Kook

by Chris Vick

  “How about Old Faithful?” Rag said to Ned.

  “That’s what I was already thinking,” said Ned. They got busy in the messy heap of boards and suits at the scrappy end of the garage. The board they pulled out was about a foot taller than me, yellow, wide, thick with three fins at the back. It was fatter, older and more battered than any other board in the place. Covered in dents and patches of fibreglass, where it had been dinged, and fixed.

  I could feel the sting of being ripped off already, but Ned looked at it like it was a work of art, something he really cared about.

  “We used to keep it under the lifeguard hut at Gwynsand. Anyone could use it. It’s good for small, good for big, good for learning, with enough rocker to be forgiving, but flat enough to glide. A nice all-rounder. Don’t go pulling air though.”

  It sounded good, even though I had no idea what they were saying. But the look of the thing told me the truth. I felt heavy inside. They were going to flog me a board they had no hope of selling to anyone else and take me for every note in my pocket.

  All the same, I took it off them, felt the weight of it. It wasn’t light but lighter than I’d expected from its size. I looked it over, and generally tried to look like I had a fucking clue.

  “How much?” I said.

  “Depends. You want a suit too?”

  “Maybe.”

  Rag patted his gut. “Before I graduated to the school of longboard, when I was all slim and lovely, I had this Ripcurl summer suit …” He dug into the mountain again and came out with a greying suit, with loose stitching and a couple of holes in it.

  “Try it on.”

  Now I knew this was a joke, as well as a rip-off. I stripped to my pants and put the suit on. Pulling and panting I squeezed myself into it. It took a while. It fitted, a bit too much, and it stank. If me doing this was anything to do with impressing Jade, I was beginning to feel I might have made a mistake.

  “It’s a bit tight,” I said.

  “Needs to be.” Ned gave me the board to hold, and they stood back to admire their work.

  “He looks ready,” said Rag.

  “He does.”

  Again, I wondered what Jade would say. Maybe nothing, if she couldn’t get the words out for laughing. I put the board down, picked up my trousers and took out the notes. Rag couldn’t see how much was there, but he looked at the green and purple and licked his lips.

  “You won’t tell Jade, will you? She’ll take the piss. I’ll tell her myself like … once I’m all right at it. Anyway, how much?” I said, swallowing. Rag pulled his gaze from the cash and looked at me square, serious.

  “A hundred and fifty. And that includes the suit.”

  “Oh, um, well how much just for the board?”

  “Well…” He stroked his chin, considering the price… then cracked up. “I’m just messing. You think I’d sell you a suit I pissed in a thousand times?”

  Ned put a hand on my shoulder.

  “We’re giving you this stuff for free, but one day we may ask you a favour. Cool?”

  “Cool,” I agreed, straight off, without thinking.

  “I’ll ask you one more time,” said Rag. “You’re going to do this, Sam, for real?”

  “Yes.” And I meant it. A grin spread across their faces. They stood back, looking me up and down, admiring what they’d made.

  “You’re a surfer now, Sam,” said Rag. “One less of them…”

  “…One more of us,” said Ned.

  They did a comedy high-five.

  MUM’S FACE WAS a right picture when I turned up with the board and suit.

  There was a row. Course there was. But I was determined.

  “It’s not safe,” she said.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “Your father drowned at sea.”

  “Mum, we live by the sea. On the edge of the moor. The edge of nowhere. There’s nothing else to do…”

  Mum chewed her lip.

  “Look,” I said. “If he’d died in a car crash, would you stop me learning to drive?”

  “No.”

  “But you’d want me to be careful, right? I’ll be careful. Safe. I promise.”

  She gave in eventually, but only after I’d made a bunch of promises.

  Never alone. I had to be with people who knew what they were doing.

  Never when it was big or dangerous.

  No going off surfing when I should be doing homework or helping in the house.

  I reckon she thought I’d try it for a bit and then lose interest, as soon as I realised I wasn’t any good.

