Love Notes from Vinegar House Page 7

  The cold was a band of ice squeezing tightly about my chest, leaving me gasping for breath. The water dragged at my jeans, which made it difficult to kick. I looked back at the shore and noticed Rumer standing alone to one side of the group I’d left behind. While the others were waving frantically, yelling at me to come back, Rumer was drawing something in the sand with a long piece of driftwood. She was clearly annoyed that I was getting all the attention for a change. I was smugly enjoying this thought when the next wave caught me from behind. It drew me into its frothy embrace, sucked me down and tumbled me around so that down became up, and up became sideways, tumbling, tumbling and the dull roar of it filled my ears. Then it spat me out, and I bobbed on the water’s surface, gulping at the air, my heart racing, the blood pounding in my ears. It was time to return to the others.

  And then I stepped off into nothing. The hard sand beneath my feet had fallen away into the deep water of the drop off. I tried a few wild strokes towards shore, but the tide held me fast in its grip. My feet frantically searched for solid ground, but I was treading water.

  The first time I went under I was scared. I was going to die and the adults would find out I’d gone swimming and we would all get into trouble. I hoped Rumer would get into trouble the most. This is what I thought as the little silver bubbles of my breath rushed past me to the surface. I didn’t know how, but in some way she was responsible for my unscheduled swim. She was definitely the reason Luke and I weren’t friends any more. I clawed my way to the surface and managed two large gulps of air, waving my hand about before sinking again under the water. The cold was leaving my body. So had my mind. It wandered above the waves like a hovering seagull, watching the action around me. I could see the beach and those left ashore. I could see the craggy bluff with its jutting rocks and stunted coastal scrub. And further back, leaning over us all, was Vinegar House with its unfriendly face and crooked shingle roof.

  That’s when I noticed the light – a single beam of light reaching out to me from the very top window of Vinegar House. How strange, I thought.

  And then someone grabbed my hair and dragged me to the surface, and I was back in my body again. I was hauled through the water then dumped, face first, on the smooth packed sand of the shore.

  I gasped and coughed and coughed until a thin trickle of seawater left my mouth and then I started to cry. Isabella gathered me in her arms and shushed me, and told me off and shushed me again, until my sobs stopped and only hiccups remained.

  My saviours – Angus and Luke – stood nearby, while the others crowded around in a huddle discussing what to do. If there was any possible way we could get back to Vinegar House and dry off without being detected, then that was our aim. An elaborate plan was hatched. A diversion. And it came from Rumer.

  “Isabella should go up to the house and tell them I’ve twisted my ankle,” she declared.

  Somehow she’d managed to get the attention back onto her again.

  “Then they’ll know we’ve been down here,” Lee argued.

  “We’ll go to the tree house,” said Rumer. “The swimmers can go through the kitchen to the back stairs and dry off in the downstairs bathroom.”

  “But what if they ask about the others?” asked Julia.

  “We’ll say they’ve gone for a walk,” said Rumer.

  By now my teeth were chattering like a pair of castanets. It was a natty little beat that matched the knocking of my knees. Isabella looked at me and said, “All right.”

  I could feel Luke’s eyes on me, but he didn’t say anything. I wanted him to apologise to me, but I didn’t know what for.

  Isabella helped me into my windcheater, which stuck to my wet skin. Then Luke and Angus half-carried, half-dragged me back up the bluff path. We skirted around the back of the house, then the swimmers group broke off and headed to the kitchen door, while the others made their way to the tree house. I heard a single fake scream from Rumer before we entered the kitchen, and a minute later a babble of voices as people exited the front door. Angus grabbed a towel and headed for the Green Room to get dressed. Luke stood uneasily in the bathroom, and I shoved a towel into his hands.

  “I’ll use the bedroom,” I said, gruffly.

  “Hey, Shrimp, are you okay?”

  His voice brought tears to my eyes, and they ran in two scalding rivers down my cheeks. He stepped towards me.

