The Summer's Child Read online

  "Hello you two,” Sweater Couple called. Roelle had never in her life so happy to see them as Samantha’s attention shifted away towards them with a small pointed glare. “So happy to see you again!"

  "Katherine! And James!” Roelle jumped up and put some distance between herself and Samantha. “Wow, so happy you did decided to come to the castle after all that."

  "Well, we just wanted to come and hang out with our new friends," Katherine said, grinning broadly. Roelle shot Samantha a panicky look. When had they become friends? Samantha shrugged, clearly at a loss as well. An beat of awkward silence stretched between them before Roelle cleared her throat.

  "Do you know much about the castle?" She asked, glancing down at her own lonely planet.

  "Well, I do know that the French word for castle is chatelet, so I think we're prepped enough," James informed her. Roelle laughed nervously. Was he joking? Samantha jumped up so she was standing next to Roelle and nodded at James.

  "Wow," she gushed, “what an amazing accent you have.”

  "Yes!” James said, totally missing the curl of sarcasm in Samantha’s compliment. “I took French in high school. Really amazing what one remembers, right?" Samantha nodded sagely, though she struggled to remember basic English, let alone any language she had ever tried to take in high school.

  Another beat of awkward silence.

  "Are you excited about visiting the castle?" Katherine asked, slightly too quickly, clearly buckling under the weight of the awkwardness.

  "Yes, I am kind of a nerd about history," Roelle admitted.

  "Ah, so am I!” James chimed in. “I'm a big fan of the American Civil War."

  "Oh - my interest is more in European history,” Roelle admitted with a small shrug. “It's so cool what happened with all the kings and queens and courts and intrigues during the Tudor era and stuff." James’ face fell.

  "Oh.” James fidgeted as he tried to figure out how to continue the conversation now that it wasn’t about him anymore.

  “Have you been?” Katherine asked, letting her husband off the hook.

  “To England?” Roelle nodded. “Yes, though I dream about going one again day. She,” Roelle gestured at Samantha, “promises she will some day."

  "You've been to England?" Samantha asked, confused.

  "I went, once." Samantha stared at her, still totally perplexed. "For a film. English countryside," Roelle added. Samantha laughed and hit her flat palm against her forehead.

  "Of course."

  "But we didn't really have any time to see the sights."

  James sighed. “It didn’t mention that on your Wikipedia page.”

  Roelle shifted from one foot to another, suddenly uncomfortable under the scrutiny. "Roelle was still one of the best actresses I worked with," Samantha added. She grinned at Roelle. "I still think she's one of the best."

  "Tell me how you met," Katherine asked, changing the topic. Roelle glanced at Samantha, who nodded ever so slightly.

  But before Roelle could come up with the well versed story she had established, the man at the lobby called for everyone who was going on the tour of the castle to get on the small minibus outside. In the middle of the bustle - there were about ten couples on this trip - Roelle slipped her hand into Samantha's. Samantha smiled at the gesture, and pushed forward, making sure they were at the front of the line.

  ***

  As everyone was loading on the bus, Roelle kept on thinking back to their silent exchange. Had Samantha been encouraging her to tell their story, which Roelle had prepared, or was she passing on the burden? Roelle’s version of their meeting had a timeline. She and Alise had looked at a calendar, and established a sensible timeline. But now, suddenly, Roelle wanted to know what Samantha’s timeline looked like.

  Did Samantha even had a timeline? Had she put enough thought in this? Or was she just winging it?

  “What’s our story?’ Roelle asked Samantha quietly, leaning towards her a little so Samantha would hear her. Samantha frowned at her, arranging herself against the window and sliding Roelle's rucksack on the floor between them.

  "I thought you had planned it out," she asked, confused. Roelle bit her lip.

  "I have," she muttered. Samantha cocked her head.

  "So why are you asking?" Roelle sighed.

  "Because I want to hear your version," she mumbled.

  "But I haven't heard yours,” Samantha protested. Roelle made a shushing motion. Samantha lowered her voice. “How am I meant to make sure they match!"

  "Just tell me what you think the most believable story for us is."

  "Why?"

