The Summer Seekers Read online

  Only when she’d dried her hair did she finally switch on her phone.

  She had several missed calls from Sean, and before she could decide what she was going to do about that, he called again.

  She picked up, not sure what to expect from the conversation. “Hi.”

  “Liza? Thank goodness. I’ve been worried sick about you.” The tone of his voice and the faint crackle told her he was calling her from the car.

  “Why would you be worried about me?”

  “Because you took off with no warning! I had no idea you were intending to go to Cornwall this weekend. And I feel—” The phone went dead.

  “Hello?” She checked the screen to see if they were still connected. “Sean?”

  “Yes. Are you there?”

  “Yes. I missed what you said.” How did he feel? Had he realized he’d missed their anniversary?

  She waited, determined to be relaxed and forgiving. He was busy. They both were. It was one of the many things that needed addressing.

  “I feel frustrated that you did that without talking to me, without checking that the plan would work for me.”

  She forced herself to breathe. She could discuss it, right here and now, but she knew what would happen. For all his faults, Sean was a good man. If she confessed how she was feeling, he’d turn the car round and head straight down to Cornwall to see her and she didn’t want that. She wanted time on her own, and for once in her life she was going to do what she wanted.

  “I promised my mother I’d keep an eye on Popeye.”

  “Well, the timing is bad. I am buried under work. I had to leave the house this morning before the girls were awake, and I’ll be home late so the last thing I need is to be clearing up the mess they make in the kitchen.”

  Were they even capable of having a conversation that didn’t involve managing tasks and the girls? At the beginning of their relationship they’d played a game, Big Dreams, Little Dreams, sharing everything they’d hoped for, but those dreams were like an old threadbare rug. Trodden on and mostly forgotten.

  “If they make a mess, they can clear it up themselves. If they need to be somewhere they can take public transport. They’re old enough to figure it out.”

  “Who are you and what have you done with Liza?”

  She licked her lips. “You’re always telling me we need to trust them.”

  “That was before they wrecked the house. The builders are coming in this week, by the way. Can you be in on Tuesday?”

  “No. Leave them a key.”

  “You never leave builders in the house without supervision.”

  “If you trust them then so do I?” She didn’t care about the builders.

  There was a silence. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  No, but she wasn’t ready to talk about it. “I’m tired after the drive. You know how it is at the end of the school year.” She heard him curse under his breath. “Are you all right?”

  “Traffic is bad. I’m going to be late.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “On-site meeting.”

  “It’s Saturday.”

  “This project is a nightmare. I don’t see how I can join you with things the way they are right now.”

  The feeling of relief was swiftly swamped by guilt. What did it say about her that she was pleased that her husband couldn’t join her?

  “Don’t worry.”

  “Will you keep your phone on? They can call you if they have a problem.”

  They’d call her for every little thing. “I can’t guarantee I’ll pick up. There’s a lot to do here and you know the signal is patchy.”

  “Liza—” He sounded exasperated. “I can’t take calls at work right now. You couldn’t have chosen a worse time to do this.”

  To do what? Take time for herself? “I don’t expect you to take calls.”

  “I don’t understand. You worry about these kids every second of the day. You check they’ve cleaned their teeth, and taken vitamins. And now you’re refusing to be there in an emergency?”

  “What I’m doing,” she said slowly, “is teaching them to problem solve and also take responsibility. Something I should have done a long time ago. If they turn to me for everything, they’ll never learn. Hope your meeting goes well.”

  She ended the call and gazed across the fields to the sea, her mind battling between her needs and their needs.

  With no to-do list and no people to make demands, the day stretched ahead, empty of everything except possibilities. Free time was so alien to her that she had no idea how she wanted to spend it.

  Walk? Maybe she’d sit on the patio on her mother’s comfortable swing chair and read one of the books she’d been saving for her summer trip. Just because she couldn’t sip cocktails on the roof terrace of a swanky hotel in Chicago, didn’t mean she couldn’t spoil herself in other ways.

  She picked up her book, made herself a coffee in the sunny kitchen and took it into the garden. The place felt strangely empty without her mother. Liza was used to seeing her bent over by the flower beds, weeding and deadheading.

  Popeye wandered in front of her and she reached down to stroke him, but he whisked away from her, rejecting her attempts at affection before walking in the direction of the kitchen and his food bowl.

  Was there anyone who wasn’t interested in only what she could do for them?

  She fed the cat, then opened her book but found it difficult to concentrate.

  She felt restless and on edge. Her instinct was to clean cupboards and dust shelves. Polish the sea spray from a few windows.

  No.

  She tightened her grip on her book.

  She never did this. At home her reading was restricted to a few snatched pages before she fell asleep. Sitting in the sun with a book felt decadent and indulgent. It made her feel guilty. She needed to retrain herself to relax.

  She struggled through a few pages and then stood up and pulled at her shirt which was already sticking to her skin. It was so hot.

  The clothes she’d brought with her were scratchy and uncomfortable. She felt ready to teach a class, not sit in the sun.

