The Last Wave

by Gillian Best

  I nodded and wondered why my father was not administering hot drinks to me.

  ‘I’m Jim,’ he said, holding out his hand.

  I shook it, unsure of why the circumstances required such formalities.

  ‘Sit closer to the fire,’ he said. ‘You’re freezing.’

  I did as I was told.

  He stared at me and I didn’t understand why, it felt as though he was looking through me for something or someone else. He was soaked through, his shirt clung to his thin frame and his trousers were drooping from the weight of the water. His skin was white like the chicken we ate for every Sunday lunch but it had an unusual quality to it that made him appear see-through. Had he been shirtless, I would have been able to see his heart beating.

  I turned away, hoping to catch sight of my father, but there was no sign of him, the place was eerily quiet and still, with just me and my rescuer.

  ‘My father?’ I said through chattering teeth.

  ‘He’s just out back,’ he said, and motioned for me to drink.

  The blanket that covered my legs slid onto the floor and Jim reached down quickly to replace it. He smoothed it over my legs and looked up at me as he crouched at my feet. He wasn’t that old, Jim, probably only eighteen, and I felt that he now took a personal responsibility for me. As we looked at one another I thought that even though he wasn’t handsome he seemed sweet and kind.

  He stood up after a moment or two. ‘Will I go and find your father?’

  I nodded and off he went leaving me in the clubhouse all by myself. I had never been in there when it was empty, and the things I normally found interesting and comforting took on a sinister tone. Especially since I knew it was a warm summer’s day outside while I was huddled up inside as if it were the middle of February. The floorboards creaked toward the back, startling me, and the shadows cast by the flickering flames moved unevenly.

  I tried to keep my wits about me but I couldn’t and bolted towards the back door where I thought my father might be and even if he wasn’t then I would at least be in the daylight again. I was about to push the door to the back garden open when I heard voices through the open window. I paused and listened. There was my father’s voice, but what kept me from going out there was that I heard him crying. I hadn’t considered that my father would ever cry or that there might be anything in the world awful enough to upset him so.

  Concealed by the shadow cast by the thick windowsill, I listened to him cry. His shoulders did not move as I imagined they might have if he were truly sobbing, but his expression in profile was as heartbroken as any I had ever seen, which included the mourners at a great aunt’s funeral the year before. I looked on for as long as I dared before retreating back to my spot in front of the fire. The shame I thought my father would feel if he had been seen in such a state I knew was the sort of thing that he would never overcome, and to be the person who caught him in the act would be unforgivable.

  I settled in again and cupped my drink which had gone cold as I propped my feet up as close as I could get them to the fire. I kept my back to them outside. The thought of any of them even suspecting I had seen anything was awful, but the thought that I was the cause of all this misery was too much to bear.

  A while later, the interior of the club had taken on a cosy afternoon feeling that reminded me of winter days curled up on the sofa in a tangle of blankets, I let my head drop to one side a bit so I could scrunch down in the chair more and there was an echo in my ear. I stuck my baby finger in my ear and tried to dislodge whatever was stuck in there.

  ‘Won’t work,’ Jim said.

  I must have jumped because his voice startled me, torpedoing through the still air.

  ‘Tilt your head to one side and hop up and down.’ He demonstrated but I didn’t move. I was convinced he was winding me up.

  ‘Try it, you’ll see.’

  I shook my head half-heartedly with no result.

  ‘Harder,’ he said.

  I followed his instructions, certain that it couldn’t possibly work and then, suddenly, there was a feeling of pressure being released where I had never felt anything before, followed by a slow trickle of water that made me shiver. I jammed my finger back in my ear.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Damages the ear drum.’

  I wiped my finger on my leg and looked past him. ‘Where’s –’

  He turned to his right, back toward the garden and there was my father. I wanted to run to him and wrap my arms around his waist, holding on as tightly as possible so that he would know I was fine, but I sensed that sort of behaviour – from anyone – was not encouraged.

  ‘Come on, Martha,’ he said, putting his arm around my shoulder and guiding me up. ‘Your mother will be waiting.’

  I leaned into his body, pressing my side into his and we walked out into the afternoon sun. We walked slowly, dreading having to retell the tale to my mother who would surely punish both of us in unknown and unexpected ways. I hoped that he might offer some words of advice on how we might best deal with the situation, but our walk home was a quiet one and I enjoyed it.

  My hair was nearly dry by the time we arrived back at the house though my clothes were not, I looked like I had got caught in a sharp shower and since my father was dry as a bone there would be no explaining away my appearance based on the weather.

  We walked in the front door and heard the radio on, my mother humming along from her spot on the sofa in the lounge. Humming was a promising sign.

  I followed my father as he headed towards the lounge but just before we crossed the threshold he stopped abruptly.

  ‘You must be cold, why don’t you go upstairs and change?’ he said in a way that was both tender and inaudible to my mother.

