It was a summer of love, that summer. Of giggling behind the cricket pavilion, of smuggling cider from home to the park. It was a summer of tree clibing. It was a summer of tree falling. This is my story of summer love, and, as pathetic as it seems to you now, my story of first love.
I was staring out the window from the kitchen, it was 1951, I was fourteen. I watched as a squirrel shot across the garden and up a tree in the mid-morning light. I hardly took any notice of the squirrel, I was busy day dreaming of who-knows-what. I took a sip of my tea that I'd been nursing for an hour now and pulled a face, it was cold. Standing up to pour it down the sink, I hummed a little tune, the one I always hummed when I was dazy.
My older brother, Henry, then came lolloping into the kitchen, yawning and scratching his stomach. His hair was all on-end and his greeny-brown eyes were half closed.
'Where were you last night?' I asked, laughing at this sight as I spoke.
'Pub...' he mumbled, crashing on to one of the kitchen chairs. I poured him a large glass of water and sat opposite him.
'Here, it'll help your head.' He held his thumbs up in thanks and glugged from the glass.
'You going to be able to play like that?' I asked, gesturing to his gangling, floppy limbs. He looked at me for a second, puzzled. Then his eyes snapped wide open and his body straightened.
'Cricket!' he exclaimed, colourful words spilled from his mouth as he jumped around the room, panicking.
'Calm down!' I said. 'The game is not until one, we have time.' He paused in his frantic state and let out a sigh of relief. Henry was known for being late, he wouldn't have put it past himself to sleep right through his first cricket match of the summer.
'You sit down and I'll put some toast on.' I got up and began to fill the kettle.
'Where's mother?' he asked, his hands in his pockets as he leant against the work top.
'Town, you woke up late,' I gave him a cheeky grin. 'You got home late too.' Henry went a magnificent shade of red and looked down his body at his bare feet.
'Don't tell mum... Please, Pam I - '
'I know perfectly well what's happening between you and Julie-Ann from school.' I pretended to be angry to wind him up.
'Pam you wouldn't though...'
'Don't be silly, of course I wouldn't. Mum would disown you and kick you out.' I handed him three slices of toast and laid out butter and blackberry jam on the table. Henry sat down, considering this point.
'I'm nearly eighteen you know...'
'Well now you're just stating facts,' I was quite sharp when I wanted to be, but this was just a joke. Henry knew that.
'You know what I mean Pam.' He took a bite of toast, I could feel a moan coming on. 'I can do what I want with my life, mother should know that now.'
I ignored him and went back to staring out the window and up the garden. Two blackbirds were feeding under the bird table, then a ginger cat came and scared them away.
