Chapter 32 - Summer
THIRTY-TWO
SUMMER
As I flee into the early evening air, my cheeks burn with shame. Why can’t I keep it together around Alec? As soon as he walks into the room, I turn into a clumsy, babbling mess. I remember how I melted down in front of him last night. I bet he hates me even more now.
I check my phone. It’s six, and a sugary rose-and-peach sunset streaks the sky above. Fraser and Cameron won’t be back for another hour. Tugging my coat tighter around me, I start trudging through the soft grass down the hill.
At least I know someone who’ll be happy to see me.
When I step inside the lambing barn, everything is peaceful. Most of the sheep are asleep, and the only sounds are the occasional bleat and the odd rustle of hay.
The calm atmosphere does nothing to dampen the fear bubbling in my stomach.
After I got back from my swim this morning, I spent the rest of the day compulsively searching my name online.
The Chronicle article is spreading like wildfire.
Everywhere I look, more articles about me are popping up.
Lulu says that I’m getting interview requests from news stations. This is just getting bigger and bigger.
I remember Fraser’s concern in the clearing this morning. You can ignore your heart and your body telling you something is wrong, but eventually, you’ll break.
He’s right. I can already feel myself fraying. Maybe it makes me weak, but I just can’t handle this many people hating me. I desperately want to do as he says and log off for a few weeks, but I can’t bear the thought of my career disappearing.
Social media platforms punish creators for not posting regularly.
They hide your posts from your audience.
A mental health break is kind of counterproductive if it leaves your career in tatters.
I haven’t missed a daily post in three years.
I haven’t taken a single holiday. I’ve been too scared to lose what I’ve built.
But now I’m also scared to keep going.
I rub my face. I’m just so tired. My whole life, I’ve been a trier.
I’ve never really been good at anything, but I try and try and try.
When I was in school, I’d stay up late studying every night.
I’d see other kids just getting it, and it would take me at least twice as long to understand.
Even when I was working retail, I’d have to take notes or record all of the instructions and study them at home so I could remember them on the spot. But I still tried my hardest.
And now I have this job, I try my heart out for it. It’s just stopped working.
Suddenly, my phone rings in my hand. Everything in me drops when I see the word MUM flash across the screen.
Shit. She’s finally seen the video.
I’m screwed.
I brace myself, putting on my brightest voice before I answer. “Hi, Mum! How are you—”
“Summer, what the hell is this?” she demands. I can hear people talking in the background. She must still be at the office. “My assistant sent me this video of you crying. It’s all anyone wants to talk to me about today.”
I try not to shrivel. “Yes. I, er, had a bit too much to drink at a party last week.”
“Too much to drink?” she echoes. I feel about five years old.
“Er. Yes. I mean, I guess I’ve just been feeling a bit burned out recently—”
“Burned out? From taking pictures of yourself and getting sent free clothes?” She’s incredulous. “My team has been putting in eighteen-hour days for the last two weeks, and you’re burned out?”
My eyes burn. “I…”
She cuts me off. “For God’s sake. I’m working on a high-profile case right now.
The higher-ups of this media company have been abusing and harassing female employees for decades.
There are a lot of celebrity names attached.
And all anyone is doing is asking me if this…
this mess is really my daughter. Your silly little meltdown is distracting from actual important work.
People have gotten hurt. They deserve justice, and my client is wondering if I’m the right lawyer for them because of you. ”
I want to die. “I’m so sorry, Mum. I’ll…I’ll stop posting for a bit, okay? That might help.” If the algorithms hate me, I’ll just have to put up with it. I can’t affect my mum’s work. It’s too important.
“That would be helpful,” she says stiffly. “Have you been taking your meds? Is that why you got so upset?”
“What?” I toe some straw on the ground. “Of course.”
“You’re sure?” She sounds doubtful. “See if you can increase your dosage, then. You were always like this as a child. You’d burst into tears over anything.
It was exhausting trying to deal with you on top of my work.
I remember you did best when you were on the highest possible dose.
You were much stabler and quieter. I don’t know why they ever brought it back down. ”
“Er, the doctor said I was acting like a zombie and I was taking the same amount as a full-grown man?” I hazard. Across the barn, a ewe lifts her head and bleats at me.
“…Is that a sheep? What are you doing?”
“Oh, I guess you didn’t get my voice messages? I’m up in the Highlands! I should be back soon though, if you want to get dinner, I’ll tell you about—”
“I’ll have Kim send you my calendar. I have to go. Please, just…try and be sensible.” She hangs up.
