The Mixed-Up Summer of Lily McLean (3 page)

It was unimaginable humiliation. No wonder Jenna refuses to help Gran with the shopping.

So I am her favourite grandchild now, by a mile. I do as I’m told, say the right things and keep my thoughts firmly to myself.

“You can say no to this…” continues Mum, “but would you consider going to Millport on your own? Just you and Gran? If you think it would be really boring, I’m sure we could come up with a polite excuse.”

I consider for all of one second.

“I’d love to go,” I say, and I absolutely mean it. A week without my noisy siblings on an island I adore. It sounds like heaven.

Thinking about heaven reminds me that I am being haunted, or almost worse, am hearing imaginary voices in my head. It seems another very good reason for getting out of this house.

“When do I leave?” I ask happily. Mum looks a bit affronted and I think maybe I am overdoing my enthusiasm to get away from here. “I just wondered if Gran is planning to go during term time again,” I add quickly, “because they don’t love that at school.”

“Last week of term, I think. You won’t be doing any work by that point, will you?”

I guess that Mrs McKenzie would beg to differ, and I know for a fact that the last week of this term is a pretty significant one. It’s my final week of primary school ever. At the end of the summer holidays I’ll be starting secondary school. I feel really torn, but I’m not going to argue myself out of the only holiday I’m going to get this summer. And the realisation that I will miss the Leavers’ Dance swings it. I really, really don’t want to go to that dance.

“Great,” I say, and I quickly do a countdown in my head. This time in two weeks, I’ll be out of this house. And, hopefully, I’ll be leaving the voice behind me. I need a break from
that
, more than anything else.

I haven’t really explained the voice properly, have I? That’s because I have no earthly idea what’s going on. I just know it’s terrifying; scarier than scratchy vampire fingers, because at least the vampires are outside the window, scratching to be let in, not right in the room beside you, whispering in your ear.

The whole haunting thing started about a month ago. In fact, it was on the 9
^th
of May, which was Summer’s birthday. We were all sitting around in the living room helping Summer open her presents, which wasn’t hugely exciting for her, as she got a peach woolly cardigan and a pair of little flowery dungarees from Mum and a five-pack of white socks from Gran. Mum said she’s too young to care what she’s given for her birthday, but it seemed a bit mean to me. Though, to be fair, she was having the time of her life just tearing up the wrapping paper.

I had bought her a cuddly lion. Well, strictly speaking, I hadn’t bought it for her, but I had put so many 20p coins into the grabber machine on the sea front that I might as well have gone into a shop and paid for a decent-looking toy lion, instead of the rather bedraggled creature I’d won. But you know that feeling when the metal grabber bit keeps letting go just as you think you’ve won and you become absolutely determined to get your hands on that particular toy, at whatever cost? Well, that’s why Summer got a tatty orange lion with a fluorescent pink mane for her second birthday.

Summer ripped all of the spotty pink wrapping paper away and was delighted with it – the lion this time, not the wrapping paper. She cuddled her new toy tightly round its mangy fur tummy and chewed on its orange ears, which I presumed meant that she was pleased. I was feeling quite smug about the whole thing, cause I think Jenna had completely forgotten she even had a baby sister, never mind that it was her second birthday.

And then that voice whispered in my ear, just loud enough for
me to hear.

“Why didn’t you stay?”

I spun round as quickly as a Waltzer at the fair, but there was nobody there. I could see my entire family in front of me. The boys were sprawled on the swirly lime carpet and Gran, Mum and Jenna were perched on the couch. None of them was standing next to me, whispering in my ear. On a scale of zero to ten, with zero being totally ok and ten being a zombie invasion, it was about a seven.

Ever since, the voice has been getting more and more insistent. It only happens in the house, never at school, and it always takes me completely by surprise, like today’s encounter in the cupboard.

“Lily, can you get the boys dressed before your gran comes over!” shouts Mum.

I sigh, and wander into the living room, preparing to haul the boys off the couch. It’s the afternoon and they aren’t even out of their pyjamas yet.

“Right lads, PJs off! Clothes on!” I shout.

Suddenly the voice speaks, quite loudly in my ear.

“Who said that? Who are you?” I scream like Jenna in a strop and Mum comes running. I have to pretend that Bronx kicked me when I was pulling him off the couch, which isn’t very fair on Bronx. The poor wee soul doesn’t even try and defend himself. Kicking people is an automatic reflex for him, so he probably believes he’s actually done it. But what choice do I have? I’m afraid Mum will drag me off to the doctor for a brain scan or something. And the thing is, I really don’t think that I’m imagining things.