  I crept up the stairs to my room and put on a fresh dress, choosing one that my mother preferred which I would normally have to have been cajoled into wearing, covered as it was in frills and other abominations. Once I was dressed I headed back to the staircase but I didn’t go downstairs. I had not been summoned to present myself and explain what had happened and it occurred to me that I might be better off if I waited until I was forced to give my version of the events. I strained to hear what was going on in the lounge. Their voices weren’t loud enough to reach me, which I took as a good sign, if there had been shouting it would have been loud and clear.

  After listening for a while and hearing nothing, I retreated to my room and lay on my bed to replay what had happened. What caught my imagination was not picturing my own death and funeral and how distraught everyone I cared for would be; what kept my mind busy until dinner that day was the sea. I kept thinking about the moments just before Jim rescued me when I saw the water as something magical. I was surprised that I didn’t break out in a cold sweat when I thought about it.

  Dinner passed quietly and there was no mention from either of my parents about the incident, which I took to mean that my father had not mentioned it. Though I didn’t know his exact motivations and could only guess that he simply did not want to get into a row with my mother, the unexpected consequence of this was that my father and I now had a secret. My father and me and the sea. I was a part of his world, of his group of friends that my mother did not know and had no interest in knowing. The possibilities of this new development were equally exciting.

  The next morning there was a knock at the front door. My mother had gone out to the shops and my father was in the back garden where he wasn’t gardening as such, though that’s what we called it, rather he was sitting with his back to the house, staring out into the distance, so I opened the door.

  Jim smiled broadly. ‘Managed to keep out of harm’s way so far?’

  I was barely able to contain myself. ‘Dad’s out back,’ I said.

  ‘Good. There’s something I wanted to talk with you about.’

  I took a step back. People did not come to call on me in general and certainly not my father’s friends, but here he was. Maybe he wanted nothing more than to make sure I was alrig
ht but there was a hint, a gleam in his eye.

  Jim crouched down so he was eye level with me.

  ‘About yesterday.’

  My body tensed, fearing a lecture about health and safety and how I ought not do things that caused my father so much worry and pain. Jim’s face was deadly serious.

  ‘You can’t swim, can you?’

  This seemed an obvious question.

  ‘Would you like to learn?’

  I nodded vigorously. ‘Dad’s in the garden,’ I said.

  ‘We’ll go and tell him then, will we?’

  ‘Tell him what?’

  ‘That I’m going to teach you to swim.’

  That this was a good idea and that I was interested was not what confused me, what I could not quite understand was what had motivated him to appear, now, at our front door. Had my father phoned him last night and asked him to teach me? And if so, why had he not thought to mention it.

  ‘You’ve got a cossie?’

  I nodded my head yes. Though I had not wanted it when my mother forced it upon me, I was glad of it now.

  ‘Go and get it then,’ Jim said, before he stepped around me and inside the foyer. He did not move toward the back garden as I had expected him to. I left him standing there and went upstairs to rummage through my wardrobe, searching through the box with my summer things that had not been set out for use yet.

  When I returned to the ground floor of the house, I expected that Jim would have gone outside to see my father but he was exactly where I had left him. I held my costume up for him to see in the same way I had seen them hold up the big fish they caught.

  He smiled and then finally walked out to the garden, which was a relief because I knew full well I could not have just left the house with this man without telling anyone where I was going. Jim paused at the back door and looked through the window at my father who was sitting on the ground a few feet from the house. I looked up at Jim, at his thin cheeks and his eyes, which were blue but had the same thinness in their colour that his skin did. It was the same starved quality the sunlight had in the depths of winter. His jaw twitched and his expression was one I had not seen before, all the feeling of it seemed wrapped up in his eyes and he looked as though he was staring at the same thing as my father, something off in the distance of their memories, undetectable.

  ‘Richard,’ he said quietly.

  My father’s shoulders tensed briefly and I heard a short, sharp intake of breath before he turned in our direction.

  ‘Jim,’ he replied.

  They looked at each other and a private recognition passed between them.

  ‘Swimming lessons for this one I think,’ Jim said.

  ‘That’s a good idea.’

  ‘Take her off your hands for a couple of hours.’

  ‘Exercise will do her good.’

  ‘I’ll teach her the basics, what she needs to know about the sea.’ He put his arm around my shoulders and I leaned into him as though he were an uncle I had known all my life.

  ‘Good,’ my father said, turning back to look at whatever it was that required his intense focus.

  Jim took the hint and we retreated into the house.

  ‘Get a towel and a jumper for afterwards,’ he said.

  As we walked down to the harbour and the pier, I did my best to keep up with him but he was much faster than my father.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to move fast, work at it. The hardest thing is getting used to the cold, but you will get used to it.’

  That sounded like an order.

  ‘Breathing is key. Even breaths, that’s the secret. Inhale for as long as you exhale. At first, it’ll feel like the water is pushing down on your chest, forcing the air out of your lungs. Don’t fight it. Learn to understand it.’

  I didn’t understand what he meant. I could only remember the feeling of the sea closing in on me and as I remembered it, and the water came into view, my breathing sped up.

  ‘The currents aren’t bad here but we’ll get to them later. Another day.’

  I nodded and tripped over the toes of my shoes, which was a common enough occurrence that I hardly noticed, but Jim’s hand shot out and grabbed my arm, holding me up. It was firm, and I knew he was in charge. He could be counted on.

