Free In the Summertime by Judy Astley Page A

baseball cap on back to front and smirked at himself in the longmirror on the wall. The surf-boys made faces at each other.
    ‘Dad …’ Freddie mumbled, looking embarrassed. Silva glanced at him, feeling sympathetic. He smiled shyly and she could feel herself blushing so she grabbed a dress and rushed into the changing area, pulling the curtain shut behind her.
    The dress was a terrible choice. She put it on and pulled the loose fabric back at the waist. She must have picked out a size twelve or something – it was way too big for her. She unzipped it quickly and just as she was pulling it over her head the curtain was abruptly pulled back.
    ‘Aha, it’s occupied. Sorree!’ The boy she’d wanted to notice her was now staring at her body, which was exposed to the whole shop. ‘Aw, everyone, look at these cute li’l pink knickers!’ He was laughing loudly and taking his time putting the curtain back again. Silva flung her shorts on, hands shaking as she fastened them, and hurtled out of the shop, almost tripping over the big, white-trainered feet of the Freddie boy. She ran up the lane and into the courtyard of the Sail Loft, collapsing panting into a chair at the far back close to the hedge and in the face-cooling shade of a big umbrella.
    ‘Don’t you want to sit in the sun?’ Clare arrived seconds later, when Silva was still trying to erase the cringeworthy picture of the gorgeous but horriblyteasing surf-boy – along with everyone else in the shop – staring at her Hello Kitty underwear. I must have looked about nine , was all she could think. What a great start to the holiday.

SIX
    Miranda was running late. She’d never been to the little airport at Newquay before and although it looked easy enough to find on the map, once she was off the main road there were too many winding lanes to make the trip a fast and smooth one. At least the urn full of ashes was no longer rolling about in the boot of the car. Clare must have taken it out some time during the day. Miranda would have to ask her where it was, if only so that Harriet wouldn’t fling open a random cupboard door and start screeching if she found her father’s remains where she’d expected the biscuit tin to be. Bo and Silva, bless them, wouldn’t even think to comment. How much more adaptable and unconcerned children are, she thought. Or maybe it was just hers. And maybe they simply had no curiosity … She mustn’t over-analyse – that way lay another dollop of single-parent self-recrimination. They were fine.
    And of course, now that Miranda at last had the St Mawgan air base in sight, Dan was phoning for the fourth time and she couldn’t ignore him any longer otherwise she’d end up having to take a call from him later when she’d got Harriet in the car. If that happened, Harriet would do the thing she did where she kept asking why on earth Miranda ever even spoke to him. OK, so he was an idle, useless sod, but he was the idle, useless sod who was father to her children. She couldn’t expect her sister to understand that you never quite escaped those. She pulled over into a farm gateway to find out what was so urgent.
    ‘I was chatting to Bo on Facebook,’ he said, sounding cheery. ‘He says you’ve rented a nice big fancy place down in Cornwall. Sounds idyllic.’
    ‘It’s not that big,’ Miranda told him, wary about what might be coming next. ‘It’ll be full once Harriet’s got here.’ Damn, she thought, it might have been better not to mention Harriet was coming. Straight into his trap.
    ‘Oh, right. Well, hey, if you’ve got room for your sister, you can find a sofa or something for your children’s father, can’t you?’ he said. ‘I’d really like to come and see them on their holiday. One big happy family and all that.’
    She thought about the last time they’d tried that one, because, in the interests of bringing up the children without their seeing only lasting rancour, she had given it a go. They’d gone for