  "I'm curious." Samantha huffed, and frowned. She opened her mouth to reply, but the bus's driver cleared his throat, and started talking into the microphone. It turned out this was going to be a guided tour to the museum. The bus driver was very cheerful, and had a lot of good comments on the surrounding countryside as they drove towards the museum. But Samantha barely heard him. She bit her lip, and stared out of the window, at the winding street and the beautiful vineyards and the large wind turbines. What was the most believable story?

  The bus driver told them some more facts about how wine was made, and then stopped talking.

  “You were only in a couple of drama camps with me - when you were in high school, I was already getting roles,” she murmured at the glass. She glanced at Roelle, who was watching her, and then looked out again, unseeing. “But I remember seeing you. I know, me, remembering something?” Samantha laughed dryly. “But I remember it. Janine knew who you were - of course Janine knew. It was one of those weeks where we were all in LA together. It was the January camp. And I saw you practice your lines. It was super early in the morning, and I was sneaking out of Janine’s room, and then there you were.” Samantha glanced at Roelle. She wanted to describe the exact scene - the bright morning sunlight cutting through the corridor, the vantage from the hotel corridor, and the way the light on the bright chandeliers had caught Samantha’s eye. “You were doing those ridiculous voice exercises.” Samantha sighed and then smiled the tiniest smile for Roelle. “It was...bizarre.” Roelle frowned.

  “Why was it bizarre?” She asked.

  “Because we were all there, we were all practicing, and then one morning I just saw by chance that you were secretly practicing,” Samantha looked down again. “I told Janine about it, and she just shrugged and said “Yeah, that’s Roelle.””

  “Janine and I were in a voice coaching session together for a short while,” Roelle explained quietly. Samantha didn’t look up from where she was playing with the fraying in her jeans.

  “Well, whatever it was,” she mumbled, “she told me I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about it. Which is still strange to me.” She looked up at Roelle and held her gaze, her brow furrowed. “A big part of it was showing a hunger to learn, which you had, and yet you hid it.”

  Roelle bit her lip. She remembered those morning. She remembered setting the alarm, getting up so painfully in the morning. She would wake up ravenous, the previous day having completely exhausted her, and yet she would ignore the temptation to press snooze. Instead, she would get up, and learn her lines. She remembered the weight of the pressure that she put on herself, and how much she hated herself each time she forgot a line or her voice cracked.

  “It wasn’t hunger to learn, though, but a fear of failure. I was convinced, every morning, that people would realize I didn’t belong. That I wasn’t the best.” Samantha’s frown deepened.

  “But you are the best,” she said. Roelle laughed and broke the eye contact, looking past Samantha at the hill they were just cresting.

  “I’m not,” she urged.

  “No, you are,” Samantha protested. Roelle’s gaze shifted back to Samantha.

  “Don’t let Charlie hear you say that,” she warned.

  “I don’t care what Charlie thinks. You’re one of the best, most talented actresses in the world, Roelle.” Roelle licked her lip, and held Samantha’s gaze. She opened
her mouth to say something, say anything, but the breath caught in her throat. Samantha was so earnest, so serious in her determination that Roelle should have faith in herself.

  She needed to break this moment.

  “So that’s it?” she asked, her voice oddly high pitched. She coughed. “Our story? You saw me practice lines when I was 17.” Samantha winced.

  “Yup,” she said, though she was smirking.

  “Yeah,” Roelle agreed with a small laugh, “I’ll fluff it up for our big speech.”

  “And that-” the bus driver interrupted, his voice booming out, “is the small village around the base of the castle!” He didn’t stop talking until they reached the gates of the castle, but Roelle didn’t mind. Unlike the last tour guide, this man knew about their surroundings, and as he drew their attention to the stylings of the architecture, Roelle let herself feel engrossed by the area.

  They filed off the bus, and Samantha snuck her arm through Roelle’s as they walked. The bus driver gave them an entire tour of the ruined castle, pointing towards arrow-slits, ruins of old fireplaces, and a square stone with a hole in it, which would have been a toilet. Samantha found herself immensely grateful for their tour guides’ constant chatter, since she could drown it out quiet easily, tracing the crags of the stone, but no one could start a conversation with her.