  “I mean, that was just a crazy thing to do. You could’ve drowned or something–”

  Crazy! Whatever I wanted to hear from him, it wasn’t that.

  “Shut up!” I hissed and I headed for the yellow bedroom.

  I changed into some dry clothes and hoped no one would notice my change of outfit. Then I rubbed and rubbed at my hair until not a drop of water remained. Angus poked his head through the doorway to see how I was going.

  “All done?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Let’s keep this one quiet, Freya.”

  I nodded again. “Cross my throat and hope to choke,” I said with the smallest of smiles. “Sorry–”

  “Just save your next swim for summer. And not that beach.”

  Later that night, as we hung out in the Blue Room, I wondered how we’d gotten away with it. Everyone had been impressed with Rumer’s skills as an actress. Except me, of course. She’d managed to cry on cue and had put up with a lot of fussing from the adults and an ugly bandage from Uncle Stephen (who may have been a doctor but whose triage skills were lacking). When she complained about her bandage, Luke fetched a tapestry cushion to elevate her foot. He had clearly forgotten there was nothing wrong with her. It made me want to scream.

  Isabella had already thanked Rumer for saving the day. But I blamed Rumer. Somehow she’d forced me into the water. She’d nearly killed me and was now expecting my eternal thanks.

  I played our favourite card game, Motors, but my heart wasn’t in it. I flipped out the wrong cards or played out of turn and snapped at Lee when he nudged me with his foot. When Rumer asked me how I was feeling, I looked up to find Luke’s eyes staring into mine. In the dim light, they were the slate grey of the sea, and I felt myself tumble and twist in their depths. I could feel the others judging me. I closed my eyes and felt the tumble once again as the waves crashed over me.

  I heard the creak of a loose floorboard in the hallway, and we turned to the half-opened door to see Mrs Skelton walking past with our pile of wet towels.

  For the rest of the night we waited to be summoned to the drawing room.

  But nothing was ever said.

  I’d tried to block that day from my mind, although whenever I looked under the Things I Hate About Rumer file I’d see it there. Rumer spent the next half an hour walking slowly up and down the hard sand talking to someone on her mobile. I sat and watched Seal Rock and wondered how I was going to survive my stay at Vinegar House. I didn’t need to look back up the bluff to know that the house was leaning over me, somehow, filling me with dread. I checked my phone, but the only message was from my ex-friend Suzette Crompt, and I deleted it without even reading it.

  Chapter 13

  Do you know what it’s like to want something so much that when you suddenly have it, well, it’s hard to believe? I often wonder how Cinderella was so cool about the timely appearance of her godmother. I never quite believed that part of the story.

  In my version – and I was always Cinderella, with Rumer being both of the ugly sisters and the wicked stepmother – the fairy godmother would appear but I could never be as cool as the real Cinderella was. I think it would be a little bit scary to have someone turn up like that.

  I’m just not built for fairytale surprises. So when I pulled back the drapes the next morning and the first thing I saw was Luke Hart, I closed the drapes again and waited to hear the brringgg of a magic wand. And then I was going to have some harsh words to say to my fairy godmother for she was about two years too late. I peeked through the gap in the drapes to see Luke pushing a wheelbarrow up the long, winding driveway o
f Vinegar House, his breath fogging in the cold air. I considered I might still be dreaming in my sagging bed, but the cold snapping at my bare toes told me otherwise.

  Luke Hart?

  Here?

  A wind was playing with the trees, bending them first one way then another, and it whistled through the gaps around the window. As I tried to recover from my shock at seeing Luke, he paused, wiped his brow, then looked directly up at the house. I stepped back from the curtains, paranoid that he had seen me in my PJs gazing out at him.

  “Seems a waste of time, if you ask me,” said Mrs Skelton from the doorway.

  I hadn’t heard my bedroom door open. Mrs Skelton had a way of creeping about that was unnerving. Something she’d learned from my grandmother, no doubt.

  “I need to change the sheets,” she continued. “It’s Friday.”

  As if that explained everything.

