The Twice-Lived Summer of Bluebell Jones by Susie Day Page A

got the sun right behind me, and even if he’s got the focus anywhere close to sharp and the framing anywhere close to me, that shot will never come out. But I stop a few footsteps down, just enough to be out of the tearing wind. This is the picture I want to take. Not Penkerry in miniature, but this, them, today, right now: Merlin half-buried under sand, Mags and Dan trying to drag him into the sea, Fozzie doubled up laughing. Me and my friends, on Mulvey Island.
    I suck in breath, sharply. That’s why Red didn’t come.
    This wouldn’t have happened if she’d been here. If she were here I’d have been waiting for her to tell me what to do, what to say, how to get it all perfect.
    And instead, I’ve lived it.
    My phone rings in my pocket. I’m smiling already as I pick up, ready to tell her I understand; to thank her for showing me I could do it by myself.
    â€œHi, look, I can’t really talk,” I whisper.
    â€œYou don’t have to talk, just listen,” says a breathy voice, loud. I stare at the caller ID. It’s not my number ringing me. It’s Tiger’s.
    â€œAre you still on the island? How soon can you get back?”
    â€œWhat? I mean, why?”
    There’s a scrumply sound, like someone blowing their nose.
    â€œIt’s Mum,” says Tiger. “She’s in the hospital.”

 
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    7. Mum
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    It takes thirty minutes for the boat to arrive, another twenty-five to make the crossing, fifteen more in the back of a taxi to the hospital, a damp twenty-pound note from Fozzie clutched in my hand. Too long.
    Tiger isn’t answering her phone.
    Dad neither.
    I don’t try Mum’s.
    By the time I find the right room in the maze of plasticky corridors, I’ve imagined every awful thing that could possibly have happened, twice.
    â€œOh, baby, look at your face,” says Mum, sitting up in bed looking pink and healthy and perfectly well. “Everything’s fine!”
    Dad’s on one side of the bed, reading the newspaper. Tiger’s on the other, tying one side of Mum’s hair into tiny plaits. They don’t look panicked. To be honest, they look pretty bored.
    My shoulders drop, and the bowl of fear in my insides empties out.
    â€œWhat’s going on? I was . . . I thought. . .”
    â€œCome here, darling,” says Dad, folding up the paper and standing, beckoning me over to sit in his chair. “What the hell did you say on the phone, Tiger?”
    Tiger shrugs. “Mum’s in the hospital, come back now. Something like that?”
    â€œNice,” sighs Dad. “Reassuring. Not going to give anyone heart failure, that.”
    Tiger squints. “Sorry. Didn’t think.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    Mum grabs my hand and squeezes it twice, fast like a heartbeat. “Nothing major. We went for a walk up along the cliffs, and I had a bit of a funny turn. Thought for a minute Peanut was going to try to make an early entrance.”
    Dad rolls up his sleeves. “I was all set to be the heroic father delivering his own child, but your mum crossed her legs and held it in, like a wee.”
    Can you do that? I think to myself.
    Mum slides him a look, and he kisses the top of her head, leaving his hand resting there, stroking.
    Probably not .
    â€œWere you frightened?” I ask.
    Dad’s hand goes still on the top of her head.
    Mum squeezes my hand again: one two, one two.
    â€œOnly for a second. Only when we didn’t know what was going on. I had a little bit of bleeding, which has stopped now, and they’ve given me some stuff to make sure it won’t start again. And I need to take it really, really easy. But, baby, we’re both going to be fine, the doctors say it’s all manageable.” She smiles. “To be honest, I’m pretty sure half of it was indigestion.”
    â€œExtra large chips and a White Magnum,” whispers Dad.
    â€œEating for