  Maybe there was at least something cooler in her bag, or something of her mother’s she could borrow. She went upstairs and rummaged through her mother’s dresses and was immediately transported back to childhood. Whenever Kathleen had vanished on another of her trips, Liza had sought sanctuary inside the racks of her mother’s clothes, allowing the scent to fill all the little gaps created by her absence. And here she was, doing it again even though she was past the age where she should be missing her mother.

  She had her face buried in a vintage silk shirt when she heard the sound of footsteps in the kitchen.

  She froze. Had she locked the back door when she’d come upstairs? Yes! She remembered turning the key. But despite that someone was in the house.

  What was she going to do?

  Hide? Here in the clothes? Under the bed? No, that would be the first place an intruder would look and then she’d be trapped.

  She could jump out her mother’s bedroom window which faced over the fields, but then she’d probably break a leg.

  Fear trapped the breath in her lungs. Her heart tried to hammer its way to freedom.

  Could it be the same man who had broken in a few weeks ago? No. He’d been drunk and seeking shelter.

  She stood up slowly. Her legs were shaking so badly she wasn’t sure she was capable of running anywhere even if the opportunity arose.

  She heard the sound of a kitchen cupboard opening and closing.

  Whoever it was didn’t seem to be making any effort to disguise his presence. Perhaps they hadn’t yet realized the house wasn’t empty.

  She eased her phone out of her pocket and called the emergency services, then tiptoed into the bathroom and
locked the door.

  “Hello?” she whispered, terrified that any moment now the door would be smashed down. “There’s an intruder in the house. Help me.”

  11

  MARTHA

  ST. LOUIS~DEVIL’S ELBOW~SPRINGFIELD

  “Are you sure you feel up to traveling today? You’re quiet.” Martha loaded their bags into the trunk of the car. She’d learned that they had to be loaded in the exact same order or they didn’t fit. For someone whose underwear drawer was usually a tangled mess, she was proud of her achievement. The neatly packed trunk seemed to represent something, although she wasn’t sure what. Order?

  “I can confirm my wish to travel.” Kathleen clutched the small bag that she kept with her in the car at all times. “We’re on a road trip and after those delicious pancakes for breakfast I’m full of energy.”

  “You mentioned that you didn’t sleep well. Probably all that talk of scoundrels.” Martha still couldn’t believe that something similar had happened to Kathleen when she was young. Kathleen’s experience had been worse, in some ways. Hearing about it had made Martha feel a little less bad about herself. If it could happen to someone like Kathleen, it could happen to anyone.

  Not that she knew many of the details. All Kathleen had told her was that she’d been engaged to a man who had then had an affair with her friend. Having revealed that, she’d then cleverly deflected all follow-up questions and instead encouraged Martha to talk about herself.

  She’d done so willingly. There was plenty Martha didn’t know, as her mother was always quick to point out, but she knew when someone didn’t want to talk about something.

  Kathleen handed her the last of the bags. “It’s true that I didn’t sleep well, but that’s a common occurrence and nothing that should alarm you.”

  Martha squashed the bag into the remaining space, closed the trunk and glanced at Kathleen. There were no outward signs that her companion was flagging. She was wearing her usual floaty, elegant layers and had taken the time to apply lipstick.

  Martha felt a rush of admiration and an even bigger rush of affection. She’d known Kathleen for only a few days, but she hadn’t felt this comfortable with someone since she’d lost her grandmother. Kathleen was so easy to talk to. Warm, hilarious and delightfully frank. But she was also supportive and greeted all Martha’s tentative suggestions with so much enthusiasm that Martha found herself becoming less tentative. It made her realize she’d been living her life in defense mode, constantly on edge and ready to defend herself against her mother, her sister and Steven. Not beginning each day braced for combat was a good feeling. The knot in her stomach had eased.

  And if a small part of her warned that she should have been more cautious about being so open with a stranger, she ignored it.

  Was that why Kathleen had suddenly backed off?

  “Are you wishing you’d never told me that personal stuff?” Martha held the car door open for Kathleen. “Because you don’t need to worry. I’m chatty, but I’m not a gossip. There’s a difference.”

  “I’m aware of the distinction. And I have no regrets.”

  “I know you only did it because you were trying to make me feel better. And it did.” Martha closed the door, sprinted round the car and slid into the driver’s seat.

  “I’m nowhere near as kindly and unselfish as you seem to believe.” Kathleen secured her seat belt. Her hands were still elegant, even though the skin was wrinkled and darkened in places from overexposure to the sun. “I don’t fully understand why I shared my own experience. It was an impulse.”

  Martha adjusted her mirror. “That’s what you said when you ordered the bacon.”

  “Generally I find food impulses to have fewer immediate consequences than those of an emotional type. I do hope you’ll heed my advice and not let your lamentable experience with Scoundrel Steven influence the choices you make for the rest of your life.”

  Martha hesitated. “Like you did?”

  “We have done enough talking about me.” Kathleen slid her sunglasses onto her nose. “Shall we drive? That way we might stand a chance of arriving in California before I reach my hundredth decade.”