  “What’s a waste of time, Mrs Skelton?” I asked.

  I pulled the heavy blankets from the bed and dumped them in a pile on the floor.

  Mrs Skelton picked up the blankets and folded them neatly onto the armchair in the corner of the room. “Another gardener, with only us here to appreciate it. Not much of a garden anyway. But Mr Chilvers insisted, and what Mr Chilvers wants …” She pulled savagely at the top sheet, whipping it off in one move like a magician. “A waste of money, if you ask me.”

  I hadn’t asked, but then that never stopped Mrs Skelton from telling people what she thought.

  “How did Luke get here?” I asked.

  Mrs Skelton shrugged. “Do you have any more washing?”

  “I can do my own washing,” I said, trying to be helpful.

  She turned a sour face to me.

  “Do you know how to use a washing machine?” she asked. “Your cousin just leaves her things on the floor.”

  “No. Really. It’s fine.”

  “Suit yourself then.” Her lips pressed together tightly, creases puckering around the edges as she gathered the sheets and pillowcases into her arms. “Good day for drying,” she remarked as she left my room.

  I moved to the heating coil underneath the window and tried to warm my numb fingers. Luke and Mr Chilvers were standing near the cubbyhouse tree, Mr Chilvers with an axe in one hand, while he gestured with the other.

  “Not such a good day for chopping down trees,” said Mrs Skelton, standing directly behind me, fresh sheets in her hands.

  I think it pleased her when I jumped in fright.

  “Why are they chopping that tree down?” I asked.

  Mrs Skelton shrugged. “If you ask me, there’re plenty of other things that need doing before chopping down that tree. This house is falling down around our ears. Still, that’s men for you.”

  I had often wondered if there had ever been a Mr Skelton, or if the Mrs was just a social politeness. I couldn’t imagine Mrs Skelton ever loving someone enough to marry them.

  “But that’s ours … the cousins’ tree house. They can’t chop our tree down.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that.” Mrs Skelton dropped the linen onto the bed. “Looks like they’ve made up their mind.”

  “I’ll make the bed.” I wanted Mrs Skelton out of my room so I could get dressed. I was sure there’d been a mistake about the tree and I needed to talk to Mr Chilvers quickly.

  “Suit yourself,” she said, her eyes narrowed. “Your cousin never makes her bed. She–” Mrs Skelton checked herself, smoothed her apron, then nodded. “All right then.”

  I made my bed, then dressed in the clothes from the day before and barely stopped to brush my hair. I noticed a zit on my cheek as I looked in the mirror but there was no time to deal with it. I had a tree to save.

  Luckily, nothing much had happened by the time I reached Mr Chilvers and Luke. They hadn’t moved from the tree, though I noticed Mr Chilvers was still holding the axe. They both seemed caught up in their conversation.

  “What are you doing?” I said, bluntly. I don’t like confrontation. Have I told you that already? But even while my heart was pounding away in fright, my anger gave me the strength to stand my ground. “What are you doing to that tree?”

  A part of me heard Luke’s warm greeting, but I was too busy being outraged to care. I hadn’t bothered much with the old tree since I’d arrived, but I knew it well. Knew its canopy in summer. Knew which limbs were good for climbing. I loved the way its roots pushed through the top of the soil and radiated out from the trunk like the thickened veins of an old man. This was a forever tree. And now they were going to chop it down.

  “Hello,” said Mr Chilvers. “Come to help?”

  “You can’t chop down that tree. You’ve … you’ve got no right–”

  “Dieback,” interrupted Mr Chilvers.

  For a moment I thought he was telling me to get back or die.

  “The tree’s got dieback.” He pointed to a large limb overhanging the driveway. “We need to take that off before it falls on someone.”

  “You’re not cutting down the whole tree?” I asked, pointing to his axe.

  He looked down at the axe as if surprised to see it in his hand.

  “This is for Luke.” He handed the axe to Luke. “We need some kindling chopped out the back. We’ll deal with this another day. Come on, Luke,” he said as he turned away from the tree.

