Twisted Summer (3 page)

“Honestly.”

“
The age gap between me and your Mum wasn’t exactly conducive to playing happy families. I was that annoying little brother when she was getting ready to go out or trying to do her homework; we didn’t have a lot in common. She
hated
my dad—they never got on. A bit like you and Malcolm, maybe. Then she got her law degree and her swanky job, and well…I was off poking ferns, as my dad refers to it.” He swallowed. “Danni…there are a lot of reasons why I’m just happier not being a big part of the family. Nothing dodgy, just the way it is. I function better. But it’s not personal to you.” He nudged me gently. “Truth be told, I was kind of chuffed when your Mum called me.”

“You were glad you’d get to punish me?” I scowled at him.

“I was glad we’d have a chance to spend some time together, because we never did. I mean, the age-gap thing kind of struck again, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“You want some help with your back, there?” He picked up the Aftersun.

“I can’t really reach.”

“No worries. Shuffle over.”

I scooped my ponytail out of the way and then his fingers, loaded with cool cream, hit my skin.

Electric.

I nearly jumped off the sofa.

“Are you okay?” He sounded amused.

“It’s just really cold,” I squeaked.

“Pale skinned weaklings. You and summer don’t mix.” He was grinning; I practically heard it. “I’ve got some factor thirty somewhere. I’ll dig it out for you.”

My eyes fell closed as he massaged my shoulders. He applied long, lazy strokes for a few minutes before I realized he was covering places I’d already done, and when his fingertips grazed the tops of my breasts, breath leapt from my mouth in little bursts. I wanted him to stop. No, I wanted him to carry on. To go lower. My bra felt unusually…full.

I kept trying to tell myself that this was normal. Almost. I never really knew him as my uncle. Technically, he wasn’t my uncle at all. My body was responding to a handsome man, not a guy who was part of my family. Logical—that was the word. He probably didn’t realize the effect he had on me.

Then I thought about how Esmé would feel if she could see me. With a sigh of regret, I shifted away and shrugged his hands off.

“All done,” he said, unfazed. “So. Dinner. Is pasta good?”

“Pasta’s fine.” I pulled my straps up and they welded against my slick skin. “Good. Thank you.”

As he cooked, Gabe told me funny stories about Mum when she was younger. There was the time she brought home her boyfriend and Gabe pelted the poor guy with water balloons from the upstairs window; the stupid Christmas presents they used to buy for Grandma each year, like fake dog turd and Harlequin novels. When Gabe was seven, Mum told him there was an evil spirit who lived in the house called Spooky McTapper, and when he’d been especially annoying, she’d sit and tap his walls at night while he tried desperately not to wet himself (I laughed. I know—I’m a meanie).

When he put down the plate of spaghetti, I surprised myself with my own hunger.

“Thanks.” I speared a prawn and a leaf of rocket.

“So.” He sat a few cushions away on the couch. “Any plans for the summer?”

“I’ve got this job at a club which I do a couple nights a week. Nothing fancy, but I get to see the bands for free, work on the bar and stuff.”

“You like rock music?”

“I like metal.” I cocked my head as if nonchalantly indicating a difference between the two.

He grinned again. “You don’t look like a metal chick.”

“Yeah, people say I don’t look like a lesbian either.” I reached for my drink. “Maybe I’ll stick a safety pin through my nose before uni and save everyone the trouble, huh?”

He pointed with his fork. “At your age, things like music and sexuality are meant to be the utter definitions of who you are. At least seven websites say so. Judging by most of my students, they’re right, too…you ought to see the state of them. It’s like teaching the bloody cast of
Glee
.”

“Sorry, sorry. I suppose I should cut my hair too. What do you think?” I tugged my ponytail so it fell over my scalp. “Mohawk? Ultimate rawk lezza statement.”

“Nah. I like your hair the way it is.”

The ponytail slid along my shoulder in a brush of silk, and I avoided his eyes.

“Not used to compliments, are you?” he said.

Not from adult men, no. “It’s okay.” I pressed my lips together. “And thank you.”

“Got a favourite band?”

“Yep. Dexter’s Noose.” My nerves peaked as I remembered the concert. “I was meant to go see them tomorrow but I guess I’ll miss it now.”

Gabe stared at his plate. Great—now I’d made him feel uncomfortable.

“But you know,” I said quickly, “it would have been really…um. Noisy.”

He snorted with laughter. “Yeah. Stupid noise. Making everyone
hear
things.”

“Exactly.”

“I was in a band when I was your age.”

“Oh?” I perked up at that. “Pray tell?”

“Hell, no. We were obscenely bad.” He picked at his salad, rolling a sliver of rocket between his fingers. “Some things belong in the past; my turn as a tortured rock god is one of them.”

“Were you even that tortured?”

“No.” He laughed again. “But I was middle class and verbosely angry.”

“Tell me some of your lyrics. Go on,” I begged.

“
No. But if you like, I’ll put on an Italian accent and say something cheesy like
I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you
.”

“I changed my mind. Spare me.”

We ate for a few moments with just the TV quiz show for background noise. I made patterns in the garlic oil that lingered on my plate. I wondered why I’d tried to make a point about being a lesbian…I was bi as far as I knew and normally, I took great pleasure in correcting people. In fact I hated it when people did exactly that—made a big point about their sexuality just for the sake of it.

“What will you be studying at uni?” he said.

“Architecture.”

He blinked. “Really? Wow.”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “Everyone says that. I’ve got to do an art year first, though.”

“It’s a long course. Your Mum must be proud you got in.” If I knew him better right then, I might have noticed he was the tiniest bit sad at not being told. “Congratulations. Should I ask what you think about Shack du Gabe?”

The giggles fizzed from my mouth. “It’s…well. Does what it says on the tin.”

