Isla's Summer

This is my entry for the 2021 summer contest.

This is unlike any of my other stories, as it is a straight romance.

It is a very long, slow burn love story, in fact, the longest story I've ever written and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

Please be tolerant with me about any mistakes. The story's length is too great to ask any of my usual beta readers or even voluntary editors to endure, when they all have their own projects.

If the conversation seems a little staccato to begin with, it's because I am trying to reflect character's early attempts at British Sign Language.

Again, if you can bear with me, as I know I've not followed BSL exactly grammatically, in order to help most readers.

If this doesn't suit you, then please, read my other stories or other contestant's stories.

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Sat at my favourite spot on the grass, I enjoyed watching ducks silently diving and fighting for scraps, sending expanding ripples across the large pond in front of me. The trees that surround the pond waved silently in the breeze, allowing the late spring sun to stream through the leaves above, warming me.

Summer was knocking on the closing door of spring. Wildflowers and weeds had blossomed, speckling colour in the greenery skirting around the pond. Bushes surrounding the pond hung under the weight of their spring growth spurt, with some or their branches dipping into it. The wheat field surrounding the pond is lush green, with tall strands reaching for the sun.

Even before I could walk, I'd visited this pond with mum and dad, then as a little girl and now as a woman. Although I could only hear it for the first six years of my life, before I lost the last of my ability to hear its beauty. It has always been my sanctuary, my happy place. Somewhere I can relax and hide away from the outside world.

I still love to name the ducks, although I've gone through generations of Mrs Puddle-duck over the years of seeing mothers with their chicks. The pond has been my muse for my few novellas and my self-illustrated children's books, giving me my favourite but the smallest of my three incomes. I was sitting thinking over some ideas for a new children's book, whilst pondering on the year ahead.

I watched the latest Mrs Puddle-duck waddle around the pond feeding, hounded by several suitors, or maybe she already had a brood somewhere in the reeds and bushes at the edge of the pond. My mind drifted to the problem at hand. How could I get a tractor cute enough to appeal to children?

A stone flew across in front of me, making me jump in surprise, and struck the water in a small eruption, causing the ducks to scatter in fright. Shocked at this intrusion, I sharply followed the trajectory of the stone off to my right to see a man stood ten steps away, silhouetted by the sun behind him. The strong sunrays sting, forcing me to shield my eyes with a hand as I tried to focus on the dark stranger.

Surprised and a little frightened to have an interloper, a stranger, in my special place. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular physique, standing menacingly with hands-on-hips, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. As a slim, unathletic woman, I couldn't offer any defence against him, should he have tried to overpower me.

No one has ever visited me here except for mum and dad. Dad has a lifelong agreement with the farmer, which allowed me free rein to visit the pond and spinney surrounding it. The pond isn't visible from either the driveway to the farm, nor are there any paths or rights of way to give access. No one has chanced upon it in all my 28 years. Yet this stranger stood before me.

Panicking, I look over my left shoulder across the field and hedgerow, to home safety and any possible help. I could see mum oblivious, focusing on her book whilst sunbathing on the patio. I glanced back at the stranger, terrified; he would step forward, to catch me unawares.

He remained rooted to his original spot. Still unable to see his face or read any emotion with the sun directly behind him, but his shape continued to menace as he shuffled from one leg to the other.

The stranger seemed to realise my dilemma and stepped sideways into the shade of an adjacent beech tree, allowing me to drop my shielding hand and open my eyes.

The stranger lifted his hands off his hips and slowly signed, "Hello, me G. A. R. Y."

This was a pleasant surprise for a stranger to sign off the bat. To spell out his name in full, bode well, but how could he know I was deaf?

No longer squinting against the sun's glare, as my eyes adjusted I realised he was the eldest son of the farmer. I'd only ever glimpsed him at family gatherings, local fetes and fairs, but he'd been away from home for years.

Now able to read his face, he no longer looked threatening, carrying a smile with a kind, rugged face. His shuffling, reflecting nerves, not threatening at all. His handsome looks, strong muscular build and work overalls suggested he works on the farm but also epitomised any historic romance novel's hero.

I sign in response, "Hi G. A. R. Y... Me I. S. L. A."

