A Girl In Summer (Short Story)
10th March 2019
In: Short Stories
Richard watched her from where he perched high on a rock, his sketch book open on his knee, a pencil idle in his hand. She was young, early twenties at a guess, and she moved slowly through the shallow waves, looking down into the clear water, her expression intense. He followed her progress as she came nearer, seemingly oblivious to his presence.
“Have you lost something?” His voice startled her and she dropped the bunched fabric of the skirt she’d been so carefully avoiding getting wet, its hem darkening as it absorbed the edge of a wave.
“I didn’t see you there.” Her voice had a soft lilt to it, possibly Irish, he thought. She looked at him fleetingly, then out to sea, but she didn’t answer his question. He followed her gaze to where a small yacht made its way towards the horizon.
“Penny for them,” he ventured at last.
“Ah, maybe they’re not for sale.” She shook her head solemnly, met his eyes for the briefest moment and began walking away just as a raucous flock of herring gulls wheeled in to scavenge along the shoreline.
His “goodbye” was lost amongst their cries.
The next morning Richard scanned the beach with his binoculars and caught up with her slim, sun-hatted figure leaning against one of the old, disused boat sheds near the pier. Once again she was alone and, he reasoned, it was probably out of choice. Resisting the urge to take his usual leisurely stroll, he spent most of the day in his studio conscientiously working through a gathering backlog, deadlines looming ever-closer. There was a commission that had to be finished and some book illustrations to rough out: plenty to keep his mind occupied, except that it would keep wandering off however hard he tried not to think about her.
By late afternoon he needed a break and some fresh air. He bought a coffee and a sandwich at Joe’s and crossed the road to the harbour wall, sitting with his back to the lively breeze coming in off the sea. He must be a sad case, he mused, to be mooning over some strange young woman half his age who would no doubt disappear as suddenly as she came. She was just another tourist, he told himself sternly. Here today, gone tomorrow.
“Hello, again.” He spun round at the sound of her voice. She gave him a shy smile, adding “did I make you jump?”
“I was just thinking about you.”
“And what was it you were thinking?”
“Oh, I was only wondering...” he floundered, “well, of course, it’s none of my business, anyway, but whenever I see you you’re alone and it just seems a bit... unusual” he finished lamely.
“So, you want to hear my life story. Have you the time now or would you like it in instalments?”
He wasn’t sure if she was being flippant but tried to match her tone. “Instalments would be fine — over dinner, perhaps?”
“That would be very nice. Thank you.”
The restaurant was full and noisy so it was difficult to talk over their meal. Afterwards they took their coffees out on to the terrace and sat watching the lights winking on the boats tied up along the pier.
“So, you’re here looking for your brother.”
“Yes, I’ve been trying to trace Billy for more than a year now. He went into the Navy at eighteen, travelled all over the world. He sent me postcards until I left home and moved to Dublin. Father died shortly afterwards and I don’t remember my mother, I was only three when she passed away. So Billy is all the family I have, if I could only find him.” She stirred her coffee thoughtfully. “I had word that he’d been seen here, working for one of the pleasure boat companies. I’ve been asking around but no luck so far.”
“Have you got a photo?”
She handed him a crumpled black and white snap of two children playing with a bright-eyed terrier. The faded handwriting on the back read Billy and Teresa, Castle Rock 1979. “It’s the only picture I have of him. He’d be twenty eight now.”
Richard studied the snap. “I have an idea — could I borrow this?” Sensing her reluctance he added “It’s okay, I’ll return it, I promise.”
Back at his studio it took him several attempts before he was satisfied with the sketch. The grinning, tousle-haired boy had now matured into a striking young man.
Teresa gasped when he showed it to her the following day.“That’s amazing, it’s so like him!”
“Well, it may help jog someone’s memory. You could get some posters done” he suggested. Her face shone.
“I’ll do that. As soon as I get home. Thank you. I’m so glad we met.”
“Me too. I just hope you find him.”
