Summer Loves

‘Me? You know I can.’

Dora sighed and stared morosely into her glass. ‘Might be back for good, as the sainted Gary Barlow would say. Long story short: ratings plummeted, show pulled. No more made.’

Millie sat up. ‘That’s awful.’ She shook her head. ‘But it’s the most popular thing on the box over here. Zoe loves it.’

‘Well, you’re two series behind, so you’ve still got something to watch.’ Dora fiddled with a long strand of hair, trying to control the urge for a cigarette. She was trying to give up. ‘It’s the way American TV works. As soon as a show gets even a whiff of a ratings drop, it’s axed. You have to admire the business ethic, I suppose. It’s all about the profit.’

Millie wasn’t sure she did. It sounded far too ruthless for her and, besides, she was off anything American at the moment. ‘So, what are you going to do?’

‘Shack up with Mum and Dad for a bit. I haven’t seen much of them over the last few years. Walk on the beach if I can borrow Trevor. Have lazy mornings in bed. Have a holiday, enjoy myself!’

‘Get to know Mikey Love again?’

Dora gave her friend a shuttered look. ‘No way. Not going near that heap of trouble again. Nope. Me and Michael Love belong firmly in the sixth form. I do not intend to rake up all that shit again. Ever!’

Millie thought her friend protested too much. She’d seen the looks flashing between Mike and Dora. And who could resist a man who looked like he did? She finished her wine in silence. Dora and Mike had been besotted with one another when they’d all been in sixth form. They’d been the hottest couple in school. Surely feelings that intense never really went away? In the pub they looked as if they wanted to jump on one another and rip their clothes off there and then.

With them both in town, it was going to be an interesting summer.

Chapter 4 (#u76395af6-e43e-53fd-8528-23ab0f220c12)

The afternoon of the duck race was bright and sunny. Dora, used to the endless sunshine of California, rejoiced. Millie had explained she hoped for a good turnout, for Tessa and Ken’s sake. This new Arts Workshop was their latest venture and they were trying to raise money to renovate a venue in town. It seemed an excellent idea to Dora too. There had never been very much for kids to do in Berecombe. Boredom was one reason why Mike had got into trouble so much. Hopefully an arts centre would help other young people. She was all for it. And at least she didn’t have to dress up as a duck this time.

Checking out her reflection in her old bedroom at her parents’ house, she gave herself the once-over. Dora wasn’t a vain person, never had been, but years of living and working in the most image-conscious city on the west coast had made her able to view her looks objectively.

Still too thin, as her mother had pointed out this morning. Red hair, one of her distinguishing features as an actress, long and waving now it wasn’t being ruthlessly straightened by the studio’s hair department. Bluey-green eyes, which changed colour according to the light and pale, almost translucent, skin. The summer dress she’d chosen, patterned in greens and blues, suited her perfectly. It made her look tall and willowy, when in reality she was only average height. An expert at changing her appearance, today she was going for a demure vicar’s wife vibe. A wide-brimmed straw hat borrowed from her mother and her favourite sunglasses and she was ready.

She dropped her parents off in town and drove down Berecombe’s steep hill, turning off along the lane by the river to find somewhere to park. Concentrating, as she still wasn’t used to driving on the left, she squeezed the Mini into the only space available and followed the crowds to the start of the duck race.

There was a carnival atmosphere, families with small children clutching at balloons and ice creams ran along the riverbank, from where the ducks would be launched. It was fun, she decided. And very, very English. She manoeuvred her way through the crowd and found Millie and Tessa on the wide pebble beach on the bend of the river. A long meadow stretched down to the tree line of willows, which were shading the riverbank. It couldn’t have been more English.

‘Hi Dora, you’re just in time,’ Millie kissed her on the cheek. ‘Tessa’s so pleased you’ve agreed to start the race.’

‘All right, campers,’ Tessa yelled. ‘Last chance to buy a duck and then they’re off. Don’t forget the top prize is a voucher to spend at Millie Vanilla’s: Berecombe’s friendliest caff.’

‘What’s the second prize, Tessa,’ some wag called. ‘Two vouchers? Only joking!’

