Page 31 of High Season
Josie had thumbed through the article on her phone, a terrible sickness in her stomach. When she finished, she had to find the nearest public restroom and hang her head over the toilet bowl until the feeling passed.
When she returned to her flat that night, she found the door double-locked from the inside, her belongings on the street outside.
That was when Josie called Calvin from a phone booth next to a busy intersection, the roar of traffic so loud in the background that she had to shout.
“I want to come home,” she had said.
The line had fizzed and crackled. And then, her brother’s voice, sounding like it came from another world.
“You took your time.”
Josie takes a shortcut to the village. She avoids the road that zigzags down to the bay, instead following a route of faded footpaths that spiral through thickets of trees. Her trainers catch against stones, and branches skim the skin of her calves.
There are people who spend every summer here and never find this footpath, Josie thinks. Who wouldn’t dream of walking in the early August heat. There are two completely separate versions of this small patch of coastline. One for people like her. And one for people like the Draytons.
It takes her longer than she remembers to reach sea level. The path skews sideways, and she wonders if she took a wrong turn. And then, just when she is about to pull out her phone and check, the trees thin. The path joins into pavement and the smell of the sea hits her. Salt and sulfur. A fragrance that takes her straight back to her childhood. She breathes in deeply. Fills her lungs.
The shape of the street is the same, but everything else is different. New restaurants. Shops transformed into wine bars. Bars turned into boutiques. Josie stops outside a dive store, the one place that seems tohave stayed the same, seems to have weathered all the changes of this place, boogie boards and wetsuits still strung up outside.
Of all the places to survive. Of all the places that Josie never thought she would see again.
She hovers for a moment on the opposite side of the street, watching a disembodied wetsuit swing in the breeze. She remembers her first morning here. Seeing this street. That shop.
She lifts her eyes to the windows above the storefront and sees a flicker of movement. A shadow, behind a blank stretch of glass. Somebody is watching her. Josie steps back, looks down at the pavement. Walks away, as if there is nothing to see.
Josie finds the café easily. Calvin had written down the name for her on a slip of paper that she tucked into the back pocket of her shorts. She checks it now, as she pushes against the locked front door. She jiggles the handle. Presses her hands to the glass to shield her eyes from the light, and peers inside.
A woman emerges from the darkness, holding up a pair of fingers.Two seconds. She’s younger than Josie, maybe in her mid-twenties, with a pile of dark curls on top of her head and an easy, trusting smile as she scrabbles to unlock the door. Josie can see what Calvin likes about her.
“We’re not open yet,” she says, her voice bright as the door swings open, a blast of cool air releasing from within.
“I know. I’m Josie? Calvin’s sister?”
The woman blinks. A smile spreads across her face.
“Josie!” she says. “You’re early. I don’t think the producer is turning up until… what? Eight?”
“Yeah, I just…” Josie shrugs, spreading her palms out wide. “I didn’t have much else on.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.”
The woman steps back to let Josie pass. Inside, the air is mellow and inviting, the scent of fresh coffee, pastries baking.
“I’m Gabby, by the way.”
“I know. Calvin told me. And I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Gabby. Letting us use this place before opening time. I didn’t want to invite anyone over to the house, and I didn’t want to attract attention so—”
Gabby is already waving Josie’s thanks away.
“A friend of Calvin’s is a friend of mine,” she says, and Josie is struck by how easy she makes it seem. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”
“Water would be great, thanks.”
“Still? Sparkling?”
“Tap is fine. Thanks.”
Gabby disappears into the back of the shop and there’s a clatter of cupboards opening, taps being rattled. Josie sits at a seat closest to the window and then stands, chooses a table near to the back of the shop instead. She experiments with both of the seats. Her back to the wall, or her back to the café. Her hands drum against the bare skin of her calves. The smell of pastries makes her stomach ache, but she can’t stand the thought of eating.
