An Endless Summer(73)

“What’s going on?” I yelled over the truck’s engine.

Sean turned, sporting an expression of pure innocence. “What?”

I pointed to the mountain of pebbles.

Sean followed my line.

“Oh, right.” He nodded as if he had just caught on. “Now this,” he pointed, “this really did fall off the back of a truck.”

I just shook my head. I had thought I was so clever, paying his account, but all that was now obliterated by a truck full of fine white pebbles that were resurfacing our large driveway. As far as I knew, the driveway had only ever been partly re-stoned by Dad via the odd tandem trailer; it was just too expensive to lay it down by the truck load.

A truck load just like the one before me.

If Sean was angry at me from last night, he said nothing. His mischievous eyes looked down on me in a silent challenge, smirking from the bottle of water he took long, deep swigs from, his eyes firmly set on me. It was the Sean of old, and if he didn’t want to bring last night up then I wouldn’t either, and I certainly had no plans to, until, of course … I did.

“Why aren’t I your type?” I blurted out.

Oh my God … shut up!

Sean choked on his water and coughed so hard he banged on the wall of his chest, his eyes watering.

I swallowed deeply, almost wishing that the truck would back up and bury me in a mass of pebbles rather than having to wait for his answer.

“Sorry?” he croaked out.

Oh, shit! Did I seriously have to repeat myself? Maybe he hadn’t heard the question over all the noise, but the way he was looking at me now with this uncertain, troubled look in his eyes, I had no doubt that he had.

“Never mind!” I said, my voice a little too high, a little too cheery. “I better go see how they’re getting on with the kitchen.” I walked a wide berth around Sean – knowing how lightning quick he was with his reflexes. I didn’t want him to try to stop me, or demand that I explain what I was talking about.

He didn’t.

I walked a straight, determined line towards the Onslow steps.

Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

I was adamant in that much until I managed a quick glance across the drive as I opened the main door and our eyes locked. His attention was only snapped away when one of the workmen called his name. I took that moment of distraction to dive into the Onslow and hoped that I could hide myself away for the rest of the summer.

If not, at least for the rest of the working bee.





Chapter Thirty-Five



I followed the sound of ‘April Sun In Cuba’ blaring from a radio out in the beer garden.

The sound was momentarily out-blasted by a power tool and some barked orders.

The sliding glass door was left open, revealing a war-zone-like mess beyond: piles of raked leaves and overgrown hangings of ivy that had been pulled and cut away, revealing slithers of sunlight to pierce through the space. It was an absolute mess, but somehow I managed to see beyond all that. Instead, I saw something else entirely. I saw a mass of people all working together.

A weathered, older man was hand-sawing an overhanging branch; Stan was sanding down the picnic tables; while Ringer followed along after him and applied a fresh lacquer on the exposed wood surface. Adam was wrestling rather unsuccessfully with the blower-vac, while Tess worked at lining up the plastic cups along a little trellis table, ensuring that the horde of workers had a supply of cool beverages. I hadn’t entirely lied to Tammy – it seemed we were crowded with volunteer helpers. A gathering of people of varying ages carried rubbish loads and clippings – they were basically gutting the whole space in order to build it up again. I wasn’t wholly familiar with many of the faces but at a guess I’d say some were Dad’s mates lending a much-needed hand. I swallowed hard, overwhelmed with heartfelt gratitude.

“Beep-beep,” sounded the upbeat voice of Tess’s dad, Jeff McGee. He ushered me out of the way, carrying a tray of sausages.

“The restaurant’s looking good, Amy,” he shouted over his shoulder.

Holy crap, the restaurant!

Lured by the music and voices, I had completely bypassed the restaurant. I dived back inside. How could I have missed it? The walls were now coated in a warm, crisp, clean beige. Portland Stone. It had lifted the entire space. I could hardly believe it was already finished.

The sound of money rattling in a tin snapped me from my inspection as Ellie appeared beside me.

“Want to enter the raffle?”

“Raffle?”

Ellie held a tin and a raffle booklet. “Yep! It’s part of the fundraiser – first prize wins a meat tray donated by Don the butcher.”

I smiled. “Probably not a good idea if I enter. If I win, people might suspect foul play.”