After spelling my name in full, I repeat it showing him my sign name. I use the third finger of my right hand across my heart on my chest for the `I', followed by the sign for an island.

Gary nodded. Although he already knew my name, he copied my signing. Although deep in thought with his eyes furrowed, he signed, "Island... Why?"

"I. S. L. A... Island in Spanish. My sign name. I, Island."

He nodded and smiled wider as he understood and copied it with a nervous naivety, showing him to be new to signing. Normally, people only learn to sign after they've met me, not before. Either he's picked it up on his travels or he's learned to sign for me because I know no one in his family is deaf.

Gary signing, "Hi, I home from travel. I want meet you."

He blushed and beads of sweat appeared on his brow, but it wasn't that warm in the shade. Why would he still be nervous of me? He's lost any boyish chubbiness from when I last saw him and is now a rugged, muscular, handsome man, slightly taller than I with short blond hair, carrying several days of rough, unkempt stubble.

His strong blue eyes bored into me as if wishing me to understand something he couldn't say. He looked uncomfortable standing there, still dancing from one foot to the other. It was flattering to have a man visit, who seems to have learned to sign for me!

I sign, "G. Sit, okay?" And point to the grass near me.

He nodded, relieved to step closer and sit cross-legged, but still looked nervous.

Gary smiled apologetically and signed, "Sorry I throw stone. You no see me."

I sign back, "Okay. No one has visited me here, ever. You surprised me."

Panic span across Gary's face and he waved his arms to stop me with frustration crossing his eyes.

I lip-read Gary saying, more to himself, "Shit, she signs so fast."

Thankfully, with us both growing up in the same area, his accent is far easier to lipread than ninety percent of the people I met at university, where there was a multitude of national and international accents.

I realised that we'd reached his limit. He's gone further than many who have tried. His signing still showed a beginner's naivety and without expression or mouthing the words in support, but he showed great promise. I met him halfway, speaking as best I could and signing to help him relax.

"Gary, okay... I lip read... Hard to talk... But I'll speak... And sign... Slow."

Gary looked relieved as he listened patiently. Seeing him straining to hear every word in slow motion told me that my speech was worse than mum lets on, but then she was used to it.

Gary slowly spoke and signed, choosing his words carefully to match his known signs. "Thanks, it's good if you sign and speak. I will try to copy you. Tell me if I'm bad?"

I nodded, impressed that anyone would take this trouble to learn to sign for me, even if he used the thumbs down sign for 'bad' but it was more important that I understood, than for it to be signed correctly.

Sure, at university, others signed, but that was because either their siblings were deaf or it was part of their course. That is how I met my best friend, Sarah. Her brother is deaf, so she could already sign, which brought us together.

Why had Gary come here? Was he here to ask me something? I'm an illustrator, caricaturist, artist, and author, being trained in law and journalism. What could a farmer possibly need to ask me?

I signed, "G. Why did you come here?"

Gary's whole demeanour fell apart, his face filled with panic, embarrassment, and fear. His hands fell away, unable to translate his stammering speech. After a long, frightened pause, he stood up, looking as if he would take flight, but his hands searched deeply into pockets to pull out his smartphone.

He frowned with embarrassment. His fingers worked through screens, then his thumbs frantically typed. At each pause, I expected him to hand me his phone, but he would continue to type.

Eventually, he gingerly handed me the phone, as if it could explode at any minute. I reached out and turned the screen to see his text message.

Hi Isla.

Sorry, I'm crap at signing as I've only just started.

Growing up, I always saw you sat here at this pond.

Dad would never let me meet you. You and your pond were always out of bounds.

Later when I came home from university, I still saw you sitting at your pond.

But you were still out of bounds.

Then you went to university, and I missed seeing you.

I left to travel the world. No matter where I was in the world when I thought of home

I thought of you sitting here, by your pond.

When I returned, I didn't feel I was home until I saw you sat here.

But now dad can't stop me. So I've finally come to meet you.

I looked up over the top of screen to see Gary, with his huge frame, trying to curl up and disappear into a hole in embarrassment. He would now dwarf his father. A warm shiver ran through me. No man had ever said anything like that to me.