I’m sure that I recognise the voice.

Things I love about my baby sister:

• She has a cute laugh.
  
• She thinks I’m wonderful.
  
• She doesn’t pee against walls.
  

I decide that hanging around the house doing nothing is not a productive way to spend a warmish Sunday afternoon and I can’t possibly return to the cupboard until somebody changes the light bulb. What can I do?

I need to get out of here. I wrestle with the buggy in the hallway until eventually it unfolds. Then I pick up Summer from her playpen, stuff her chubby little arms into her anorak and plonk her into the buggy. She sits there looking up at me expectantly, clutching her tatty orange lion.

“We’re going for a walk, Summer! That will be fun, won’t it?”

She gets very excited, beams delightedly and makes some loud noises, which sound to me almost like words. Gran says she should be talking by now.

“That child clearly has developmental delay,” I heard her mutter last weekend, when she was watching Summer sitting in her playpen, bashing the wooden sides with her favourite rattle and babbling nonsense to herself.

Gran says I could speak in sentences when I was Summer’s age, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with Summer at all. She
just needs people to talk to her and then she will talk back.

“I’m just going to take Summer for a wee walk!” I call. Mum pokes her head round the kitchen door, and gives me a grateful smile. She looks shattered after her fight with Jenna. Her long, curly hair is all over the place and her eyes are red rimmed and tired.

“That’s a great idea, Lily. She could do with some fresh air and it’s a nice day. Thanks, love. Why don’t you take some bread and feed the ducks?”

I squeeze past her, take a slice of rather stale brown bread from the bread bin and stuff it in the pocket of my hoodie.

I am hopeful that Mum will suggest I buy Summer an ice cream,
And here’s some money, Lily,
but sadly she doesn’t. And asking Jenna for cash is a non-starter nowadays.

I bump the buggy down the two front steps and along the cracked little path to our gate. In two minutes we are whizzing down the High Street, past the newsagent’s and the many gift shops and cafés, towards the pier. I slow down at the sweet shop.

“Look in there, Summer. Look at those yummy stripy lollipops and all those scrummy chocolates. I might get you a chocolate mouse next time. Would you like that?”

Summer makes some more of her garbled noises and sticks her hands up towards the sweet shop window. She stiffens, throws herself backwards in her pushchair and lets out a wail. I don’t think she wants to wait until next time for a chocolate mouse. She wants one
right now
. Stopping here was a bad idea. I push the pram faster along the pavement.

We have to dodge past hordes of people on the narrow pavement, but I am quite good at using the buggy as a battering
ram if they won’t get out of the way.

“Whee! We’re going to see the ducks, Summer! What do the ducks say? Quack, quack!”

I enjoy chatting to Summer as we go. She doesn’t seem to mind that I’m just havering, and she laughs and burbles gleefully.

The Cumbrae ferry is just about to leave and we stop at the pier to watch the cars, cyclists and foot passengers boarding. I smile because I’ll be on it with Gran soon. Raucous seagulls wheel and swoop overhead, hoping to grab any discarded food. “Rats with wings,” my mum calls them. She has a real thing about rodents.

One particularly cheeky seagull swoops down, big and grey and hungry. It launches itself at the queue of people and snatches a sandwich right out of a wee girl’s outstretched hand.

“Sno’ fair!” she wails. “That burd’s nicked ma piece!”

“Did you see that, Summer?” I ask. “Did you see what the naughty birdie did?”

Summer grins at me, her baby teeth white in her grubby wee face, but I don’t know if she understands what I’m saying.

Summer and I watch the foot passengers handing over their tickets and walking down the slope to the ferry. Many of them are pushing bikes. I wish I was going with them. When everyone’s aboard, the big metal door rises and traps the cars inside. Most of the passengers head upstairs to enjoy the fresh sea breeze. I want to be up there too.

It’s a warm, sunny afternoon and I’m too hot in my black hoodie and joggers. Summer looks fried. Her chubby cheeks are going bright pink so I unzip her anorak, trying to cool her down. I immediately wish I’d put a clean dress on her before we left. Her t-shirt is stained and grubby and her face is in dire need of a wash. Still, she’s smiling cheerily and waving her toy lion at everyone she passes, and is clearly delighted to be outside.