  We walked across the copper-coloured pebbles on the beach and I wished we had gone somewhere else that was less crowded and more concealed. The harbour was in full view of everyone and the nearer we got to the water’s edge the more self-conscious I became. Wondering what people thought about me was not something I generally cared about, but I thought I might be recognised from yesterday’s accident and was convinced I could feel the weight of disapproval for my return.

  ‘Right,’ Jim said, taking his shirt off and folding it neatly on the ground.

  He stood there, looking at me expectantly.

  ‘You went in yesterday with your clothes on and you can do the same again today if you like, but it’s much easier in your bathing costume.’ He slipped his trousers down and stood there, gleaming in the sun, hands on his hips, waiting.

  I removed my clothes and we stood side by side facing the water. I felt as if everyone else was staring at us. Dover was a small town and people talked. What would they think? And what would my mother think when word got back to her that I had been to the seaside with a strange man?

  He waded in and I watched. He didn’t react at all to the drop in temperature. He continued to walk until he was waist deep at which point he turned around and motioned for me to follow. I went to the edge and it was difficult walking on the pebbles in bare feet, they moved and some were sharp, having not been worn smooth by the sea. I felt his eyes on me and I had the suspicion that I was letting him down, so I straightened my posture and tried to look confident. I got two steps in and stopped.

  The cold burned. It felt colder than it had yesterday and my instinct was to turn and run. But I didn’t want Jim to think I wasn’t up to the task.

  The ripples lapped gently around my knees and then my thighs and the deeper I went the colder it got until I could no longer feel my feet. The familiar sensation had gone and in its place was something strange: my feet moved as they always had done but, though I knew what was happening, I felt disconnected from them. When the water was up to my waist I stood still though Jim was several feet away.

  He moved nearer and said, ‘Put your head under.’

  I didn’t do any such thing. There was no way that I could summon the courage to do that.

  He dunked his head under quickly and came back up with a look of shock on his face. This was crazy.

  ‘The longer you wait, the worse it’s going to be. You can’t let your mind talk you out of it. Don’t think, act. You’re retraining your muscles, starting with your brain. You’re learning to act differently.’

  The only thing that kept me from putting my head under was the cold and I reasoned with myself that I had done it yesterday, although by accident, and therefore I could do it again today. I took a deep breath and plunged my head under.

  When I surfaced Jim smiled proudly. ‘See?’ he said. ‘Not that bad at all.’

  I got used to the sea in the same way one might get used to a new friend or a puppy. I began to learn what I could expect from the water, what it tasted like – which I did not care for much – and how it moved. It was too cold to stay in for long, but it was enough for me to be captivated.

  Once we were back on dry land and had changed into dry clothes he turned to me and said, ‘Martha, every morning I’ll be here. If you’d like to come swimming again.’

  He folded his swimming trunks up in his towel.

  ‘It would make your father feel better, knowing you can swim. Do you understand?’

  I nodded, picturing his face yesterday as he cried in front of his friends.

  ‘So, will I see you tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  I walked home by myself and the sun dried my hair and the salt formed a thin crust on m
y skin that tickled whenever the breeze blew. The nearer I got, the more frequently I turned to look back at the sea because in the course of two days it had changed into something completely different than what I’d thought it had always been. Before it was just something that was there, a part of the town. But all that had changed.

  I stood at the top of the road looking through the hazy light as the sea flowed out to the horizon where it didn’t stop, moving past that line and it seemed as though it would go on forever, flooding over the edge. I wanted to know exactly how far it could be followed and where it would lead. I felt surrounded by water in that moment and I physically felt that England was an island, with the sea every which way I turned.

  When I arrived home my mother was stirring something in the kitchen, her hair wrapped in a scarf, and she was singing along with the radio. The smell of what would be our dinner filled the house. The usual: grease, with a hint of meat and potatoes.

  I startled her as I opened the breadbox because she gasped and turned around, nearly knocking the pot off the stove.

  ‘What have I told you about sneaking up on people?’

  This was a common accusation and I knew better than to reply. I reached for the bread knife and she frowned.

  ‘You’re eating us out of house and home,’ she said.

  I cut the slice thinner than I would have liked but was generous in my application of butter.

  ‘Your father said you went swimming,’ she said. It was a question and a statement and an accusation all in one, which was a speciality of hers.

  I nodded and took a bite, chewing slowly to make the small snack last longer.

  ‘You’re not to go again,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t want you spending time with a stranger.’

  ‘He’s one of Dad’s friends.’

  She turned to me and put her hands on her hips. ‘You’re not a little girl anymore, Martha.’

  I would be eleven in a few months but didn’t see what any of that had to do with it.

  ‘It’s inappropriate. I don’t want you going down to the harbour anymore.’

  I took what was left of my snack and went off in search of my father who would – I hoped – help me convince her that my learning to swim was a good idea. The list of things my mother found inappropriate grew with each passing day and seemed to include everything that I might possibly enjoy. The corresponding list of correct things to do included such delights as going to church, helping the aged and reading books about cooking and good household management.