Storms

Hannah focused on her food, picking at it with her fork. She’d lost her appetite.

‘Sorry. About my dad. I don’t know much about his business.’

‘We didn’t want to leave, you see,’ said April.

‘Yeah,’ said Sean. ‘We told him where to stick his offer.’

Jake stared at his brother. Unblinking.

‘Well … good … for you.’ Hannah searched for words. ‘You did the right thing. I’m glad you stayed.’ She smiled at Jake.

April poured Hannah more wine. ‘Sorry, love. We didn’t mean to embarrass you.’

‘I’m glad we stayed too,’ said Sean. ‘We’re the only ones that did. All our neighbours are grockles now. Saps. This place is empty in winter.’

Hannah felt awful. She hadn’t done anything, but she felt blamed. Guilty.

‘Shut your mouth, Sean,’ said Jake.

Sean beamed his crazy grin at Hannah, then at Jake. ‘Make me.’

Jake leapt up and had his brother on the ground so quickly it made Hannah jump. It looked serious. She thought he was going to punch Sean, till she saw – with relief – that Jake had Sean’s forearms under his knees and his brother’s nose between his thumb and fingers, squeezing. He was playing, but making a point. The kid was hurting, but laughing too.

‘Say sorry for being a dick,’ said Jake.

‘Get off me or I’ll fart,’ Sean shouted.

‘No, you will not!’ said April.

‘Dare you,’ shouted Hattie.

Jake squeezed Sean’s nose hard, then his ear. Sean trumped, loudly. Hattie shrieked with joy.

April rushed to the cupboard, came back with a broom, and started prodding at her sons as Jake tortured Sean, and Sean wriggled to get free.

Hattie was holding her nose and waving her other hand to get rid of the smell. She was near helpless with laughter.

It might have disgusted Hannah. This scene. What Mum would call a display of vulgarity.

But she didn’t mind. And that surprised her.

She stood up and stepped back from the awful stench, giving April room as she poked and shouted. April looked at Hannah, pleading: What can I do with them?

Hannah shrugged. Soon, she was helpless with laughter too.

*

Later, Hannah helped April with the washing-up. April said she would do it herself, but Hannah insisted.

They worked, April humming, elbow-deep in suds, Hannah busy with the tea towel.

April had been so nice, but Hannah still felt bad, like there was a mark against her. After a while, she put the damp towel down and put her hand gently on April’s arm. She waited till April looked at her.

‘I’m not my dad,’ she whispered. ‘And I really like Jake.’

‘I know, love. I know.’

*

She sent him a text one morning:

Jake, Yr turn to see my home. As yr not wkng 2nite, wld u lk 2 come over for dinner?

Hx

PS M and D away. Will have place 2 Rselves

*

At a café in town, she showed Phoebe and Bess the text.

‘Well,’ said Phoebe. ‘I think we know what “place to ourselves” means, don’t we?’

‘It means more than frottage on the beach, Hannah Lancaster. Right?’ said Bess.

‘What does frottage even mean?’ said Hannah.

Her parents would be away. Hannah and Jake would be together. Not fumbling on a beach blanket, in some den between the rocks.

Jake would be in her bed.

Jake (#u144a9bc1-6c85-54b0-9e9d-e64db0dfcb9d)

HANNAH’S FAMILY LIVED in one of the old merchant houses on the cliffs near Whitesands Bay.

Jake got a good look at it as he walked down the drive in the evening sun. It was huge. Three storeys high, a covered porch, freshly painted white walls and a tall hedge surrounding the gardens. You’d need a sit-down mower for a lawn that size.

Amazing, the money you could make, owning boats and renting out cottages.

Jake knew there was no one there apart from Hannah, but he still felt on show. Watched somehow.

The security camera over the porch door didn’t help.

He rang the bell, and waited.

He was wearing jeans, but they’d been ironed. Mum had cleaned his shoes with a damp cloth. His shirt was crisp and white. He’d even trimmed his beard into trendy stubble. He had a bottle of wine in his hand, notes for a cab home in one pocket and condoms in another. Just in case. He didn’t expect it. But …

They hadn’t shagged yet. Almost, but not quite. The beach was no-go. His place was a dead end; even if Mum was cool, Sean would listen through the walls.