“Look at the big boat, Summer!” I say, pointing at the ferry as it
glides away from the pier and out into the firth. “It’s going across the sea! Wave bye-bye!”

Summer waves enthusiastically at the ferry. I tell her that one day I’ll take her on it and we’ll go to Millport together.

Jenna would be making puking noises, but I don’t care what Jenna thinks at the moment. I’m enjoying being out with my little sister. At least
she
doesn’t think I’m a sanctimonious little creep and a goody two shoes. Summer thinks I’m the bee’s knees.

“Let’s go and see the ducks now. They will be getting hungry, won’t they? Remember what the ducks say?”

I look at Summer expectantly, but she just grins, and waves her lion about madly. Maybe Gran’s right about the developmental delay.

I push the buggy on to the promenade and walk past the big brash amusement arcade and the line of bleeping grabber machines where I won Summer’s lion. The Italian flags outside Nardini’s café are flapping in the sea breeze and people are sitting on the little terrace outside drinking coffee and enjoying their ice creams. I would love to stop there and have an enormous fudge sundae, but I am totally skint so that’s out of the question. I wouldn’t have minded a sugary doughnut from the wee stand on the prom either. My stomach is rumbling.

We carry on along the promenade, zigzagging past dog walkers and day-trippers. I am heading for the boating pond, near the RNLI lifeboat station. Summer loves to feed the ducks. I can feel the bread I had grabbed from the bread bin, all squashed and crumbly in my pocket.

“Lily!”

I jump, and whirl round, anxiously. No, no, no. The voice can’t have followed me here. The voice doesn’t happen outside my house. Despite the sunshine, a chill seeps into my bones. Goosebumps appear on my arms.

“Lily! I’m over here!”

Rowan is calling and waving at me from the sea wall.

I am hit by a wave of relief and embarrassment at having jumped out of my skin. Maybe it’s me who has post-traumatic stress disorder and not Jenna. I’m tense, nervous, not sleeping well (that might be because Bronx snores) and I’m hearing voices. These are not good signs. I’ve googled all those symptoms on Jenna’s laptop, which wasn’t a great plan. It’s too easy to convince yourself you are dying of some rare and ghastly disease. Plus, if Jenna catches me using her computer, she’ll kill me. All in all, googling is not the healthy option.

Rowan Forrest has a sweet, round, freckled face with big, sparkly hazel eyes. Her brown curls are blowing in the wind and she’s dressed in cute denim cut-offs and a bright yellow t-shirt. I feel suddenly self-conscious about my own lank, unwashed hair and old grey joggers. But she looks so smiley that I can’t help smiling straight back. Rowan is the loveliest person in the world and it’s a criminal offence to feel jealous of her.

“Hi Lily!” she calls again and I wheel the pushchair towards her, both of us grinning and waving as if we’re reunited after years apart, instead of having seen each other on Friday at school.

“Wow, you’re getting to be a big girl,” she says, smiling at Summer, who gazes back a bit warily. “Hi Summer!”

Rowan has her dog with her, a big, soppy black Labrador who slaps my legs with his wagging tail as he tries to clamber into the pushchair beside Summer.

“Get down, Finn!” Rowan yells and tugs at his lead. Finn ignores her and Summer shrieks with laughter as he licks the dirt from her face.
This can’t be hygienic,
I think, so I tug too until Finn concedes defeat.

Rowan and I walk together towards the boating pond, though I struggle to keep up with her as Finn drags her along the
promenade.

“Finn, leave those people alone!” she yells at regular intervals. “Finn, don’t eat that boy’s ice cream! Finn, stop rolling in that mess!”

Walking a dog is exhausting. A baby in a pushchair is a lot less bother.

“Finn, slow down!” shouts Rowan, as Finn yanks at the lead and drags her towards the beach. “Oh, Finn, don’t pee there! People sit on that wall!”

It’s hard to have a proper conversation with Rowan when Finn’s around. I change my mind about getting a dog of my own when I grow up. Maybe I will just stick with cats. They don’t pee against walls.

The crowds of day-trippers thin as we move away from the ice-cream stands and noisy bumper cars on the front. This is my favourite part of the town. The Firth of Clyde is sparkling in the sunlight, with white-sailed yachts bobbing in the waves and seagulls wheeling in the clear blue sky. I love living by the sea, even in winter when wild, frothy waves crash over the sea wall and the sky is concrete grey.

“Look at the sea, Summer! It’s all glittery!” I shout over the buzz of a jet ski.