  The castle was high on a cliff, and it overlooked the ocean. The cloudy sky broke, and then sun shone through brightly, and Samantha tilted her face up to the sun. Roelle pulled her along lightly, and Samantha wandered next to her, intertwining their hands again.

  This felt so natural, she never wanted it to stop.

  "I think i like castle ruins more than I like actual castles," Samantha mused as they walked back towards the hotel. Their shadows were lengthening with the afternoon sun, and although they were alone now, having opted to walk back from the edge of the village, Roelle still held Samantha's hand, swinging it between them as they walked.

  "You're weird," she hummed. She was so happy. They had spent the day first at the castle, and then at a French palace that was rebuilt to resemble what it would have looked like in the 1700s. Roelle had learned so much about the French court, the design and architecture, and she felt sated with knowledge.

  "Of course I am," Samantha agreed, boisterous grin on her face. Roelle scrunched up her face.

  "Why?" She asked. “Why do you like castles more?”

  "It's less sanitized? In the second place we went to, the palace, we couldn't touch anything. Everything was behind velvet ropes, and we just had to look and read. I like it better when I can touch things."

  "That's so typical you."

  "I like to remain consistent at all times," Samantha hummed, trailing her hand along the wall of the building they were walking next to. Roelle grinned.

  "Of course you do," she hummed. They walked in comfortable silence until Samantha caught sight of the hotel up the road from them.

  "What is up on the menu tonight?" She asked. Roelle shot her a confused look. “What are we doing?” She repeated. Roelle grinned.

  "Movie night," she said with a small smirk.

  "Movie night?" Samantha asked, raising both her eyebrows.

  "Yes, that's what it said. According to the brochure, this is designed by the owners of the vacation themselves."

  "The old people who loved your films?" Samantha asked, pursing her lips.

  "Yup!"

  "Oh wow,” she hummed. A thought occurred to her, and she frowned. “I hope it's not trivia."

  "I'm sure there will be some of that, but we're sorted into groups," Roelle promised. Samantha frowned.

  "Oh man this sounds so intense,” she mumbled, worried.

  "Don't worry,” Roelle assured her, “we'll stick together."

  "I'm relieved,” Samantha hummed, though skeptically. “Though I have to tell you, you're not quite as good a partner as Charlie."

  "Charlie is a terrible partner in games!" Roelle protested.

  "No she's not!” Samantha complained. “She's brilliant!"

  "She once nearly bunched Daria in the face because Daria forgot what the capital of Spain was."

  "Well, to be fair to Charlie, who the fuck thinks it's Barcelona?" Roelle laughed and shoved Samantha away playfully.

  "You're insane," she decided.

  "Of course, I am! Charlie Brennan is my best friend, what other reason would that happen other than if I was insane." Roelle laughed and made a face.

  "That didn't make sense," she pointed out. Samantha stuck her tongue out at her.

  "I'm tired.”

  "Well, we have two hours until dinner,” Roelle told Samantha as they came to a halt in the courtyard of the hotel. “You can nap."

  "Mmh, but I kind of feel like doing something. Moving around. Get my blood pumping."

  "Don't you always feel like doing something?"

  "Yes, but I don't always have a beach and you to make it more interesting."

  "You want us to play a game on the beach?" Roelle raised an eyebrow. Samantha broke into a large grin.

  "Heck yes." Roelle looked down at her long flowing skirt, and frowned.

  "Okay,” she conceded, “but I gotta change."

  "No you don't! I'll run in and get my soccer ball. You can take off your shoes, and everything will be okay."

  "You can't play soccer in a skirt!" Roelle protested.

  "I'll go easy on you, Roelle," Samantha promised. Roelle narrowed her eyes.

  "Somehow, I don't believe that."

  "How rude. Charlie is the problem child here, not me."

  "Good point. Fine, go get your ball, and I'll play you."

  "Yes!" Samantha practically skipped up the walkway into the hotel. She came out again barely five minutes later, bouncing her ball in front of her. She grinned and bounced it on the sand. The sand absorbed the impact, and the ball stayed on solid ground. Samantha rolled her eyes, toed off her shoes, and started pushing the ball closer towards the water.

