Free The Summer of Secrets by Sarah Jasmon Page B

and throwing it into the corner.
    ‘It won’t go right. The shadowing is all wrong.’
    Helen started to move, but Seth gestured to her to stay.
    ‘Give me the pencil. Helen’s got a really individual profile, I’ll do it.’
    This time, she focused straight ahead, intensely aware of Seth’s hand inches away, tracing around the edges of her face. It was as if the line of the pencil was on her skin, riffling through her hair; he made Victoria gather it up into a chignon so her neck would be clear. He didn’t call it a chignon, but that was what she pictured, something coiled and tendrilled and elegant, nothing like her own messy attempts in the mirror at home. She imagined the pencil lines carrying on, tracing her shoulder blades, the hollow at the base of her neck. He was making her feel almost pretty.
    From another world, she heard the kitchen door crash open, and the sound of footsteps approaching. In the second before her mind began to wonder who might be coming, the scene she was in floated before her eyes, perfect and untouchable. If she stayed exactly where she was, perhaps the moment would continue anyway. She willed Seth to ignore the interruption, to keep on drawing, but almost immediately he was standing, leaving. A man’s voice sounded behind her.
    ‘Afternoon, everyone. I found these two outside, does anyone want them?’
    Nobody would have noticed her pause before she turned. Seth and Victoria had forgotten her anyway. The man was tall and thin, the twins clinging on to him like burrs. Seth was already doing the man thing of slapping shoulders, but Helen could tell from the length of time they left their arms resting how pleased they were to see each other.
    Then Victoria leapt past with a shriek of ‘Uncle Piet!’ Her extra weight sent them all staggering back, almost into the sink. Uncle Piet, of course it was, the special uncle, the one who had found the house and paid the bills. It was a bit like seeing someone from the TV. Victoria was right, he didn’t look much like James Dean any more, but he was a cowboy nonetheless; an older, tougher cowboy, with a lined face and greying hair, his eyes slightly narrowed, even inside the house. He wore boots, faded jeans. Helen wondered if he saw it himself, played up to it. She stood by her chair, fiddling with Seth’s abandoned pencil. His sketch was lying there, and she edged it closer. What had he called her? ‘Really individual’. She wasn’t quite sure if that was praise, but the drawing did make her look nice. She pulled it away from the pad and folded it into her pocket as the others barged past her into the sitting room.
    Piet went straight over to the stairs. Alice, Helen thought, up there in her secret world. Pippa tried to follow him up, and Helen watched Seth distract her with a question. Pippa swung round to whisper in Will’s ear, and they both ran out through the kitchen, followed by Seth, their voices fading into the garden. Victoria had propped herself against the windowsill and her head was bent over as she picked at the varnish on her nails. The room felt stuffy, motes hovering lazily in the light from the window. At this time of day, it came through in a wedge as the sun hit the furthest edge of the glass. Helen traced the raised fabric pattern on the arm of the chair, wondering if she could follow the others outside. She heard one of them call out, and there was the sound of a ball being hit. French cricket, the twins’ latest passion. She pushed herself up and took a step towards the door, but Victoria put out a hand to stop her.
    ‘Come on.’ She didn’t wait for an answer, but set off up the staircase, beckoning Helen to follow.
    She came to a stop by Alice’s door. Helen, expecting to go straight on to Victoria’s room, fell into her.
    ‘Ssh.’ Victoria pressed her ear up to the wood, holding on to Helen’s arm. Helen held her breath, unable to hear anything to begin with, other than the blood rushing past her eardrums.