Stuart Harrison - Lost Summer

Castleton turned out to be more of a large village than a town. The main road crossed a stone bridge over the River Gelt before winding past the square, around which were clustered a few shops, a church and a small branch of Barclays bank. The estate was a few miles further on and was approached through wrought-iron gates guarding a road flanked by twin columns of sweet chestnuts. At the end stood a massive sandstone manor. The estate manager’s house was out of sight, itself a substantial Edwardian building with a walled garden.

‘How old were you?’ Morris asked.

‘Thirteen. Kyle was my stepfather. My dad died when I was six. Kyle had worked for some international corporation managing Third World projects until he met my mother, and then he decided to settle down and announced he had this job managing an estate in Cumbria.’

‘I take it you weren’t thrilled with the move.’

‘You could say that. I had to leave everything I knew. Friends, school.’

‘How did you feel about that?’

Adam smiled wryly. ‘I didn’t think you people really said that.’ Morris smiled, but didn’t respond. ‘Lonely,’ Adam said eventually.

A week after they’d moved Adam rode his bike into Castleton along lanes bordered by hedges and stone walls, past fields full of docile cows. When he reached the town it was mid-morning and people were beginning to emerge from the church.

At the newsagent he picked up The Sunday Times for Kyle and the Observer for his mother. The girl behind the counter had pale blonde hair and was about his age.

‘You must be from the estate,’ she said. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Adam,’ he answered, surprised. ‘How did you know I live on the estate?’

‘My friend’s dad works there. She said there was a new lad who talks posh.’

He wasn’t sure if he ought to be insulted. His cheeks burned. As he left, the old-fashioned bell above the door rang with a silvery note and glancing back he saw the girl watching him with an amused look.

‘Bye, Adam.’

He mumbled something in reply.

He came across the boys half a mile from the town. There were three of them sitting on a stone wall, their bikes lying down in the grass. As he drew nearer one of them walked out onto the road. He was tall and solidly built with thick brown hair. He stood with his hands on his hips and waited for Adam to come to a stop.

‘Where are you going?’ he demanded.

‘I live on the estate.’

‘You have to pay to go on this road if you’re not from ’round here. Fifty pence.’

Adam remembered the thudding of his heart and how his mouth had become suddenly dry. Kyle had once told him that if you could it was better to talk your way out of trouble than to fight. ‘Actually, I suppose I am from around here now,’ he’d reasoned.

‘ Actually, I am from around here old chap. ’

One of the other boys parodied his accent. He was thin with pinched features and black hair that lay flat on his head. His jeans were filthy and had tears in both knees and the sole of one shoe flapped loose. He reminded Adam of the kids from the tower estate he used to pass on the way home from school who used to yell names and throw stones or even empty bottles.

The boy in the road seemed amused. ‘What school do you go to?’

‘It’s called Kings,’ Adam said. ‘But I haven’t started yet.’

‘Fucking grammar boy,’ the thin one sneered.

They had given him an ultimatum; pay or fight, otherwise he had to take the long way around.

‘What did you do?’ Morris asked.

Adam was surprised at how vivid his recall was. He could almost feel the sun on his back making him sweat, the smell of cut hay from the fields mingling with hot tarmac and he experienced again the stinging humiliation of being the victim of bullying. He was alone, an outsider.

He had known he would have to fight or never hear the end of it.

They had said he could choose which one of them he took on. Fucking generous of them. The one who’d stopped him was easily the biggest and exuded a kind of lazy confidence. The thin one was the smallest but obviously a nasty little bastard, as Kyle would say. Which left the one on the wall, who so far hadn’t spoken. He was trying to look tough but he was as nervous as Adam was.

They waited for him to decide and when he eventually pointed at the big one he was almost as surprised as they were.

Morris was intrigued. ‘Why did you do that?’

The truth was Adam wasn’t sure. He’d often wondered if it had been a sudden attack of bravery, the tactical response of those with balls of brass; take out the biggest guy and everybody else falls into line. Or had it been something less heroic. Instinct perhaps?

He shrugged in reply. ‘It was all over pretty quickly.’

He’d thrown a few wild punches and remembered at least one connecting with its target, and the expression of pained surprise the other boy wore before he retaliated by swinging his fist in a blur of speed. The blow caught Adam on the cheek with the force of a house brick and knocked him to the ground, but somehow, probably accidentally, he’d managed to grab the other boy’s legs. Next thing they were rolling on the tarmac scrabbling and flailing at one another amid shouts of encouragement from the other two.

‘Finish him, Dave!’

‘Hit him!’

There was blood in Adam’s mouth and his lip felt thick and swollen. Tears of humiliation pricked his eyes. His arms were pinned. Get it over with he’d thought. Fucking country bumpkins. He’d remembered his mother always telling him how great it would be living in the country. How London was full of crime and vandals. All those glue sniffers and thugs on the tower estates. But he’d never been beaten up there. He’d never had three kids try to rob him. At least there he’d had his friends.

And then unexpectedly he was being pulled to his feet and the other boy was half smiling as he wiped blood from his nose and examined it with faint surprise.

‘Shit! You alright?’

‘I think so,’ Adam said.

They faced each other awkwardly and then the boy fetched Adam’s bike. ‘Sorry. It was just a bit of a laugh really.’

Some fucking laugh. The other two boys hung back, the thin one scowling with sullen disappointment.

Adam fell silent, lost in reflection. All these years later and the memory of that day remained as fresh as if it had happened just a day or two ago. He remembered feeling a curious pride for having stood his ground. The boy he’d fought looked at him differently, with a kind of respect. Even then, at that very moment Adam realized that some bond had inexplicably formed between himself and the boy whom he later knew as David. He wasn’t the only one to feel it. The thin one who turned out to be called Nick sensed it too. His eyed had glowed with resentment.

‘What happened?’ Morris asked.

Adam shrugged. ‘They let me go. I didn’t see them again until term started. It turned out I was going to the same school as the one I had the fight with.’

Morris waited expectantly as if there was more. But Adam didn’t feel like going on. He looked at the clock and noted with relief that his time was up.

The house was set back from the road and all but hidden behind a hedge. All that was visible was the thatched roof, but earlier Adam had wandered past the gate, pausing at the end of the driveway to get a better look. It was the kind of quaint two-storey Sussex village cottage in demand by well-heeled city commuters. Cloud Cottage was the name on the wooden barred gate. A black Labrador trotted over and dutifully though half-heartedly barked before wagging its tail hopefully. It watched with disappointed eyes when he went back to his car.