The Last Wave

by Gillian Best

  ‘Granddad,’ I said. ‘Is there anything you want me to tell her when I see her?’

  He looked at me and I knew he was in between times, searching for the right place to steady himself, trying to make connections with the past and present. I took his hand and placed a pebble I’d taken from the beach in his palm. ‘Here,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell her you came to see.’

  ‘To see the sea,’ he repeated.

  ‘To see her in the sea,’ I said.

  I squeezed his hand shut and gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then I hugged Iris who was tearing up.

  Harriet wrapped her arms around me next and held me for ages, until I struggled to get out of her embrace. ‘You know how proud we are of you, don’t you?’ she whispered. She let me go and I saw that she’d got grease on her cheek from holding me so tightly. I reached out to wipe it away but she stopped me.

  ‘I don’t mind the smell as much as I used to,’ she said.

  I smiled at her and gave Henry a fast hug before slipping into the water.

  I sprinted to shore and once I had walked ten metres from the water I turned around and waved my arms. Henry waved back and I knew that my swim had started. Slowly, I walked toward the sea and wondered what my grandmother had thought about when she’d done this very same thing. Had she thought about my grandfather, my mum, my uncle, or the water?

  When my feet were covered in the foamy surf, I paused to take one more look. The Channel was beautiful. The sun was a warm blip on the horizon, filling the sky with pink and purple hues. The water reflected those colours and dampened them slightly, it would take more than a hint of light to warm even the surface of the water. A shiver went through my body. Standing there, wet and exposed to the air, was cooling me down already. I didn’t have time to dawdle. I licked the inside of my goggles and pulled my cap down over my ears. And then I started moving quickly, running into the waves until it was deep enough for me to dive forward and swim.

  My body felt good. The extra weight made me a bit more buoyant and that was helpful. My skin felt slick and as I moved through the water I felt close to my grandmother and wished that she could have been here with me.

  The water burned and made me feel stiff, and I knew from my training that once I’d worked up enough sweat my muscles and joints would ease up and it would be a bit easier. My instinct was still to sprint, and after maybe half an hour when I turned to breathe, I saw Henry waving his arms at me.

  I trod water nearer the boat so I could hear what he was saying.

  ‘Too fast. Slow down.’

  I shook my head. ‘I have to get warmed up.’

  ‘Charlie says you’re going to run out of steam. You need to pace yourself.’

  I nodded and when I was horizontal in the water again I ignored him. I was losing the feeling in my hands and feet, and I knew the only way to keep going was to move faster. People had completed the swim in as little as six hours and though I knew I couldn’t go at full-on sprint speeds for that long, I was confident I could keep a faster pace than Charlie had planned for me. He had a lot of experience, but he couldn’t swim. He would never know what this felt like first hand. It was contrary to what we’d agreed, but I knew my body and knew that I needed to kick myself into high gear to warm up.

  I kicked harder, pulled faster and thought I was warming myself up. My hands and feet stung from the cold, a strange sensation that felt like burning, but I pushed that out of my mind. I thought about my grandma, my grandfather, and getting to France.

  At the two-hour point, Charlie slowed the boat and I trod water, waiting for the feeding pole. John stood next to Henry as he leaned over the edge, trying to get the cup of broth close enough for me to grab hold of.

  The change in direction, going from horizontal to vertical made me dizzy and it was difficult to focus on the boat and the cup. I took my goggles off and rubbed my eyes.

  ‘Myrtle,’ Henry called.

  I looked up at him, eight feet away. Iris waved but I didn’t wave back. The water was still calm and the sun had come up over the horizon. I smelled the petrol from the boat and felt queasy.

  ‘What’s your home address?’ Iris shouted through cupped hands.

  ‘London,’ I replied.

  ‘Charlie wants you to give the full address, sweetheart,’ she said.

  ‘Flat four, Pott Street,’ I said. It was tricky to say the words right because my mouth was swollen from the salt.

  I saw Iris look at Henry. The currents were making it hard to keep myself steady.

  ‘What are your grandparents’ names?’ Henry shouted.

  ‘Martha and John.’

  ‘Surname?’

  ‘Roberts,’ I said.

  I looked away from the boat, out to the open water and wished I hadn’t stopped. The loss of momentum made me realise how tired I was. They probably had more questions for me, but I needed to keep moving, so I put my goggles back on, flipped to my stomach and started to swim. Before I’d felt like a seal, like my body was gliding through the water, but now I felt like I was swimming through mud.