He started the painting the day she left, while her features were still sharp in his mind’s eye. A study of a young woman paddling through shallow waves, her skirts trailing in the water, her pretty face wistful under a wide-brimmed sunhat, and he called it A Girl in Summer.
“Have you lost something?” His voice startled her and she dropped the bunched fabric of the skirt she’d been so carefully avoiding getting wet, its hem darkening as it absorbed the edge of a wave.
“I didn’t see you there.” Her voice had a soft lilt to it, possibly Irish, he thought. She looked at him fleetingly, then out to sea, but she didn’t answer his question. He followed her gaze to where a small yacht made its way towards the horizon.
“Penny for them,” he ventured at last.
“Ah, maybe they’re not for sale.” She shook her head solemnly, met his eyes for the briefest moment and began walking away just as a raucous flock of herring gulls wheeled in to scavenge along the shoreline.
His “goodbye” was lost amongst their cries.
The next morning Richard scanned the beach with his binoculars and caught up with her slim, sun-hatted figure leaning against one of the old, disused boat sheds near the pier. Once again she was alone and, he reasoned, it was probably out of choice. Resisting the urge to take his usual leisurely stroll, he spent most of the day in his studio conscientiously working through a gathering backlog, deadlines looming ever-closer. There was a commission that had to be finished and some book illustrations to rough out: plenty to keep his mind occupied, except that it would keep wandering off however hard he tried not to think about her.
By late afternoon he needed a break and some fresh air. He bought a coffee and a sandwich at Joe’s and crossed the road to the harbour wall, sitting with his back to the lively breeze coming in off the sea. He must be a sad case, he mused, to be mooning over some strange young woman half his age who would no doubt disappear as suddenly as she came. She was just another tourist, he told himself sternly. Here today, gone tomorrow.
“Hello, again.” He spun round at the sound of her voice. She gave him a shy smile, adding “did I make you jump?”
“I was just thinking about you.”
“And what was it you were thinking?”
“Oh, I was only wondering...” he floundered, “well, of course, it’s none of my business, anyway, but whenever I see you you’re alone and it just seems a bit... unusual” he finished lamely.
“So, you want to hear my life story. Have you the time now or would you like it in instalments?”
He wasn’t sure if she was being flippant but tried to match her tone. “Instalments would be fine — over dinner, perhaps?”
“That would be very nice. Thank you.”
The restaurant was full and noisy so it was difficult to talk over their meal. Afterwards they took their coffees out on to the terrace and sat watching the lights winking on the boats tied up along the pier.
“So, you’re here looking for your brother.”
“Yes, I’ve been trying to trace Billy for more than a year now. He went into the Navy at eighteen, travelled all over the world. He sent me postcards until I left home and moved to Dublin. Father died shortly afterwards and I don’t remember my mother, I was only three when she passed away. So Billy is all the family I have, if I could only find him.” She stirred her coffee thoughtfully. “I had word that he’d been seen here, working for one of the pleasure boat companies. I’ve been asking around but no luck so far.”
“Have you got a photo?”
She handed him a crumpled black and white snap of two children playing with a bright-eyed terrier. The faded handwriting on the back read Billy and Teresa, Castle Rock 1979. “It’s the only picture I have of him. He’d be twenty eight now.”
Richard studied the snap. “I have an idea — could I borrow this?” Sensing her reluctance he added “It’s okay, I’ll return it, I promise.”
Back at his studio it took him several attempts before he was satisfied with the sketch. The grinning, tousle-haired boy had now matured into a striking young man.
Teresa gasped when he showed it to her the following day.“That’s amazing, it’s so like him!”
“Well, it may help jog someone’s memory. You could get some posters done” he suggested. Her face shone.
“I’ll do that. As soon as I get home. Thank you. I’m so glad we met.”
“Me too. I just hope you find him.”
He started the painting the day she left, while her features were still sharp in his mind’s eye. A study of a young woman paddling through shallow waves, her skirts trailing in the water, her pretty face wistful under a wide-brimmed sunhat, and he called it A Girl in Summer.