The barn floods with silence. I stand there frozen, trying not to cry.
She sounded so disappointed in me. Of course she is. She wanted a smart lawyer for a daughter, and she ended up with me. I lean against the gates of one of the pens. My chest hurts, so I hug myself, rocking slightly. The ewe in the pen gives me a baleful look.
My thoughts are racing. This isn’t right. I can’t be affecting her work like this. Too many people need her.
I remember the day I realised just how important my mum’s job was.
I was ten. I came home from school to find a strange woman in our house.
It had been a bad day; we’d gotten our grade cards, and the teacher had given me a very firm look when she handed me mine.
Make sure your mother sees this tonight, she’d told me. I need her to sign it.
I dreaded handing it to my mum the whole way home. I knew the report card would just tell her that I was slow, and couldn’t spell, and needed twice as long as everyone else to understand anything. I knew she’d be so, so disappointed.
But when I walked inside our flat and saw this strange woman, all my worries dissolved.
She was young and very pretty, with red hair and a pink blouse.
She was sitting in my chair at the kitchen table, crying so hard she could barely speak.
I’d never seen anyone cry like that before.
Mum was soothing her, passing her tissues.
The woman’s child, a small boy about half my age, was sitting on the floor watching them both with massive eyes.
The woman was Mum’s client. I don’t know what had happened, why she needed legal help; but I knew it was bad.
As soon as she saw me, Mum shooed me away. Summer, we’re busy in here. Can you go to your room, please? This is really important work.
I took one look at the woman, absolutely torn apart with pain, and disappeared.
I waited in my bedroom to be called back out for dinner, but the woman stayed talking with my mum until three or four in the morning.
I was starving, so I ate the cheese string left over in my lunch box, then just lay on my bed, too hungry and anxious to sleep.
I’d always known that Mum had an important job. She worked all of the time. She didn’t pick me up from school like the other parents, and she didn’t get home until late. I knew she helped women and children who had been hurt, but I’d never seen one of her clients before.
The next morning, I finally showed Mum the report card.
She looked exhausted, sighing at it as I ate three bowls of Rice Krispies in a row.
I suppose now I’ll have to find you a tutor, she’d said.
I wish you’d try a bit harder, Summer. I have enough to worry about; the least you can do is keep up in class.
I’ve never been so ashamed. That night solidified something in me, becoming a constant refrain in the back of my head.
Mum is working hard. Mum is busy. Mum’s doing something more important than looking after you.
After that, whenever I felt like complaining, or got sad and thought of going to mum for help, I remembered the crying woman, her blotchy mascara, her silent child.
So I tried not to need very much at all. To be good. To not inconvenience her. I studied through the night and tried not to ask for extra help. I didn’t want to be a distraction. Not when there were more important things for her to worry about.
I hug myself tighter, and the silvery scar up my forearm itches. Of course, it never really worked. I always ended up making a mess anyway. And even now as an adult, I’m still doing it, all these years later.
God. I need lamb cuddles, stat.
I wander over to Crumpet’s pen. Viola is curled up in the centre with her two baby boys tucked up against her side. I check the corner, but Crumpet’s usual little pile of straw is gone. A bad feeling trickles down my spine.
I unlatch the gate and step inside, my footsteps softened by the hay. “Crumpet?” I whisper. “Where are you hiding?”
Viola looks up at me. I pat her head. “Viola, I’m sorry to disturb you, but can you move your bum, please?” I give her a little shove. Her boy lambs bleat in protest as she steps aside.
My heart stops as I stare at the spot she just vacated. There’s a dark-red stain on the floor. It’s definitely blood.
“How did that happen, hmm?” I ask Viola, fear running through me. Fraser’s words flash through my mind.
Hopefully, she’ll come to accept Crumpet as her own.
Worst case, she’ll get aggressive.
Oh my God.
I start frantically looking through the pen, sifting through the drifts of hay on the floor. “Crumpet? Where are you?” I search for almost a minute, until I finally upend a tiny pile of hay gathered up against the wall. There’s a white scrap buried underneath. It’s not moving.
“Crumpet!” I shout, scooping her out. Her little body is still and cold in my arms, and there’s a bloody scrape across her side, staining her soft coat. I can feel her heartbeat pounding weakly under my fingers. She doesn’t respond when I pick her up.
She needs help. Now. I unzip my coat, slip her gently inside, and stumble out of the pen.
I have to get Alec.