The Other Side of Summer by Emily Gale

minute I couldn’t hear a thing, the next it was as if the frogs had all started croaking just for me. I stopped the bike for a moment to listen. It was a funny griping sound, as if they were complaining about the weather.
    I continued along the path. Sometimes the water sounded like whispering, other times like people clapping. Sometimes it looked deep and dark and other times rocks peeped out and the water frothed around them. I couldn’t identify a single plant or tree except for plain old ‘grass’ – and even the grass was a different, tougher kind. Wren’s giant paintbox didn’t have this many greens and browns. I never knew a place could be this lovely without all the other colours.
    Milo’s biggest cross was on a little rock that looked like it was a few metres from the path, right down the steep slope. As I came close to where I thought it would be, I got off Sophie’s bike and wheeled it along. When I was sure I was in the right place, I hid the bike in a bush and headed down, Bee bounding in circles around mewith every step I took. Her energy had infected me but I was puffed now. My back was hot and sweaty under my jumper and I couldn’t wait to off-load the guitar and sit down for a rest.
    ‘Look, Bee, that’s it there.’ It was exactly as Milo had drawn it: a flat rock jutting out of the water like a natural dock. Three brown ducks sailed around its edges like small boats. The rock was in the shade of tall trees that crowded the edge of the water, and the mossy ground around it was soft and lumpy like a cushion. I took off the guitar and sat down. Bee’s leathery pink tongue was lolling out of the side of her mouth and her ears moved to the sound of birds messaging each other high above us.
    The river was murky and tanned, whipped up like someone blowing hard on a cup of tea. Only, this water must have been freezing. I breathed in slowly and tasted leaf and earth, water and sunshine, cold air and silence – all of that. There were silvery needles of light where the sun caught the water as it coursed over tree roots and rocks. It was a place where you could be small and still, just noticing things.
    My breath and Bee’s breath and the rush of the water were becoming one peaceful sound. Just like Milo had said, it was a place that felt like nowhere else.
    Bee caught my eye.
    ‘Like it here?’
    She tipped her head to the side as if to say, ‘Who wouldn’t?’
    ‘Me too.’
    I held the guitar in my lap and pinned down the ‘Let It Be’ sheet music in front of me with a small rock.
    ‘No one will hear me, Bee.’ Except Floyd, I thought. And hoped.
    Bee lay on her belly and rested her head on her front paw.
    I’ve waited months for this, Summer.
    I don’t want you to be disappointed.
    As if, Sum.
    I gulped and looked at the chords. There were only four to get right, and a melody for the last line of the verse. Then I began. I was cautious at first, bracing myself for the sting of the steel strings of the Ibanez Artwood, which were harder on the tips of my fingers than the nylon strings of my own guitar. The first chord change was horrible, but I kept going. I pressed a little harder and ran my right thumb down and up. Back up, down again, bolder this time. I was mumbling the words of the chorus, humming the rest, and concentrating on the chords.
    Am I doing this right, Floyd?
    He didn’t answer. Maybe that was his way of pushing me to be better. I was starting to feel the old magic of the two of us playing together. When I closed my eyes I imagined I could hear Floyd’s first guitar – the one he used to let me practise on – playing along with me. Soon a joyful laugh was rising in me like bubbles. I carried on, louder and faster and louder and faster.
    Suddenly Bee scrambled up on her long legs and barked.
    ‘Sh, it’s okay, I’m just practising.’ I giggled, feeling silly for getting carried away and spooking my dog. But Bee wouldn’t settle. Towering over me, she put her nose in