Wild Summer Read Free

now—goods quickly moving up the chain, obscuring their pathway, becoming untraceable. Summer’s fee would have been nominal, certainly not worth all this trouble. It would be a desperate amount, but then desperate was what most thieves were.
    “It’s a debt, isn’t it?” Christopher said suddenly. “You owe someone.”
    They walked a little farther across the potholed playing field before Summer halted, so Christopher could see him speak.
    “I needed the money. It’s not drugs or anything.”
     
     
    I NSTEAD OF returning to the town, they turned at the edge of the field where the grass gave way to uneven pavements of cracked gray concrete and squat blocks of flats, the occasional window boarded up with graffitied metal plates. The whole place was faded, devoid of any signs of life. Even the dandelions withered in the white glare of the sun. Salt stained the brickwork. Gulls circled the sky.
    “Are we near the sea?”
    Christopher had been five the last time he’d seen the sea, the sun dancing off the waves, the air glittering with sea spray.
    “After this, I’ll show you.” Summer smiled, but this time there was a certain false brightness, the light in him brittle like the sun glancing off broken glass.
    They stopped outside a tiny garage. There were rows upon rows of them behind the derelict flats, the tawdry colors all faded and sun-bleached. This one looked dented, as though a car had rammed into it a few times.
    Summer knocked once, then twice more. He might have spoken. The door hitched up a foot or so, no more. A dog shot out of the gap, its mouth opening and closing aggressively, and they both stepped back, nearly falling over each other. Christopher put his hand out to steady Summer and saw the dog was on a lead and could come no farther.
    The battered metal door lifted fully, and a figure appeared, his hood pulled down low over his unshaven face. The inside of the garage was unlit, and the glare of the sunlight where they stood made it impossible to see very far within.
    Without knowing why, Christopher’s heart began to pound, hard and heavy. The day’s brightness faded. The dog snapped its mouth and inched closer.
    The figure spoke, looking down at the dog. One inky tattooed hand gripped it by the collar and yanked it backward.
    Summer turned, and briefly his hand brushed against Christopher’s. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he mouthed, looking like he’d rather run.
    Unhappily Christopher watched the garage door descend with Summer, the hooded figure, and the dog locked behind it.
    Worried, but clearly surplus to requirements, Christopher was unsure what to do with himself. For a while he wandered in an aimless arc between the rundown garages, careful to remain within eyeshot of the battered garage door, trying not to dwell on whether he was going to make it to London tonight and where he was going to sleep if he didn’t.
    When the door finally lifted, he forced nonchalant casualness to his gait to stop himself from jogging over in relief.
    Even though he was quick to turn his head away, Christopher could see Summer’s lip was split around his lip ring, his mouth swollen. But whatever had happened, Summer didn’t want to talk about it and wouldn’t meet Christopher’s eyes.
    “Your stuff’s moved on. We need to go to the club in town. Ren should be able to get it back” was all he said when he finally did look at Christopher.
    They walked back across the playing field. Summer made no attempt to talk now. Whatever had happened had made him recoil inside, and Christopher wasn’t sure what to do to bring him out of himself again. Instead he watched his feet as they stepped on the springy grass. He looked around, getting his bearings and a feel for the place. Sophie had told him that was of utmost importance—bearings, where you were in relation to your immediate world, the balance of things, working out what your dangers were, where to avoid. Twice his age, she’d taken Christopher