A Summer to Remember

‘It’s the worst-kept secret in town but to some extent it keeps the tourists out. No offence.’ He pats my hand. ‘It just keeps it special for the locals. And as you can see – it’s always busy.’

‘Well, it’s utterly charming,’ I say, running a hand over the simple wooden table.

The waitress places some mismatched crockery and a platter of something deep-fried on the table. I’m so hungry I don’t care what lies beneath the batter.

‘Fried oysters.’ Barney hands me the plate. ‘Try one, they’re to die for.’

I take a bite, and he’s right. I don’t think I’ve ever had an oyster before. The thought of them has always made me a bit squeamish. Kev wasn’t an adventurous eater and he used to say they were like swallowing a ball of phlegm. The thought makes me heave.

‘You don’t like them?’ Harry says.

‘Oh, I do. They’re better than I was expecting. I was just … remembering something.’

‘Try the hot sauce,’ Barney says and I dip one dutifully. It tastes a bit like Dijon mustard and lemon.

‘Mmm, delicious,’ I say as the flavours and texture alight my senses.

‘We think everyone should come here at least once,’ says Harry.

‘Thank you for inviting me. I don’t know where I’d have ended up otherwise.’ I dunk another oyster.

‘Barney picks up all the waifs and strays,’ Harry says. I instantly feel awkward as his tone is more matter-of-fact than Barney who seems to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but when I look at him, the corner of his mouth is lifted. ‘I’m just teasing. We both love to meet new people.’

‘So, I know you’re in Boston for work, but why is a pretty girl like you in P-Town alone?’ Barney asks as he wipes the last oyster round the dip bowl.

It’s a strange feeling to want to spill all to two people you don’t know from Adam, but a compelling one, nonetheless. Perhaps it’s because they’re the first people I’ve connected with since I arrived in the US, perhaps it’s desperation but whatever the reason, I proceed to fill them in.

‘Nobody listens to me or values my opinion,’ I finish. ‘I don’t agree with the way the campaign is going and I think the company who hired us will hate it, but apparently, I should just shut up and put up. I guess I just don’t fit in with the team.’

Harry points his fork at me. ‘You will. You just need to find your place. All groups have roles for people to fill. You’ll get there. Like my Barney here is the people collector—’

‘I’m intuitive and sociable,’ Barney interrupts.

‘I’m the pragmatic one, my role in a group is the voice of reason. Martha, who owns this place, is the chef. We know most of the people in this town, and they all have their place.’

Barney laughs. ‘You are so not the voice of reason.’

‘Okay, humour me – what am I then?’ Harry shakes his head and gives me a ‘can you believe this guy?’ look.

‘The fussy one.’ Barney cocks his head to the side as if it proves his point.

Harry looks at me. ‘I just like things in order, which in my opinion makes me practical.’ He shrugs his shoulders like that proves his point.

‘Well, my place at present seems to be chief doughnut-getter,’ I say, breaking up their affectionate bickering.

‘Well, there you go – you have a place. But if you want a better one, you need to play a little game of Snakes and Ladders: work your way up without getting knocked all the way back down. You’ll figure it out.’ Harry says this so casually. If he’s fussy and still thinks it’s all just a simple game, then maybe I should too.

The waitress clears our table and I take the opportunity to sip my water then we talk a little more about Harry and Barney’s life in New York and how they met. Barney explains how he’d just arrived from New Jersey and got lost in SoHo looking for the library. Harry was passing, and Barney asked him for help. They chatted a little bit and hit it off then Harry drew him a map, only the map led to an Italian restaurant where Harry was sitting outside with champagne and a bow-tie. Barney never did get to the library, and the rest is history. I sometimes forget that my meeting Kev isn’t the only romantic story out there, and hearing someone else’s makes a surprisingly refreshing change from replaying my own story over in my head.

‘What about at home?’ Barney asks. ‘Is there a Mr or Mrs Sam?’

