Cold Summer by James Ellson

Author:James Ellson [Ellson, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cambium Press
Published: 2023-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

32

In the nearest park to Hartford a dozen teenagers played football between goals made from discarded clothing. They shouted and swore, and chased the ball like dogs. Two girls flew a red and green kite while their parents played cards across a picnic table. On the far side of the pond a group of mothers with prams and young children fed the swans and their cygnets. A baby was crying. The park was a green oasis in the desert of monotone Manchester.

Calix and Elly slipped out of the groundsman’s hut and walked around the kiosk to the area of benches. There’d been no rush, and with his insistence on taking it in turns to keep watch through the night, the late start had been a chance to doze. His mouth tasted burnt, and he felt like he’d slept on a plane, but Elly looked as if she was straight out of a box.

They sat on a bench. He put the rolled-up sling between them. The air smelt of sweet popcorn and coffee. She sat with her legs crossed, jigging her feet up and down. She wore her red leather jacket and pink hat with the fish-hooks. The jacket had intricate hexagonal stitching across the padded shoulders, and large metallic fasteners on the lapels. Calix lit a cigarette, and checked the three access gates. He identified an emergency exit, a tree which grew over the railings. A decision to make: leave her, or take her?

He smoked down the cigarette.

Then pulled across Elly’s bag. A cheap white cotton bag with a bookshop logo. Elly didn’t murmur. He took out her purse and counted the cash. Six pounds and seven pence – enough for coffee and pastries at the kiosk. He removed her bank card, and glanced at the photo on her student ID. So young, and striking a pose even there. He rummaged through the rest of the bag. A black cardigan, and three pairs of knickers. Moisturiser, toothbrush, toothpaste. A box of face-paints. Her phone. He removed the battery, and hurled the phone into the pond. The splash attracted the swans, and the card-players glanced across.

‘Why’re you here?’ said Calix. Elly pointed her foot, and her shoe fell off. ‘That shit about your brother.’

‘I’m an orphan.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘My father beat me.’

‘No, he didn’t.’

Elly picked up her shoe. ‘We’re all insects. Groping towards something terrible or divine.’

‘Is that a quote?’

‘Philip K. Dick.’ She pulled on her shoe. ‘I don’t do drugs, don’t know any rock-climbers.’

Calix repeated Dick’s line in his head. It was as if she’d looked it up especially for him, but he still wasn’t sure. He looked at his watch, considered another cigarette. If the park was an oasis, he and Elly were nomads.

‘Put it another way, why should I risk taking you with me?’

Elly watched a customer at the popcorn cabinet in front of the kiosk. The old Korean woman came out the front, wiping her hands on a cloth. ‘Two reasons. I bring a second set of eyes and ears, and a second brain.

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