He'd missed seeing me sitting at my pond. Why would his father forbid him from meeting me? Gary, being older, was a few years above me at school. As captain of the rugby and cricket teams, he had a reputation of girls flocking to him. Has he secretly held a torch for me this long, or am I just forbidden fruit?

Sat there, he didn't look like the womaniser I'd imagined. One thing was for sure, he was no Shakespeare, but that was the most awkward, romantic display I've ever received and my heart fluttered into beating furiously in my chest. What can I say to follow that?

Looking back at his phone, I copied and pasted his words to a text and sent it to my phone, saving my phone number under 'Isla' into his contacts. Now we had each other's numbers.

Passed him back his phone, my smartwatch vibrated. I opened my bag and sought my phone out, opened his text and saved him to my contacts. I then forwarded him a link to my 'speech to text' app and sent it to him.

I looked up and watched his face change from pleased to a smug grin as his phone vibrated in his hand. He opened my text then beamed back at me to sign, "Thanks."

Gary said, "I'll download the app later?" I repeated it in sign language for him, as he nodded and copied my signing.

I signed and said, "Is this your lunch hour?"

Gary signed and said, "Lunch fifteen minutes. I work for my dad."

He shrugged, giving a mock frown, then grinned, pleased to be confident enough to sign again.

I signed and mouthed, "But you've not eaten anything?"

"I start at five, so all gone!"

Gary said and tried to sign, "Sorry, I have to go... And drive my..." He fumbled, able to mimic driving, but not the last word. He got up, walked out into the sunshine to point behind the trees and said, "Tractor."

I got up and walked to join him, my eyes following his guiding finger, to see a behemoth of a tractor parked inside the field's gate. Before I could stop myself, I laughed aloud.

Mum tells me I laugh in a piglet like grunt, so I instinctively covered my mouth with my hand, trying to hide the sound. His eyes widened, and he smiled. Was he pleased he'd made me laugh?

I say and sign, "That's not a tractor, that's a house on wheels!" as I point at his tractor.

Gary laughed and said as he signed, "But it's my house on wheels!" whilst pulling a hurt face.

I loved his humorous turnaround and before I realised it, I'd laughed again to see him smile in response. Does he like my laugh?

I signed, "I see you tomorrow, lunch?"

He smiled and nodded in excitement, signing back. "Tomorrow," and waved goodbye.

He walked back to his house on wheels, with an awkward gait, walking around the crop, stumbling when he turned to look back at me, smiling, embarrassed as he stumbled onwards. He had a rugged, handsome exterior, but had given me a hint of a soft, shy interior.

Once back at his tractor, using his powerful arms and legs to climb up it. He almost floated up to his cab, high in the sky. He reversed out and then jump down to close the gate. Once back in his watchtower of a cab, he glanced back, giving me one last chance.

I signed. "I'll bring you a sandwich tomorrow?"

He cocked his head to one side, unsure. I repeated the signing slower. He smiled but shook his head, not understanding. I broke it down to, "tomorrow, I bring you." Then mimicked holding a sandwich in my hand and taking a bite out of it, causing him to laugh and nod. I rubbed my tummy, promising him it will be a good sandwich.

He laughed inside his cab and held up his two hands. His thumbs stretch out tips together, palms facing each other and fingertips together, making a triangular shape. I lip-read him, saying, "Cheese," then break his triangle to sign, "Please."

I showed him the correct signing of 'cheese,' which he copied with a grin. He turned in his seat and set off, bouncing down the lane in his tractor on its enormous wheels, desperate to achieve the thirty mph speed limit.

I stood there, heart fluttering, watching him disappear. I gulped in fresh air as I'd been holding my breath, like a young girl that had discovered the cool boys smoking behind the bike sheds. His text was wonderful, innocent and lovely. I reread it from my phone as my heart continued to thump in my chest.

I turned to sit back down and glanced back to home to see mum standing at the garden gate, looking surprised. She signed, "You okay? Barney said Gary was home."

'Barney' to his friends, or Mr Barry Barnes is Gary's dad. We use the sign of a barn for his name, as he doesn't sign, he'll never know.