Today you can see for miles. I can see Arran’s hills in the distance and, much further away, humpbacked Ailsa Craig. The Isle of Cumbrae is only a mile across the water.

“I’m going to swim across to Cumbrae one day,” I tell Rowan. “It looks easy, doesn’t it?”

“You’d better wear a wet suit then,” she laughs. “Or you’ll get hypothermia and have to be rescued by the coastguard. Don’t be fooled by its lovely blue colour – the water’s freezing!”

At the boating pond, I let Summer out of the buggy and we feed the ducks with the crumbly remains of the stale slice of bread. Summer runs around the pond’s edge, with Rowan and me
chasing behind her.

“Quack, quack!” she burbles. “Look, look. Quack!”

See, Gran, I think triumphantly. She can speak when she has something to say.

Summer is so happy and excited about being out in the Big Wide World that I make her a silent promise that I will take her out more often. Maybe next time I will bring the boys as well. They could do with some fresh air.

“Doggie woof!” she shouts gleefully, and toddles over to give Finn a cuddle. “Ducks quack!” she yells, and spins round to walk towards the ducks in the pond. I can’t believe she has been hiding so many words in her head all this time.

“Your wee sister is so cute, Lily,” says Rowan. “I wish I had a baby sister. You’re so lucky.”

I feel a glow of pride, which lasts only until Summer trips over on a concrete paving stone and bangs her knee. She starts to wail and refuses to be comforted, making herself rigid in my arms and shrieking, tears spurting from her eyes and her nose running with snot.

I hurriedly stuff her, still howling, back into the pushchair and say that maybe I’d better get home.

Rowan kneels down in front of the pushchair, facing my screaming sister. I hope Summer doesn’t aim a kick straight into her face. I can imagine what Rowan’s mum would say about me if I went and let my sister give her a black eye.

“Summer, if you stop making that awful noise, I’ll buy you an ice cream. Would you like that?” she says calmly.

The bribe works like magic. Summer might not say much, but she understands exactly what’s being said to her. She stops crying, grins and pumps her arms up and down excitedly, waving her lion by its fluorescent pink mane.

“Gimme!” she shouts. She seems to be getting more vocal by the
minute. “Gimme ice cleam!”

So we walk back along the front a little way. I promise I’ll pay Rowan back as she buys a cone for Summer and another for me. I try and coax a thank you from Summer before I hand over her cone, but she looks mutinous and I decide not to risk another screaming match.

We sit on the pebbly beach and I lick the melting ice cream as it drips down my hands. Finn chases seagulls and Summer sits happily stacking stones and then knocking them over. She is a sticky mess of ice cream, dirt and snot. Gran would have a fit if she saw her in this state.

“So, how’s your weekend been?” I ask Rowan, keeping my voice light. I’m desperate to blurt out that I am being haunted by a ghostly voice and that today in the hall cupboard the voice had called me by name, but you can’t really just come out with that kind of stuff can you?

For one thing, I know how concerned and upset she would be. She would want me to tell my mum. She would demand that I see a doctor. She would probably tell her mum too, and I already know how her mum feels about me and my family.

“Oh, great thanks,” Rowan replies, as I knew she would. I have given the same answer to that question many times, but I have often been telling a lie. Rowan doesn’t have to, she wouldn’t even understand why you might want to lie about your feelings.

“Euan’s home from uni for the holidays, but he says he is going to go backpacking all summer, so I won’t see much of him, I don’t think. Dad says he should stay home and get a summer job. What about you, Lily? Are you and Jenna going to Millport again?”

I stare across the water and try to imagine myself there, safe from ghostly voices and screeching sisters.

“I’m going with Gran in the last week of term,” I tell her. “Jenna doesn’t want to come this time.”

“Oh no! Does that mean you’ll miss the Leavers’ Dance?” Rowan asks, frowning.

“Yeah, but you know I’m not that bothered about it,” I say. ‘Not that bothered’ hardly covers how I feel about the ghastly prospect of a school dance… wearing a second-hand dress, dancing awkwardly in an overheated hall. Total nightmare. Rowan will be fine – she’s got loads of other friends besides me and David.

“It won’t be nearly as much fun without you there,” she sighs. “So Jenna’s not going on holiday, huh?” she adds, swiftly changing the subject. “Won’t you be bored or lonely?”

“Nope,” I reply. “I’m going to have the best time. Ever.”