The Summer of Secrets Read Free Page A

moment she looked directly at him, she was staring at him, this angel with the skin and the hair and the shoulders, and all the moisture was sucked out of his mouth so that he felt an insatiable urge to swallow, but he couldn’t and so he started to choke a bit. He thought he heard music. And then the whole world flooded back in and he realised she had been staring because the butcher’s boy was asking him what he wanted and somehow he had to recover his breath and remember where he was. He walked halfway home before he was able to feel normal again.
    â€˜Gran?’ he yelled. Perhaps he would tell her about the girl in the butcher’s. She was forever on at him to meet a nice young lady. ‘Gran?’
    The radio was on, which was unusual, she normally turned it off after tea so that she could enjoy a bit of peace and quiet. Outside it was pitch black already. A gust of wind moved the clouds and the moon washed the garden as brightly as the mid-morning sun in springtime.
    That’s when he saw her lying on the cold, wet grass and he started to yell. His heart jumped in his chest, painful and frightening. With three enormous strides he was at her side and calling to her and she was limp in his arms as he cradled her, feeling the terribly faint puff of her laboured breathing, the damp seeping through his jeans onto his knees, one eye refusing to open, her face crumpled and limp except for the single fearful eye that stared. By the time the ambulance came he was freezing cold and shaking with fear.
    His grandmother died early the next day.
    A neighbour came to find him on hearing the news and offered him somewhere to stay. ‘Just temporary,’ she said, knowing the options that were available to a sixteen year old with nobody else. ‘Just until you finish school and we figure out what we’re going to do.’
    People said that she was good to take him in, to give the boy a home. The longing in Danny swelled up from his gut and threatened to consume him. He didn’t talk to anyone about it.
    He dressed for her funeral slowly in his black suit, borrowed from a cousin he did not know, and a black tie, bought new and never to be worn again.
    Everyone came back to the house afterwards, which was a big mistake. There were more people than he expected. The distant family turned out to pay their respects as did all their neighbours, and in every face he saw the same combination of pity and hope. It was excruciating. He stood with his back in the corner of the small living room, horrified at these people in their home picking over the dry sandwiches and sponge cake that had appeared.
    â€˜Thank you so much for coming,’ he said by rote. ‘It would have meant a lot to her.’
    He felt incredibly anxious. He longed to tell them all to go home so that he could crawl back into bed but he had never been to a funeral wake, and he no idea what was expected of him. He tried to back further into his corner but then he saw her. The angel from the high street.
    â€˜I know you, don’t I?’ she said.
    Close up he immediately realised two things. One, she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Two, she was older than he was, not by much, but she was.
    â€˜I’m Harriet.’
    â€˜Harriet,’ he echoed dumbly.
    â€˜Yes. Hey. Are you okay?’
    He snapped to his senses. ‘I’m Danny,’ he said. ‘Daniel. Dan.’
    â€˜All at once?’ she said, her hand fluttering to her throat, the soft pads of her fingers caressing the delicate skin there in a way that made him feel light-headed. ‘Pick one.’
    â€˜Danny,’ he said. Maybe Danny sounded like a little boy’s name. He should have said Daniel. Or Dan. Too late. He stood tall and pushed his hair back. ‘Danny,’ he said firmly.
    She was wearing a dark green dress and a sombre little jacket to match and had a sprig of fresh rosemary pinned to her lapel, with small purple flowers and