  I told Mum the night before I started that I was meeting some surfers who were giving me a lesson before school. So that was broken promise number one.

  I got up in the dark and sneaked downstairs. I’d laid it all out the night before: board, wetsuit, rash vest, towel, board wax, bananas and a flask of coffee for fuel. The whole thing had to run smooth. I had to be in the water super early, surf for an hour, race home, get changed and get to the bus stop in time. And then make it look to Jade like I’d just got up, before asking her if she’d been surfing. Just like every morning.

  There was a chance I’d run into her at the beach, and if I did, I’d fess up. But if I could, I’d keep it a secret till I’d at least had a good crack at it. If she was surfing, she’d most likely be on the reefs, so with a bit of luck, she wouldn’t see me.

  And what would she think if she did? What would she say? It was hard to guess.

  All this went through my head as I cycled with the wetsuit half on, up to my waist, and the board under my arm. The bike was old and only had three gears, so I stayed in the middle one as I couldn’t change. I was wobbling and rolling like a drunk man, and how I got to the beach without falling off I have no idea. Jade had made it look easy.

  I could still see stars in the western sky, but behind the moors the edges of the clouds were burning with light pinks and oranges. I hit the clifftop at Gwynsand, not even thirty minutes after I’d crawled out of bed. I felt like half of me was still there I was so groggy. I couldn’t see much of the water, and I couldn’t hear any waves. But Rag had given me the forecast, and like he had promised, there were lines of breaking white water bumping over a sand bar on the low tide. I dumped the bike and my bag and walked down to the beach and over the sand to the sea.

  There was one surfer already out there, a thin guy on a really long board. Seeing him gave me this sudden wake-up call. I felt stupid, a real pretender, like I’d been in a dream and just come round. What was I doing? Really? But there didn’t seem much sense in turning back. That would have felt even dumber.

  The sand was cold under my feet, but Rag had said the water would be warmer than the land. He was right, it was. I waded in, lifting the board over the tiny waves till I was chest deep. I climbed on, but even though the board was big, and even though it was calm beyond the shore break, the board rocked and slipped like a horse that didn’t want anyone riding it. Once I did get on, the paddling bit wasn’t too hard. It was only when I got out to where the surfer was and I tried to sit on it that it went back to being a horse-with-attitude. I stretched my legs wide and eventually got balance, but if I leant too far forward or back, the board dipped. I leant the other way when it did, but that started the board rocking, or for no reason I started leaning sideways, and I lost balance and fell in. Then I had to go through the hassle of climbing back on and doing the same thing all over again. Lots of times.

  The surfer just sat there, with his arms folded, watching. He looked a lot like Jesus but with long, dreadlocked hair and beard. A knackered Jesus, with brown leathery skin and watery eyes. He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t offer any help either. Eventually I got on and stayed on, and he turned away, and looked out to sea. I did the same, and in silence we watched as the last smudge of dark blue evaporated and night turned to day.

  When the waves came I had a go, but they kept running under me before they broke. So I paddled in a bit and waited for one that had al
ready broken. I gripped the end of the board and held on. The slippery horse was suddenly stable and solid, and I got on to one knee, then to my feet and stuck my arms out like a tightrope walker. I rode that wave for all of two seconds before its power fizzled out, and I fell sideways into shallow water.

  It was clumsy, awkward, and it lasted a moment. But my skin was on fire and I was grinning like I’d hit the jackpot. I’d stood up. On a surfboard. On a wave. I paddled back out.

  It was just a ride on white water. But it was totally unlike anything I’d ever done. Not like riding a bike, not like sledging. Carried along by water. Rushing energy. Filling me up.

  The surfer was grinning, ear to pierced ear.

  “’Ow was that, dude?” he said in a thick Cornish accent.

  “Awesome,” I replied.

  “Learning?”

  “Yeah, that was my first wave. Ever.”