Dora looked around to see who the joker was – some middle-aged man – and caught sight of Mike standing high up on the meadow. He was with Phil and Kirstie and another man, tall and blonde. Before she could control it, her body reacted, as it always had, to Mike and she willed herself to turn back to Millie and Tessa. She could still feel Mike’s gaze burning into the back of her neck. ‘Insufferable man!’

‘Oh don’t worry your bones about him,’ Tessa said with a grin, misunderstanding her. ‘There’s always one and it’s usually him. I got him to buy thirty tickets, so he’s cracking out the jokes in revenge. Very witty, Dennis,’ she yelled to the man. ‘Now crawl off under your stone.’ She turned to Dora. ‘You ready?’

‘I’m not sure what to say.’

‘Just keep an eye on my boys and when they release the ducks, say the race has started. You’ll be fine, bab. No takers, then?’ Tessa yelled, once more to the crowd. ‘Right, I’ll hand over to our very own, home-grown Hollywood star, Theodora Bart!’

Dora glanced over to where Tessa’s three sons were standing knee deep in the middle of the river. As they held up sacks full of little plastic ducks, she took a deep breath, prepared to project and called out, ‘I declare this duck race well and truly started!’

She wasn’t sure what she expected. A casual stroll to the bridge, where the River Bere met the sea, maybe. She certainly hadn’t anticipated the mad dash of duck racers running along the riverbank, the squealing, the competitiveness.

As the ducks bobbed and meandered their way down the river, the crowd yelled with excitement and ran alongside. Dora let them go. The kitten heels she thought matched her floaty dress so perfectly proved themselves totally impractical. As she picked her way along the gravel beach, taking care to avoid the cowpats, she was left well behind by the crowd.

‘Ouch!’ Her heel caught on a piece of flint. She would have stumbled had it not been for a strong arm on her elbow.

‘Careful there, can’t have you going arse over tit in that rather lovely dress, can we?’

It would be him, wouldn’t it?

Mike picked up her sunglasses, which had flown off her face as she tripped. ‘Here you go. Undamaged.’ He peered at them and whistled. ‘Chanel. Nice. Just as well they’re in one piece, then.’

He was looking edible. Loose white shirt, scruffy faded denims and a red-and-white spotted scarf at his neck. It didn’t quite conceal the rugged chest exposed by the open buttons of his shirt. Dora’s mouth watered. He’d never been as well muscled at eighteen. His shoulders had been far narrower and he certainly hadn’t the thick covering of dark chest hair. She itched to trail her nails through it.

‘Dora? You’re staring.’

‘Am I?’ Snatching the glasses back, she put them on. There was a smear of dust on one lens but she didn’t bother cleaning them; she needed the protection – and not from the sunshine.

‘Can I walk with you to the finish line?’

She shrugged.

They followed the excited jumble of people, some of whom were paddling in the river, shrieking at the cold, in order to rescue their duck, lodged against a branch or rock.

They walked in silence, but eventually even Dora thought she was being ungracious. ‘Thank you,’ she said, at length.

‘You’re welcome.’

‘It’s been a while.’

‘Certainly has.’

Of course, he wouldn’t make this any less awkward, would he? She cast about for a subject matter with which to fill the silence. ‘Who was the blonde man with you? The one who was so impeccably dressed?’

Mike gave a knowing grin. ‘Thought you might notice him. Knows Phil slightly. Jed. Friend of Millie’s, apparently.’

‘That’s strange. She’s never mentioned him. Your friend Phil, he looks like a banker.’

‘Financier. He invests in pet projects I have going.’

‘So you have to keep him sweet, no matter how much a drunken boor he is.’

‘What a very Dora word.’ Mike laughed. ‘Boor! He’s actually a nice guy as long as he keeps off the scrumpy.’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Dora said sourly, then added, ‘Where’s the finish line?’ as her ridiculous shoes were beginning to pinch her toes. She never had to walk anywhere in LA.

‘Ken Tizzard’s at Bere Bridge. He and his team are catching the ducks before any get lost at sea.’

‘It’s mad.’ She stumbled and winced as her ankle turned over. Mike took her elbow again and his hand was hot on her bare skin.

‘But a great way of raising money for a good cause, don’t you think?’