  "I love playing on the beach," she admitted with a small smile. "It's always so relaxing." Roelle loved playing at the beach too. Once they were close enough to the water, Roelle tied her skirt into a knot so it swished at her knees,

  "Pass that ball over here, Ms. Lee," she commanded. Samantha grinned in excitement.

  "Of course.” They started passing the ball with steady and familiar ease. Roelle was always surprised the calming quality the ball at her feet had nowadays.

  "Do you want to warm up a bit?" She asked after a couple of minutes. Samantha shook her head.

  "No, I just want to play," she hummed, passing it back. Roelle flicked the ball back, aiming it at Samantha’s head, but it was too low, and Samantha grabbed it from the air and dropped it back on the sand.

  "You're so boring," Roelle complained. Samantha grinned.

  "I'm so relaxed,” she corrected. “I like it out here."

  "Of course you do.” Another couple of minutes of steady passing. “Are we having dinner with your friend tomorrow?" Roelle couldn’t help the gut-wrenching twist of anxiety that question gave her.

  "Yes!” Samantha said with an excited grin. She clearly hadn’t noticed Roelle’s trepidation. “She's coming down though. She is on a short break this weekend, and she claims she's been craving some beach time, so she's coming down."

  "Does she want to go to the art gallery with us tomorrow?" Roelle asked.

  "Oh no, she's coming down on the 5 p.m train." What a relief.

  "Oh okay."

  "She's bringing her husband, so it can be a double date!" Samantha passed Roelle the ball, but Roelle stilled it, and leveled a glare at Samantha.

  "Oh no, she didn't -"

  "Yup, she saw the tabloids,” Samantha interrupted, rubbing her neck in embarrassment. “She even told me I caught a good one."

  "Did you tell her the truth?" Samantha squirmed, shifting her weight from one foot to another, and avoiding Roelle’s gaze. "Samantha!"

  "I haven't seen her in lik
e ages, and we didn’t really keep in touch, and I think it would be a little bit weird to be like "hey by the way I'm also only fake dating that striker," so I didn't say it. And now I confirmed it, so we're doomed."

  "Samantha!"

  "I'm sorry!” Samantha pouted. “I meant to tell her. I really did."

  "What are we doing to do?" Roelle demanded, glaring at Samantha.

  "Not panic?" Samantha offered.

  "Hahahaha," Roelle replied sarcastically, crossing her arms over her chest and glowering. Samantha bit her lip, and frowned.

  "Roelle, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this would be so bad for you. I kind of assumed, because we were already pretending…” she trailed off, and then caught Roelle’s gaze. “I can cancel," she offered steadily. Roelle huffed.

  "No, it's fine," she muttered. Samantha maintained their eye contact.

  "Is it going to be stressful?" She asked steadily. Roelle opened her mouth, to dismiss her own worry, but Samantha was staring at her so calmly. “Tell the truth,” she prompted.

  "Yes," Roelle admitted.

  "Then let me cancel -" Samantha started, but Roelle interrupted her.

  "Samantha, no,” she protested, dropping her hands to her sides and frowning down at the sand. “It's going to be fine. I'll tell you if it gets too much."

  "Do you promise you’ll tell me?"

  "Of course." Samantha grinned, and Roelle felt her heart jump in her chest again. For that smile, she would accept the anxiety of pretending. For that smile, she would do anything.

  Dinner was a black-tie affair - Samantha had the audacity to be surprised by that declaration. "Everything we've been to at the hotel has been black tie!" Roelle pointed out, as she put on her large golden earrings.

  "Yeah, but I hoped that a game night would be the exception," Samantha grumbled. Roelle smirked.

  "I'm sorry, Samantha," she said jokingly.

  "They'll feed us, though, right?" Samantha worried.

  "Yes of course,” Roelle assured her with a small smirk. When was the last time Samantha had starved? She made it sound like it was a possibility. “It's dinner and games."

  "Okay, fine. Can I wear your dress?" Roelle blinked in surprise and twisted around from her little mirror on the desk.