  “It gets better. Stick with it. Good luck.” He leant forward, paddled his board, till he was smoothly riding on a bump of water that wasn’t even near breaking, and was gone.

  “Awesome,” I said, again, to myself. And waited to get another one.

  I did too, but I fell off quick, tumbling in the shallows.

  Then I got one that was a bit bigger, and lasted a bit longer. And after that I sat further out, waiting for the larger waves. The ‘larger’ ones being all of knee-to-thigh high. But even so, it was stupidly good fun. I loved it. I got another.

  Then another.

  And another.

  *

  For some reason I thought Jade would guess, like she’d smell the sea on me, or know my still-wet hair had been somewhere other than the shower. But she didn’t. She dropped her old army bag by the bus stop, leant against it and lit a rolly.

  “D’you go surfing this morning?” I asked. It was always a good opener. A way to get Jade talking.

  “Nah. Nothing going on. Not worth bothering with.”

  “Right. Course not…” I couldn’t help smiling. She raised an eyebrow, checking me out with a deep stare that made me feel uncomfortable and good at the same time.

  “Something funny?” she said.

  “No. No, not really.” I sniggered. Stupidly, childishly. In my head I was picturing what her face would be like if I was to say, “Actually the surf was okay. Small, but pretty good.” But I didn’t; I just laughed.

  She reached out a foot and pushed my leg with her boot. “What’s the joke then, Sam?”

  “No joke. I’m just… happy.”

  “Expecting a good mark for your physics homework?”

  I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the grains of sand still clinging to my scalp.

  “No. No, I haven’t done it yet. I was going to do it first thing, but… I didn’t have time.” I cracked up again.

  She blew a whoosh of blue smoke at me. Her eyes narrowed. I could almost hear her mind ticking away, trying to figure me out.

  “Why you so interested in me surfing anyway, Sam? You always ask.”

  I shrugged. “Just chatting.”

  “You still not going to have a go?” she said.

  “Maybe, one day.”

  “Maybe? One day? Really? One day might never come, Sam. No point in waiting.” She looked away, towards the sea. And I thought, She’s actually keen for me to do it. For all her acting cool, she was trying to persuade me.

  “What’s so good about it then?” I said. “Tell me.”

  “If I told you how good it was, you’d be doing it first chance you got.”

  “Try.”

  “Can’t. It’s one of those things that’s hard to put into words, like. You only know by doing it. If you don’t go, you won’t know. That’s what surfers always say. It’s true too.”

  I thought back to that morning. All that getting up and getting cold and knackering myself. All for those few seconds I’d spent standing on a wave, riding and gliding on water.

  I had gone; I did know.

  “Yeah, that’s probably right. Hard to put into words,” I said. “Like dancing about architecture.”

  Jade flicked her dead roll-up away. “What?” she said, frowning like I’d said something in Japanese.

  “This old singer Mum likes was once asked to describe his music, and he said talking about it was like trying to dance about architecture.”

  She took a deep breath, ready to make some piss-take comment. But she paused, thinking.

  “Right,” she said, nodding. “I get that. But you’ll never know, will you?”

  I grinned a bit more. I couldn’t help it.

  “It’s going to be a great day, isn’t it?” I pointed at the blue sky. She stared at me, wary.

  “You know, Sam, you’re not just a kook. You’re also weird.”

  UNLESS THE SEA was flat or totally messed up by wind, I went surfing. Every day, pretty much. Weekends were good. As long as I helped out with Teg, and spent time helping Grandma with shopping, it was cool for me to go. But I did most of my real learning on schooldays.

  I had the same routine: wake in the dark, bolt a sandwich I’d made the night before, neck coffee, cycle like mad, surf for an hour, race home, change, get to the bus stop. And then act with Jade like I’d crawled out from under the sheets two minutes before, which was a hard thing to do as I was always buzzing like a bee with the high of it, a high that didn’t leak out of my muscles till mid-morning, when I’d almost fall asleep in class.