  Martha snorted with laughter. “You’re so funny.”

  “Your entertainment is high on my priority list, so I count that as excellent news. Drive, Martha!”

  Martha discovered that the driver’s seat felt a more comfortable place than previously. She no longer felt as if it might eject her as an imposter at any moment. She was in charge, not the car. “You don’t like talking about yourself, do you?”

  “I’ve already given an extensive account of my travels.”

  “That, yes.” Martha checked the traffic and pulled onto the road. “But I mean emotional stuff. You don’t like talking about emotional stuff. I can tell. It’s hard for you.”

  “You are perceptive.”

  “I’m good at reading people. And everyone is different, aren’t they? And that’s okay. Nanna used to say that a person had to be allowed to be the way they wanted to be. Some people are chatty, some people are quiet. You can’t change that. Take me for example—” she increased her speed as they headed out of town, shifting the focus of the conversation to herself to give Kathleen some space “—my school reports were all Martha needs to concentrate more and talk less, but what no one gets is that it’s really hard for me to talk less.”

  “As I am discovering.”

  Martha laughed. “People never tell a quiet person to be noisier—have you ever noticed that? They never say talk more. Or why can’t you be more chatty. But for some reason people have always felt the right to tell me how I could improve myself. It’s annoying, actually.”

  “I can imagine the frustration.”

  “The weird thing is, I don’t chat that much at home. It’s mostly arguing about who is doing what chores.” She thought about her mother and sister. “I have a lot to say, and no one to say it to. All I get is shut up, Martha. That’s another reason I need to move out. I’m not allowed to be me.”

  “You not being you would indeed be a loss to the world.”

  Martha felt herself blush and glanced at her companion. “Do you mean that?”

  “I may, on occasion, withhold information, but I’m not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean. The point of speech is to communicate clearly.”

  Martha focused on the road. “Well, I know I communicate more frequently than the average person, so if you want me to be quiet, say so. Say, Martha, enough! I won’t be offended.”

  “Your good nature is a remarkable quality, and it is my good fortune to be traveling with you.”

  An expert on identifying sarcasm thanks to long experience with her family, Martha decided that Kathleen meant what she said. A feeling of contentment settled around her. She was used to spending her time around people who constantly tore her down and this was a refreshing change. “Well, I feel lucky to be traveling with you. Go me, I say! Most of my friends are busy this summer—holidays, jobs and stuff—so I was bracing myself for a lonely, miserable summer until I saw your ad for this job.” And her friends had been impressed when she’d told them about it. Less so her family, who seemed incapable of being impressed by anything she did.

  “I cannot imagine you being miserable, Martha. And I’m sure someone like you has more friends than there are hours in the day to connect with them.”

  Was that true? “Well, I know a lot of people—but friendship is a weird thing, isn’t it? There are friends who would drop everything to help you in a crisis—they’re like gold dust. And then friends who you meet in the pub and you chat about your week but they don’t really have a clue what’s going on in your head, or in your life. I’m not saying that’s not friendship, but it’s a different type of friendship, isn’t it? A good friend can feel like family.” In her case, better than family, but admittedly it was a pretty low bar.


  “Yes. A true friend can indeed be like family.” The wistful note in Kathleen’s voice made Martha wonder.

  She had a feeling that for all her reticence, Kathleen did want to talk about it. Just because you didn’t find talking easy, didn’t mean you didn’t want to do it. Like everything, it took practice.

  She tried a little encouragement, promising herself she’d back off at the first sign of retreat on Kathleen’s part. “After the affair—you and Ruth lost touch?”

  Kathleen shifted in her seat. “She wrote to me, but I never opened her letters.”

  “I get that. You wanted to keep it in the past. Move on. Not look back. I mean, that’s human. I wish Steven was in the past.” Martha frowned. “But Ruth was your friend, so that had to be tough.”

  “It was indeed a trial.” Kathleen’s voice was faint.

  “I bet you missed her. But at the same time wanted to kill her. It’s hard when emotions get all mixed up like that. You don’t know what you’re supposed to feel. It’s all wrong, like—like—someone pouring chocolate sauce onto spaghetti Bolognaise. I mean, what even is that? Or like when Nanna dropped her knitting—hard to unravel the mess.”

  “I prefer the knitting analogy. I don’t love having my food tampered with.”

  “And you were brokenhearted, so that made it even tougher.”

  “Indeed. I loved him deeply.”

  Martha’s chest ached and she reached out and squeezed Kathleen’s arm. “But you moved on. I can’t tell you how much that inspires me. I was feeling all flimsy and pathetic when I came to your house that day, like a silk shirt that’s been through a hot cycle in the laundry instead of being hand washed—”

  “Your analogies are continually intriguing.”

  “—but hearing your story makes me feel a lot more confident. And I don’t blame you for wanting to leave it all in the past. I was the same. That was one of the reasons I called you when I saw the ad.” And she was relieved she had. If she hadn’t been desperate, there was no way she would have considered a job that involved driving, and yet here she was having the time of her life.