“I did wonder about some gargoyles outside, maybe? Bit of gothic splendor?” He flashed his canines and flexed crooked fingers. “Grr.”

“I’m more of a glass-and-concrete kind of girl. Anyway, if uni wasn’t so much fun, you wouldn’t have stayed for God knows how many years, right?”

“The best thing about uni is…” He searched for the word. “It’s an escape. I sometimes notice that the students of mine who do best are there because there’s nothing to go home for. They’re working for the chance to stay away.”

“Was it an escape for you?” Such a candid question; I didn’t mean to ask it so bluntly (this time. I was actually developing some tact).

“Yeah. It was.”

“From Mum and Aunt Lizzie?”

“From a very beautiful, toxic girl, actually.” He set his plate down with a clatter. “The way you told me how long you’d been with Esmé for, the measurements…well. With this girl, I ended up staying for about forty screeching rows, seventeen beers over my head and two attempted overdoses.” He pursed his lips. “The overdoses were her. Suicide was never quite my boat.”

“Not really very eco.”

“I dunno, actually.” He started laughing. “Have to say, I’ve never really considered how environmentally friendly topping yourself is. Though I suppose we’re probably better off dead in terms of consumption.”

“We’re polluting the sky or occupying landfill if we’re all corpsed.”

“Jesus. I take it back. With lines like that, you’re definitely a metal chick.” He nodded toward the fridge. “Want pudding?”

“Fruit’s good, if you have it.”

“Fruit for the rawk lezza in disguise.”

We chatted for a while about his PhD. He told me about all the travelling he’d done, the digs he’d headed. I watched the way he grew animated explaining a method of dating a specimen (yeah, about as dull as it sounds, by the way); how he began to gesture with those wide hands, how his eyes lit in the darkening cabin. Paleobiology is not sexy. Gabe, however….erm. He was on the way to making it tolerable.

The night crept in as we chatted, and before I knew it, I was beyond knackered so I excused myself to unpack. The bedroom was cozy with a queen-size bed crammed into a corner, a pine chest of drawers and whitewashed walls. The window overlooked the path we’d explored earlier, and below the moon that hung over the cliffs, an indigo tide drew in.

Tucked beneath gorgeously cold sheets, I closed my eyes and tried not to think of the way Gabe had rubbed the Aftersun into my skin. How strong and rhythmic his palms had been. I said a silent apology to Esmé—for our bickering these past few days, for deserting her for the concert, for finding myself having dodgy thoughts about somebody else—and let sleep drag me down into the world of strange dreams.

In the morning, I would definitely not fancy my uncle. That only happened to people in bad Internet fan fiction.

There was a sinking weight on the edge of the bed and my body rolled toward it.

“Morning.”

I shot up in the unfamiliar bedroom and came face to face with Gabe.

“I brought you some toast,” he said, grinning at my disoriented scowl. “Your Mum said you like marmalade.”

“What time is it?” God. I must have looked awful. He was fresh and clean, his hair darker and damp from the shower. I could smell the soap coming off him in the warm air.

“Half eight. I’ve got some errands to run, so I’m popping out for an hour. When I get back, we’ll go out. Okay?”

I sank back into the pillows; I’m not sure why it felt nice to lie down around him but I liked the little peak of adrenaline it tugged from me.

“Okay,” I managed.

He was so tall that he filled the doorframe. “You’ll be needing that sunblock today.” He threw a smile at me. “Let’s keep you pale and interesting, eh?”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

I took my toast and fruit juice out into the living area when I heard him lock the door. I switched on the TV and lounged on my belly; I loved being in Gabe’s company but the razor-sharp blasts of hormones exhausted me and the time to myself was a relief. When I’d licked the butter from my fingers, I threw on jeans and a little bandeau top, and set about making myself pretty.

In the mirror, my reflection cocked a silent eyebrow as I slicked on lip gloss. It was cherry flavored and sickly sweet; Esmé loved to kiss me when I wore it. Esmé was not within kissing distance today. When I studied the curves beneath my top, my nipples jutted shamelessly in their braless state. I crossed my arms, embarrassed, despite the fact that I was alone.

“Danni?”

The door heaved open and the floorboards whined. Gabe was home.

“In the bathroom.”

“Don’t get dressed.”

What?!

“Um…” I stepped out, gesturing to my clothes. “Why?”

He handed me a trendy paper bag and I peered inside at what appeared to be black and pink Lycra.

“I don’t do aerobics,” I said, my voice tinged with suspicion and disgust.

He cocked an eyebrow. “It’s a wetsuit. Want to learn how to surf?”

Surfing lessons? Where had my cool not-uncle been all my life?

The suit was a perfect fit, sucking at the lines of my body like thermal skin. I don’t know what was more exciting; dragging a board down the little beach path, or watching Gabe walk in front in his own suit. It outlined every movement of his strong shoulder blades and um…lower things. The sun was baking and if we didn’t reach shade soon, I feared I might crack under it like tightly packed mud. Split, snap, quake and I’d be pieces of Danni, strewn along the beach like driftwood, rising and falling on the edge of the tide’s tongue. (I knew it was bad when just thinking of words like
rise
and
fall
turned me on).

We left our shoes by the beach gate and darted between lumps of seaweed to the softly lapping tide.

I pouted in disappointment. “These waves…they’re hardly…” They were barely waves at all.

“That’s the point. You have to practice your balance before you can do any actual surfing.”

“It’s hard?”

“It’s a skill to be learned.” He shielded his eyes. “You can swim, right?”

“I can swim.” Not that I’d ever swum in the sea. “So how do we start?”

He laid his board on the sand. “Come here, Danni.” He dropped and pointed in the middle. “This is the midpoint of the board. Yeah? It’s where you need to stand when you pop up.”