  I got good at it – not surfing, that took time – but the whole routine. Whitesands was my choice surf spot; a half-moon of golden sand, backed by dunes and rocky hills. A cool beach, always, but in the light of dawn, with a mist on it and the sun coming up, it was something special. I was struggling to even remember London.

  Whitesands was near enough for me to get to, but far enough that I knew Jade and the others wouldn’t go there. There were better spots nearer to where we lived.

  Sometimes I’d get there and it wouldn’t be breaking, or low tide, so all the waves closed out, smashing straight on to the sand, with no chance of a ride. But I never turned around and went home. I’d sit on the huge, rounded rocks on the edge of the bay, watching the sea change, grey to blue. I’d get a little lost in my mind then, feeling kind of stoned, like round the campfire with Jade and the others, just looking at the sea, waiting for the waves to start breaking. Surf or no surf, I never got tired of the place.

  Most times though, it was working. Sometimes I’d spend the whole time paddling, being ripped around by vicious currents, or have a whole hour of fun just getting battered. I got held down a few times, but never for long. I tried that Jade trick of counting, but I never got to more than a few seconds before the wave let go and I could come back up. That day, when I’d rescued the dog, it had been worse than it looked. Or maybe I was just getting used to it now, and knew what to do. What I’d been afraid of to begin with began to be normal.

  Some days I got a total of two rides, other times I lost count. But whether it went good or bad, I got to understand how waves broke. Waves that were fat and friendly and slow, others that had a nasty, fast edge. Ankle-snappers and shoulder-high white-water mushburgers. And everything in between. Over the days, I spent less time under water, less time paddling and jostling, and more time riding. I mostly rode the white froth of broken waves. But it was surfing, and I was learning.

  *

  Mum was okay about it at first. Like I said, I reckoned she thought I’d lose interest.

  But then, after weeks, it became an almost daily thing. And even with me helping out in the house loads to make up for it, it got to the point where she was going to say something.

  I came in from school one day to see the table laid. We usually ate tea on our laps in front of the telly.

  “It’s your favourite,” she shouted, from the kitchen. I already knew it was, from the smell. Roast chicken. And that meant crunchy roast potatoes, peas and a dark, steaming gravy. My mouth was already watering.

  “Great,” I said. I threw my
self on the sofa, groaning, putting my feet on Teg’s lap. I did this every night, crashed out on the sofa, waiting for dinner like it was my first meal in months. That was how it was from the surfing. I was always hungry and always tired. I’d scoff dinner, then turn into a surfed-out zombie till I melted into my bed, seeing the waves in my head, mind surfing them all over again. Wondering what it would be like the next day.

  When Mum brought tea in, it was a massive effort just to get up off the sofa.

  We sat down, and ate in silence for a bit.

  “It’s not going anywhere,” said Mum. “No one’s going to steal it.”

  I paused, with my mouth full.

  “Huh?”

  “You’re wolfing it down, Sam. You’ll enjoy it more if you eat it slowly?”

  I stared at my plate. Almost empty. Mum and Teg had hardly started theirs.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry.”

  “Make you hungry does it, this surfing?” she said.

  “Yeah, loads.” I tucked in again. It took me a second or two to realise they were both staring at me, still not eating. I felt a bit awkward. I slowed right down.

  “Will you play Lego Star Wars after dinner?” said Tegan. Teg was only six but she was dead good at this Xbox game. She loved me playing it with her too.

  “I’m a bit tired to be honest, Tegs.”

  “Oh,” she said, pushing a potato round her plate. Mum glared at me.

  I carried on eating. Mum put her knife and fork down.

  “You must really love this surfing, if it makes you too tired to spend time with your sister. Sam … you’re always tired. And when you’re not surfing, you’re not really… here. Like your head is somewhere else.”

  “I’ve been helping out,” I said. “Shopping, gardening and that.”

  “Yeah, but you’re in another world. You barely talk to us.”