  Turning my head to breathe, I saw them all standing on the side of the boat waving at me. I ignored them and kept swimming until I heard the boat’s horn toot. Charlie wanted a word and I knew I would have to stop. So I got myself upright in the water and waited for them to tell me whatever it was they needed to.

  ‘Myrtle,’ Charlie shouted.

  My head was barely above the water, doing egg-beater kick was hard and I could feel myself losing heat.

  ‘Come closer,’ he said.

  I pulled myself a few strokes closer to the boat.

  ‘How do you feel?’ he demanded.

  ‘Tired, I want to keep going.’ My words must have sounded funny because I tripped over my tongue.

  All of a sudden, my legs gave out and I bobbed underwater. Skulling with my arms I came back up, coughing. Though my goggles were fogging up, I could still see everyone on the boat rushing around in some kind of a panic. I shook my head and assumed it was something to do with Granddad. They looked busy and I didn’t want to waste any more energy treading water, so I started to swim again. A lazy freestyle, but at least I was moving.

  I thought I had hit a wall and that I needed to just push through it. I counted off my strokes: one, two, three, breathe. When I turned my head to the left, I saw the boat. My grandfather, in his bright orange life vest wasn’t where he ought to have been. I kept kicking, holding one arm out front – a drill we did a lot at practice – so I could look for him, but I couldn’t see him. Everyone else seemed to be freaking out and I worried – what if something had happened to him?

  I saw Henry waving his arms frantically at me, so I moved a bit closer. The wind was picking up and whipping the surface water into froth. I tried to tread water again, as I scanned the deck for Granddad, but it was harder than it should have been and that’s when I knew something was wrong. I felt my body slipping under the water and when I kicked my legs, they didn’t move the way I wanted them to, which made it hard to get above water.

  Somewhere in front of me, I heard or maybe felt, a splash. I made the effort to push my head up with my arms and I caught a breath but as I was inhaling, I took in a mouthful of water that I spat and coughed out.

  All I saw was the bright orange of my grandfather’s life vest. But that was weird because why would he be in the water? He’d never learned how to swim.

  ‘Martha!’ I heard him shout.

  ‘Granddad,’ I said, water rushing up my nose and into my mouth. ‘Get on the boat!’

  I didn’t know what was happening on Charlie’s boat, but if Granddad was in the water then everything was going wrong. The orange vest came closer. I tried to kick hard, even just twice, so I could get my head up and a lungful of air, but my legs weren’t working. I couldn’t feel my feet they were so cold, and the skin on my legs was pale instead of red.

  I slipped under again but managed to draw myself up in time to see Harriet jump off the edge of th
e boat.

  ‘Hang in there, sweetie!’ Iris shouted. ‘Harry’s coming to get you!’

  I knew I was in trouble and even though I wanted to try to keep going I knew I couldn’t. I tried to move in the direction of the boat but I didn’t have the energy.

  I went underwater and it was funny how calm and quiet it was. Just me and the deep, dark sea.

  I felt something scraping against my shoulder, then it got brighter and then my head was above water. My grandfather in his lifejacket, suit and shoes, was grabbing for me, dogpaddling, clawing his way through the water.

  ‘Martha,’ he cried out. ‘I’m here. I’m right here.’

  ‘Myrtle,’ I said. ‘I’m Myrtle.’

  ‘It’s alright, my love. I’m here now. I’m here with you,’ he said.

  Acknowledgements

  There are a great many people in my life to whom I owe a debt of gratitude, and it would be impossible to list them all here. But there are some who must be named, in no particular order: my first readers, Kimmy, Ursula, Richard, Ailsa, Helen, Derek, Jena, Silvana, Liz, Frase, and Ann. Antanas Sileika, a tremendous writer and mentor. Team PhD and the Bankhouse Massive for unwavering support and belief. Neil and Kes, for encouragement and a home away from home. The York U Crew who somehow, some 20-odd years later, will still drink with me, especially Drew and Glaze. My Bristol girls, Kate and Helen. And to anyone else not mentioned by name who stood me a round, bought me dinner, put me in a taxi and generally helped me keep my shit together over the years. Though we may not have lived in the same city while I wrote this book, believe me, your support helped me put these words down.

  And finally a massive big thank you to the good folk at Freight, who have made my dreams come true.