  I felt foolish, whining about a tree house as if I were a little kid. “Mrs Skelton said …”

  Luke waited, but the beads of sweat on his forehead and my need to reach up and wipe them away distracted me.

  “How did you get here?” I asked instead.

  “Got a lift with Mo.”

  Mo Phillips was a truck driver from town who had a reputation for having the messiest rig this side of the equator. The old Freya would have pumped Luke with questions about the trip, but I just scuffed at the ground.

  “How’s your grandmother?” he asked. “Have you heard from your parents?”

  Luke Hart has the most amazing eyes that change colour – I kid you not. That day they were a dark blue. I was so busy being lost in their colour that I wasn’t paying much attention to what he was saying.

  “Nanna,” I said automatically. “She’s about the same. Happy to have Mum there though.”

  “How’s life with Grandma Vinegar?” he said.

  We used to laugh together about grandma’s nickname. But I wasn’t up for a cosy chat with Luke Hart. Not any more.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Your grandmother offered me some work for the holidays,” he said.

  He pushed his fringe away from his face, and I noticed the dirt trapped beneath his fingernails, his hands larger than I remembered.

  “Really?”

  “When I was here the other day. When we dropped you off.”

  “Oh.” I tried to forget that Luke Hart had seen my sleep dribble during our trip to Vinegar House. “Where are you staying?”

  “There’s room at the cottage–”

  “At the cottage? With Mr Chilvers?” I laughed. “How boring for you.”

  He looked down at his hands. “I’m saving for a car. So money’s always handy. We don’t all have rich relatives.”

  If Luke Hart had physically slapped me, it couldn’t have hurt more. I remembered why I didn’t want to talk to him any more. I didn’t like feeling hurt. My mind was racing for a smart reply. Something really cutting that would stay with him for days to come. I was sure I’d have the perfect answer sometime tonight. Or maybe the next day. All I could manage right then was, “Right.”

  Luke touched me on the shoulder. “Freya–”

  “Luke!” bellowed Mr Chilvers as he continued up the drive.

  “Better not keep the boss waiting,” I said.

  Now that I was happy with.

  Luke looked like he wanted to say something else, but then he turned and walked away. Movement from the attic window caught my attention, then a flash of light blinded me. I closed my eyes against it. When I o
pened them, the light was gone.

  Chapter 14

  Vinegar House has all the mod cons – you know – lukewarm and cold running water, a washing machine and even a clothes dryer which is practically like new because Mrs Skelton doesn’t believe in wasting power.

  Mrs Skelton insists on hanging clothes out on the washing line near the woodshed, even when it looks like it might rain. Half the time the clothes get a second rinse in a downpour. Still, it never stops her from taking it outside to dry. Which is how I found myself pegging out the washing that morning after my meeting with Luke and Mr Chilvers.

  Rumer had actually made it for breakfast that morning. I’d told her about Luke working with Mr Chilvers, and she shrugged like she already knew.

  “Could you help Mrs Skelton with the washing, girls?” asked Grandma Vinegar.

  Of course, hanging out washing was high on my list of priorities for that day. Only to be outdone by my need to dust the library and polish the silver and maybe poke myself in the eye with a sharp stick.

  Another one of my mother’s sayings. I’d rather poke myself in the eye with a sharp stick …

  Look, it doesn’t matter. I never thought it was funny either.

  Anyway, Grandma asked us to hang out the washing. It was more of a command than a question.

  Rumer wrinkled her nose. “We just use the dryer at home,” she said.

  Grandma was buttering her piece of toast carefully right up to the edges. She did it in exactly the same way the Colonel did, and I spent some time wondering what strange little habits I’d picked up from my own parents.

  “More money than sense,” she quipped.

  I never knew what to say when she came out with things like that, so I said, “Good eggs.” And Grandma said, “Don’t talk with your mouth filled with food, Freya. It’s vulgar.”

  Rumer rose from the table and picked up her breakfast dishes.

  “Don’t forget the washing,” reminded Grandma.