I knew this was coming, I was braced for it. It isn’t Barney’s fault – it’s never anyone’s fault – but I wish a single person could just be so without people questioning it. Is it really so weird to be on your own?

I suck in as much air as I can take and give him the lowdown: I married my true love, he was killed in an accident and nobody else will ever compare. I’ve made my peace and I’m happy to die alone knowing I was lucky enough to meet my soulmate. Blah, blah, blah.

‘Oh, honey.’

I hold my hand up to shush Barney. ‘I don’t need sympathy. I’ve moved on.’

‘But—’

‘Anyway, you wanted to know about marketing?’ I say, changing the subject.

‘I’ve told him to use social media but he won’t listen. I think he has grand plans of plastering billboards everywhere and going on Oprah,’ Harry says dryly.

I look at Barney. ‘For what you want, Harry is right. Get a Facebook page and start using Instagram to promote your work. A bit of hashtagging and some great photographs should work. If you still need a boost you could have some fliers printed up and do a local door drop.’

‘Consider it done,’ Barney says, raising his glass.

‘I’ve been telling him this for weeks,’ Harry says with a sigh.

The main course is equally delicious, and raspberry-meringue ice cream finishes the meal perfectly. I devour every last bit and I swear my stomach creaks at bursting point.

‘How about we go for a cocktail? Sam, you’ll come for a bit of Sex on the Beach action, won’t you?’

I splutter my water and giggle. ‘Maybe another time,’ I say before realising how presumptuous I sound. I’ve had such a good time tonight but it’s unlikely I’ll ever see these guys again.

‘Tomorrow night then? You’re still here tomorrow, aren’t you, Sam?’ Barney reminds me of an excited puppy. This has been the easiest conversation and the most comfortable I’ve felt since arriving here. Even with Kev cropping up, I’ve really enjoyed myself.

‘I’d love to.’

‘What are your plans for tomorrow during the day? We’re working until six-ish, but we can give you some pointers for things to do.’ Harry talks at a more normal speed compared to Barney’s ultrasonic waffle.

‘I thought I’d sit by the pool and read for a few hours, then maybe walk down to the beach and perhaps rent a bike in the afternoon.’

‘Ahh, we have a bike guy,’ Harry says.

‘A bike guy?’ I ask.

‘Yes, Ethan. The bike guy. Go see him, tell him Harry and Barney sent you, and he’ll give you a good deal.’ Harry is already scribbling the address on the back of the menu. Fortunately, it’s just a printed-off piece of A4 and not some leather-bound affair but I get the distinct impression it wouldn’t have mattered to him if it were.

Chapter 9 (#ulink_38dcd6ae-627c-5ae4-ad6d-d295e09c82d0)

After a morning reading by the pool, I’ve actually made it down to the beach. There was a bustling little sandwich shop in the centre of town where I picked up lunch – a chicken and pastrami sandwich the size of my arm – and now I’m sitting on the sand eating it whilst watching some kayakers and trying not to ooze sauce all over myself. This is the life. It’s such a cliché even to say in my own head, but there isn’t a phrase more fitting. The sky is blue, punctuated with the odd fluffy white cloud – sky pillows, I used to call clouds like this when I was little. It’s such a far cry from my real life, my London life, where I thought lunch in the park or by the docks warranted the phrase ‘This is the life’. I think I posted an Instagram picture to that effect once, but here, I can’t even be bothered taking out my phone. I just want to enjoy the moment.

And so I realise that being here, despite the woes of work, certainly beats being in the mad rush of London. I can blow my nose and black stuff doesn’t come out, for a start. Obviously, there’s a lot I miss about London – my friends, the parks, the continuous stream of new places to eat and, of course, the shops, but Boston has plenty of those anyway. I pull the menu from last night out of my bag and look over the address that Harry wrote out. I should be able to find the place easy enough, and a friend of Harry and Barney will likely be as kind and helpful as they are. There were some fliers in the hotel showing a local bike trail which looks great.

I’m pretty sure I can still ride a bike. You never forget how, apparently.