"Yes, okay." I signed back, trying not to grin and wave, like a smitten girl.

"Time for tea?" Mum pointed to the pond, indicating that she would come to me. She loves this pond as much as I do but realises I need some personal space, so leaves me to it more often than not.

The afternoon span by as mum and I chatted. I sketched various cartoons of tractors, trying to decide on what would look more child friendly. All options ended with either Gary in the driver's seat or his face on the tractor.

Mum laughed at each one, immediately recognising his caricature, teasing me, as any good friend should when realising spring has sprung for me in more ways than one.

I tried faces on the grills, with lights as eyes, cabs with smiley faces. Regardless of combinations, Gary slipped into each doodle and remained at the forefront of my mind, each attempt causing little flutters in my heart. How could a short meeting cause such distractions?

The evening span by, until led in bed trying to sleep, wishing for morning to come. I couldn't sleep with my anticipation keeping me awake. Above all, despite my hermit-like lifestyle, it was exciting to have a man appear in my life after all this time. Gary was handsome and a man of mystery, with so many unanswered questions over his approach today.

I'm not sure how long I tossed and turned, but eventually, morning came. My body and mind were reluctant to start the new day, regardless of last night's excitement and anticipation. Lying in bed, I allowed my mind to run over everything I had considered last night once more until I motivated myself into getting up.

Working from home is a significant benefit for me. As per my normal routine, I drift from bedroom to kitchen, make some tea and toast, then crept to my home office (my brother's old bedroom), without waking my parents. My first order of the day is to tackle the largest and most demanding of my incomes.

I check my subscription pages and have contacts from an author and a journalist requesting work. I regularly work for this journalist, so I know what will fit his request for a cartoon caricature of a politician in the limelight. The author's work is more long term, so I request a manuscript of his work and a rough outline of the illustrations he would like.

I scan through various news channels and undertake some searches to see if I can glean any additional background information on the journalist's request for his article today. It takes a few trial sketches until I have several choices that I send to him, but I already have a good idea of which one he will consider.

I'm finished by mid-morning, so trot downstairs to have a coffee with mum. Although as we talked, I'm finding Gary creeping into my thoughts more. Mum noticing my eyes glaze over as my mind span ahead to lunch, already anticipating our conversation and the first question I wanted to answer.

After a coffee break with mum, I return to my computer to check through emails and reply to any fan mail of my cartoons or books. The author had responded with some outlining information so I trial sketch some imagery to return to him.

The journalist confirmed my assumption for his selection of my work. My satirical cartoon will be on the printing presses before lunch and will be online almost immediately.

Between emails and replies to fan mail on various websites, I found my mind wandering, following farming articles, or my pen doodling tractors, driven by handsome Gary'esk farmers.

Lunchtime arrived, and I skipped downstairs to join mum alone in the kitchen, with dad at work in Hereford. We made a salad for us, but I also excitedly made doorstep sized cheese sandwiches for Gary. Squeezing the thick slices into a snap top sandwich box, I dropped in some pickled onions and a bag of ready salted crisps.

Thankfully, at present I don't have any research commissions, so this afternoon, I'm free. After finishing lunch with mum, I tried to walk as casual as possible down the garden path carrying my sketchpad, with the sandwich box and a bottle of water.

I passed through the gate that separates our garden and the field. As I turned to latch it closed, I looked up to see mum smirking at me, seeing through my thinly veiled excitement.

My casual wander to the pond became a nervous, fast walk down the field. Rather than walking directly to my spot, as per usual, I skirt the edge of the field at first, then cut across furrows to the pond to reduce any damage to the wheat crop.

I'd set my smartwatch to ring an alarm at 2pm, about the time Gary first arrived, to save him from throwing any more stones. Today I elected to sit in a more elevated position that gave me a view between two tree trunks of the field's gate.

I tried to remain calm as the time ticked by, long after my alarm have vibrated on my wrist. After glancing at my watch for the hundredth time, my eyes returned to see the gate dwarfed by Gary's enormous house on wheels.

This time he had parked tight up to the other side of the gate. He stepped out of his cab and down onto the top of the gate to jump down. He too wandered around the edge of the field, taking the long way round towards me.