Sweet Home Summer: A heartwarming romcom perfect for curling up with. Michelle Vernal

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СКАЧАТЬ in the middle of what was now the sports field. It was long gone, cleared away to make room for the new like so many other pockets of Bibury’s past.

      The pavement forked a short way past the school, and she had the choice of following the path by the Ahaura River or the roadside footpath. She always walked down by the river remembering how she’d sat on the banks, hidden from view as she kissed Charlie. The memories of those kisses would fade as the path forked once more and she found herself almost reluctantly following the footpath that looped around back to High Street. She’d inevitably also find herself wishing that she’d been brave enough to choose a different path back when it had mattered.

      It was a walk filled with memories and ghosts, but Bridget was sure it was the only thing that kept her hip from seizing up completely, and it gave her the edge she needed to beat Margaret at bowls.

      The potatoes were bubbling in the pot, and her eyes were beginning to smart as she chopped the onion. She didn’t know if it was the onion that was making her want to cry or the memories evoked from the card she’d received that morning. She blinked them away upon hearing the front door bang shut.

      ‘You can’t beat the smell of frying onions,’ Joe called out from the hall, and she smiled. He said the same thing every Thursday, bless him.

      They’d settled into an agreeable routine of a Thursday evening with Joe always washing the dishes after they’d eaten. He’d moan and groan about how full he was while Bridget dried and put away.

      ‘Pudding, Joe?’ she’d ask when the last of the dishes were cleared.

      ‘Ooh, I don’t know if I can.’

      ‘Are you sure? I’m having some.’

      ‘Ah go on then, I might be able to make a bit of room.’

      Tonight, she’d found a bag of stewed black boy peaches from Margaret’s tree in the freezer, and so she’d whipped up a crumble. Having dished two bowls up with a dollop of ice-cream, they went through to the living room to eat off their laps while they watched Seven Sharp. Mary had harrumphed upon hearing of this arrangement.

      ‘You always made me and Jack sit up at the table, Mum.’

      ‘Seven Sharp wasn’t on when you and Jack lived at home, Mary,’ Bridget replied. She didn’t like to miss an episode. It was the show’s host Mike Hosking she was fond of, having listened and argued with him for years on talkback radio. It was like letting an old friend into her living room each evening.

      Joe, however, was on the fence. ‘He wouldn’t last five minutes in a real job,’ he’d say. ‘Look at all that crap he puts in his hair.’

      Bridget would tell him to pipe down and eat his pudding.

      Joe would head home at half past seven when the current affairs programme had finished. He would get home just as Mary was heading off to her dance class. They were ships passing in the night which suited him fine once a week. ‘It means I can work on the bike in peace without Mary going on about how I spend more time with it than I do her.’ He’d kiss Bridget on the cheek and thank her for looking after him before revving the engine of his ridiculously oversized motorized beast, and heading home in a cloud of exhaust fumes. Bridget would close the door thinking her daughter was right, she had married a petrol head but a petrol head with a heart of gold.

      This evening however before the credits rolled on Seven Sharp, Joe and Bridget looked at each other startled as they heard the front door open and Mary call out.

      ‘Is everything alright?’ Bridget looked at her daughter seeking reassurance as she barrelled into the living room.

      ‘Everything’s fantastic, Mum. Guess what?’

      ‘What?’ Joe and Bridget chimed.

      ‘Isla arrives home in two days. Isn’t that just the best Valentine’s Day present ever?’

       Chapter 4

      ‘You’re not cold are you love after all that Californian sunshine? It gets a few degrees warmer there in the summertime than it does here, I dare say.’ Mary swung her gaze from the road in her daughter’s direction, and the car swerved accordingly.

      ‘I’m fine Mum, keep your eyes on the road, and it was winter over there. Well, as close to winter as California gets.’ Isla had been heartened when she’d stepped outside Christchurch Airport’s terminal building to see the cloudless blue sky. It was a perfect Canterbury summer’s day, and it felt like she was being welcomed home. She opened the shoulder bag resting on her lap and felt around inside it until her hand settled on the book of affirmations that her counsellor at Break-Free, Rita, had given her when it was time to leave. It was comforting to know it was there and she knew too, thanks to her time at the lodge, that whatever happened next, she would be okay.

      The drive to Bibury was long, and she sat listening as her mum told her she was worried about Bridget living on her own especially since she’d had that fall a month back. ‘If your dad hadn’t called in on her – well, it doesn’t bear thinking about. You know what your gran’s like though, she refuses to admit she’s getting old and she was back taking her morning constitutional, as she calls her walk within the week.’

      Isla did know what her gran was like, tough and stubborn being the first two words that sprang to mind.

      ‘It’ll be strange not having you at home now you’re back, but it’ll be a relief to know you’re keeping an eye on Mum for a bit too. She always seems invincible and then to realize she’s not, well it scared me.’

      Isla nodded, she struggled to think of her gran as anything other than a force of nature too. Mother and daughter knew only too well that were Isla to move back in under her parents’ roof there would be fireworks before long. So, staying with her gran was the perfect solution. Isla and Mary got along like a house on fire in small doses, but both were secretly relieved when Bridget diplomatically suggested Isla stay with her. ‘If Isla’s there with me, it’ll mean you’ll stop running across the road like a headless chook on your tea breaks Mary, to check up on me.’ Yes, it was a win-win situation for all.

      ‘It’s not like it used to be, Bibury you know,’ Mary announced, her orange face earnest. She’d been keeping up a steady monologue since they’d exited Christchurch. Isla felt a sense of sadness that her old stomping ground of the Garden City would be one she’d no longer recognize when she returned to explore Christchurch beyond the airport. She’d kept track of the post-earthquake rebuild online and had been amazed at the change to the cityscape. Over the ensuing years since the ground had shaken with an unfamiliar wrath, the familiar had been cleared to make way for the new, not because of progress but because of necessity.

      They’d been driving for over an hour now, having passed Castle Hill with its otherworldly moonscape, and the road they were on was nearly empty as the car began to wind through Talbots Pass. Isla tried to fight off the fatigue that hovered after the flight and look lively as her mother’s voice intoned.

      ‘You only have to read the police report in the Bibury Times to know crime’s on the up.’ Mary’s sigh was heavy with the weight of it all.

      ‘Did Sheree Davies get her knickers pinched off the washing line again then?’ Isla asked with a smirk to lighten the sombre СКАЧАТЬ