Sweet Home Summer: A heartwarming romcom perfect for curling up with. Michelle Vernal
when Isla and Ryan were small, and it had a brick exterior with dormer windows upstairs. It sat on a sloping large part of a quiet street with her dad’s workshop off to the side.
‘Do you like the colour scheme?’
It was black and white and blingy but it suited her mum down to the ground, she thought, glancing over at her dad who looked a little at odds standing under the chandelier in the living room.
‘I told her we don’t live in a high-class brothel, but she wouldn’t listen.’
‘I don’t know how you’d know what the inside of a high-class brothel looks like and you’ve nothing against bling when it comes to that bike of yours. Honestly, Isla, make sure you put your sunglasses on when he drags you out to look at it. He’s been pimping it up.’ She wagged a finger at her husband. ‘Your dad here thinks he’s the star of Easy Rider.’
Isla smiled listening to the banter; it was good to be home.
She managed to have a few bites of the bacon and egg pie (that she knew fell on page ninety-four of Edmonds Cookery Book) that her mum put on the table for lunch before pushing her plate away. Mary made coffee and then plonked a big heart-shaped box of chocolates down on the table.
‘My Valentine’s Day present,’ she said, smiling at Joe before jumping and slapping his hand away when he reached towards her. ‘You got yours this morning; you can go and tie a knot in it thank you very much.’
Isla told them to cut it out when there were children present, slipping easily back into a long-forgotten role as she helped herself to a chocolate. Hopefully, it would give her enough of a sugar hit to get through the afternoon. She’d forgotten Valentine’s Day had just been, not that the day held any significance for her this year. Her body clock was up the wop, and she stifled a yawn as her dad moved on to his three favourite topics, his new Toyota Hilux Ute, his Harley and his veggie patch. She would dearly love to crawl into her old bed, seeing the shape of the spiky cabbage tree leaves through the curtains as she’d done as a kid and sleep for the next twelve hours solid. Isla knew she’d be wide awake in the middle of the night if she did that, though. Besides, she couldn’t take herself off to bed as much as she might want to because she had someone important to go and see.
Isla was perched in the passenger seat of her dad’s Hilux with a bunch of carrots in a plastic bag on her lap. Apparently, Joe had had a bumper crop this year. She refused to look in the direction of the Robsons’ garage as her dad drove past and wanted to slap his hand like her mother had done earlier when he waved over to Ben.
‘He’s a worker that Ben, you could’ve done a lot worse than him Isla. He’s been stepping out with the new school secretary, a pretty lass she is too. I have to say, it came as a bit of a shock to hear Violet McDougall was retiring though. We thought she’d be carried out of the school in a box. She wants more time to devote to her Scottish dancing while she can still kick her legs up, apparently. Your gran reckons she’s finally given up on snagging Principal Bishop. Yep, sorry to say you missed the boat with Ben there, love,’ he finished helpfully.
‘Thanks for that, Dad.’ She could almost feel Ben’s eyes burning into her willing her to look at him, as she kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead. Or perhaps she was being fanciful. Either way, she had no doubt he’d known she was arriving home today thanks to the Bibury bush telegraph. She wondered if he’d changed much, it had been years since she’d last seen him. The last time had been when she’d flown home for her grandfather’s funeral. Isla, already grieving, had felt like she was talking to a stranger as he passed on his condolences.
Maybe his hair was thinning, and he’d gotten paunchy. What would he think of her when he saw her properly? She didn’t think she’d changed much apart from wearing her hair shorter these days, so it sat on her shoulders and not halfway down her back. It was darker too thanks to the tint her hairdresser had put through it, telling her it would off-set her olive skin tone. She hadn’t put on weight though, no chance of that with Toad’s constant passive aggressive remarks.
‘That Tim was bloody useless. I told you that time and time again, but would you listen? Nope, you take after your Gran in that respect. She never listens either,’ her dad said, as though reading her mind. ‘I could never trust a man who uses moisturiser and puts more crap in his hair than your mother.’ His tone softened. ‘I can’t pretend that I’m not happy you broke things off with him and to have our girl home of course.’ He patted Isla’s knee, and she gave him a watery smile, relieved that they’d reached Gran’s.
‘It’s been painted!’ The last time she’d seen the weatherboard house where, growing up, she’d spent as much time as her own home, it was beginning to show the telltale signs of the harsh coastal climate. Now it stood out like a gleaming pearl amongst the street full of other weatherboards that had all lost their lustre.
‘Ryan and I got stuck in when he was home last. We thought if the old girl sees sense and decides to sell, then it’s one less thing to worry about. Your mum and I tried to talk her into putting it on the market after she had that fall but I never met anyone as pig-headed as Bridget Collins. She’ll miss the boat I reckon. Property prices have gone down enough since the mine closed.’ He turned into the drive and sounded the horn. Isla couldn’t help but grin, as the Dukes of Hazzard, General Lee’s Dixie tune announced their arrival. He was such a petrol head, her dad.
‘Gran! It’s me,’ Isla called, pushing open the door. Joe brought up the rear carrying her cases. She shook her head at the foreignness of leaving your front door unlocked as she stepped inside. It was shadowy in the hall despite it being high summer. This was thanks to the rich Rimu wood panelling that adorned the walls. Her dad deposited her worldly possessions (at least, until the rest of her belongings that Maura had kindly agreed to box up and ship arrived) in the spare room before kissing her.
‘I’ll leave you to have a catch up with the old girl. It’s good to have you home Isla.’
‘It’s good to be home, and the hat and boots look great Dad.’
‘Why thank you, lil’ lady,’ he drawled tipping his new Stetson before strutting out the door in his cowboy boots.
She wondered if he’d sleep with them on recalling how she’d felt like the perfect daughter, being the one to bring his boyhood dream to life.
Before she’d left the States, she’d walked into the LA stockists of the Stetson brand. Her jaw was agape as she’d stood gazing at the different designs. A cowboy hat was a cowboy hat, wasn’t it? Except for when it happened to be a Stetson, it would seem. She’d gravitated towards a traditionally styled hat called the Rustler. Lifting it off the wall, she’d inspected the hat for a price and spotting it; Isla truly did feel as if she was having an out of body experience. She whistled between her teeth, a cool two hundred and seventy dollars for a flipping hat! Dad had better remember which one of his two offsprings it was who’d fulfilled his dreams when he sat down to write his will, she’d thought, marching over to inspect the boots.
Isla would have loved to have blamed the state of her nerves on the price of the Stetson hat and the matching cowboy boots (which, by the way, had cost her the grand total of five hundred and fifty dollars, a sum she still hadn’t quite come to terms with) but she couldn’t. The trigger had in fact been a conversation with Toad that had been so ridiculous she’d nicknamed it Banana Gate. The screenplay of their exchange ran through her mind once again like a scratched DVD as she stood in the doorway:
‘Hey, hun, did you know bananas are fattening?’ Tim was leaning against the doorway, watching her with a faintly amused expression playing across his handsome face.
Isla jumped. ‘Oh hi, you frightened me! I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘I’m on target for this month, so I thought I’d knock off early and head down to the gym.’ His brown eyes flickered towards the fruit she was holding, and a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. He was a cat playing with a mouse.
Isla stared at the banana recalling those horrible flickering ads that popped up on the internet unbidden. The ones that