Gabe

August 3
^rd
2012

Dear Gabe,

Can’t what? What do you mean?

Please tell me you’re not giving up on this. I know I haven’t sorted things with Esmé yet but I will, I’ll have time soon.

Just reply and tell me you’re okay?

If I did something wrong, I’m really sorry, I just…well I can’t stop crying now. And this just reads like a massive guilt trip doesn’t it so what’s the fucking point

Please don’t leave me

16
^th
August 2012

Gabe???

You okay? Please answer your phone

x

September 15th 2012

“
No, I won’t die, I won’t go peaceably

You can’t tear off my wings because you want a piece of me

I won’t end, I won’t break, I won’t fall

I won’t melt out of life just because you don’t call

My aching for you was a thing carved in dreams

But I died on the night I heard that butterfly scream…”

Butterfly Scream

Dexter’s Noose

Rain is so much prettier in the summer.

As we drove, fat drops splattered against the car windows. The sun shot through their glossy skins and threw coloured lights inside—like riding in a kaleidoscope. Good job it was this pretty, too; in order to tolerate another hour in the car with Mum, I needed the distraction.

“Danni?” Esmé traced the seam along the inner leg of my jeans. “You’re quiet. It’s weird.”

“Just tired, baby.” It wasn’t weird. I’d been quiet with her a lot lately, but couldn’t bear to tell her why.

“I’m sure she’s just conserving her energy for the good times ahead.” Mum nodded at us in the car mirror as she drove. “Ready to let loose on holibobs, girls?”

Holibobs
. Ugh. Esmé winced at me, and I rolled my eyes.

“Mum. Seriously.”

“Don’t pretend you’d rather be at home. I heard the pair of you giggling while you packed your bikinis,” she huffed.

I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed she didn’t hear what happened right after Esmé tried on the purple stripy one with the string ties, because I swear we tried to stay quiet. I just needed that stuff lately. It helped me to forget.

Esmé squeezed my hand and shot me an impish smile.

Two months on from that surreal weekend in Devon, and it was still easier to screw my girlfriend than just tell her the truth.

But no matter now. We were off on holiday—my family’s annual gathering on Anglesey in Wales—and after that, Esmé and I would separate to start our respective university courses. She was off to Portsmouth, me to Bath. I had it all planned: we’d grow apart. Our phone calls and emails would dwindle, and our relationship would feather at the edges. It might take a cruel word or two to tug the thread, but that would be easier when I didn’t have to look into her big, beautiful blue eyes while I said them.

Because…yeah. I was Danni the coward. The cheating cow. There was no support group for any of those things, and saying them out loud didn’t make me feel any better. All I wanted to do now was tolerate a week with my family in those stupid eco lodges, and pray the wooden walls didn’t remind me too much of a little cabin in Devon where I’d spent three intense, desperate nights with someone I could never really have.

I did try to have him, but he panicked and slipped away.

***

“
This is our first bedroom, like, together.” Esmé dumped her rucksack on a double bed with cheerful yellow sheets, and sank into the mattress. “That’s kind of cool, right?”

I glanced around at our timber walls, pine furniture, and at the huge window where the distant view of the Snowdonia Mountains spilled in. “It’s awesome.”

“I mean, it’s not what I’d pick for us,” she went on. “We’d totally have velvet. And lace. Like in Moulin Rouge.”

“This is more like Ikea boudoir.”

“But I kinda don’t care.” She tugged me down beside her on the crappy mattress, and her blond bob cupped her chin as she leaned over me. “Cause I’m here with you.”

“My mum’s in the next room, remember.”

“Still don’t care.”

No matter how I felt about her, I couldn’t deny that Esmé was a tantalising kisser. It was half the reason I’d fallen for her in the first place. Her lips were so soft and her tongue so delicate that I melted right into her mouth every time. This kiss was no exception, and before I even thought about it, I wrapped one arm around her neck and rubbed her back with my free hand.

“Love you, pixie,” she breathed.

“Love you too.” I did. Kind of. Maybe. God, it was just so complicated. Esmé still turned me on, and I still longed for her company. I missed her when she got tied up at her job at the supermarket. But since that weekend two months ago, I’d realised she wasn’t The One…and it all stopped being good enough. Now she just thought I was constantly stressed or tired, and I knew she hoped we’d make up for it on this holiday.

Maybe we would. Stranger things had happened, right?

“So.” She pulled back to stroke the dark hair from my face. “What’s the plan of action? We checking out the beach, or what?”

“Yeah, can do. We usually all meet at this pub down the road, so we could do beach and then pub for tea.”

Esmé’s nipple stood stiff beneath her T-shirt, and I pushed my thumb against it gently. She had gorgeous breasts—small, tipped with dark pink buds. Sensitive. When I petted them like this, she went all quiet and breathy.

“Well?” I giggled, nudging her. “Hello?”

“Yeah. Whatever, pixie.” She pulled me in for another warm kiss. “I can’t wait to meet your family. Finally.”

“Oh yeah.” I looked down. “That.”

“They do know you’re a lesbian, right?”

I was never bi to Esmé. Always a lesbian. Huh.

But my family knew, all right. Only one of them knew otherwise, but family gatherings had never been his thing. Fortunately. Or unfortunately. For a brief second, I imagined
him
shaking hands with Esmé, and the three of us making awkward small talk as if nothing had ever happened and I’d never had him inside me. Crap. Crap. No, definitely fortunate that he was all black sheep-esque and wouldn’t be there. What could I say? I had a thing for blonds…

“Course they know. You moose.” I finished teasing her nipple, and kissed along her collarbone instead. “Although we don’t have to go anywhere. We could just stay here…”

“Danni!” She swatted my kisses away. “We’ve got all night for that. All week. Mmm.” She gave my bottom lip a little tug. “I want to do it on the beach.”

I’d already done it on the beach, but she could never know that.

“Yeah. Um. Awesome.”

“In the dark, maybe. With all the stars twinkling, and the sound of the tide and stuff. So romantic.” She sighed wistfully. “I’m so glad your mum let you bring me.”

“Mum is very supportive of our girl-love. I think she feels all feminist and PC because of it.” And she did support us, in her own way (although I’d hardly dreaded telling her I had a girlfriend; she was just glad I wasn’t pregnant, or on drugs, or convinced I was a sparkly vampire or something).

If only she knew the truth, eh? (Ominous fade out).

“Cool. Shall we get going, then?”

“I don’t want to get off this bed,” I complained. “It’s too comfy, and now I’m all frisky. You can’t let me go out like this, Es. I’ll hump a tree.”

“Danni. Ew.”

Ten minutes later, we’d swapped our trainers for flip flops, and were headed down the stony path to the beach. The breeze tempered the heat, whipped our hair against our cheeks, and our palms stuck together as we held hands.

The four cabins my family hired each year sat on the outskirts of a wood just outside Rhosneigr, a seaside village on the coast of the Welsh island. It was fifteen minutes’ walk to the pubs and shops, ten minutes to the beach itself, and less than five to the shade of the marshy forest. Not exactly Marbella or New York, but it was good to get away from our crummy little house in Bristol…especially since Mum and Malcolm the Moron broke up. It was very sudden (or seemed that way) and she’d been moping around the house for the last week, smoking and listening to Phil Collins. I swear, she needed this holiday far more than me.