by Chris Vick
“Now we got World War Three,” said Skip. “What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?” he said, over and over, with his hands on the side of his head. He was almost crying. Rag took the broken guitar off G. He kept looking at the guitar and at G, and back again.
“You broke it, G,” he said, like he couldn’t believe it.
Big G was calm. Still as a mountain.
And Jade?
“Well, that was intense,” she said, smoothly, folding her arms. She looked like a cat that had been given a massive bowl of cream.
I stood on the outside of the gang. I looked at Jade.
And I wondered who she was.
I SHOULD HAVE walked away. Right there, right then. I hadn’t told Jade or any of them about the Horns yet. And I didn’t have to. I could have walked away, before I got too involved.
But Rag’s brother Ned rang and offered us a lift to a good spot on the south coast. The timing was perfect. It wouldn’t have been smart to hang around in town. Just in case anyone had reported what they’d seen to the police.
“You in?” said Rag.
“Sure,” I said, “why not.”
I should have walked away.
I went surfing.
*
Ned came to get us in his battered pick-up: a white, ancient wreck, streaked with rust and coughing fumes. Then we drove around everyone’s houses, picking up kit.
Ned and his girlfriend, Sue, sat in the cabin, dry and warm, with all of us scrunched up in the open back of the pick-up, with boards and suits and towels. When it started raining, we used the boards as shelter. Compared to the sunshine of the first few weeks in Cornwall, it felt like autumn was coming proper. November was a couple of days away. The sky and water had gone a sudden, serious grey. The wind was harsh. My old summer suit wasn’t really right any more, not on a cold day, but they helped me out with a thermal rash vest and boots.
When we hit the coast we got off the road and drove down a track through a muddy field of cabbages to get to the cliff. On one side of the bay was a grim, tall cliff, keeping the wind off, and on the other side a long headland, sloping into the water.
There were at least twenty surfers in the water, some right up against the headland, looking for the bigger waves peeling off the rock there, others tucked in behind the cliff, picking off smaller surf.
There was no beach, no path. Getting in the water meant climbing down over the slippery rocks, carrying boards. I watched where the others put their feet, how they balanced their boards. It took a lot of focusing not to fall over.
At the water’s edge there was one long boulder, which they used as a jump-off point. It was only big enough for two surfers at a time, so they took it in turns, waiting for gaps in the sets, then jumping into the grey water and paddling like crazy so the head-high waves wouldn’t smack them back on to the rocks.
I thought I’d go with Jade, but she was first in. Then Ned and Sue, then Skip and Rag. It was Big G who stayed back, standing next to me.
“You just started, right?” he said, as we watched Rag and Skip steaming into the water.
“Yeah.”
“But you’re okay with this?”
“Yeah,” I said.
A surfer took a wave right next to the headland, mis-timed it, and got slammed. I watched him getting churned over, the wave carrying him like a piece of driftwood towards the rocks. He came up after a few seconds, a look of wild fear on his face, and paddled out before another big wave came, just making it over the crest. He was fine. Just. Big G had a sick grin on his face, like he was thinking, Let’s see how you handle this. Without any kind of sign he was about to do it, he threw himself off the rocks, into the water.
I knew better than to wait. I jumped too.
Like G, I got straight on my board and gave it all I had. I even kept up with him. But then, right in front of us, was a wall of water. It came out of nowhere. He took a breath, leant forward on his board, pushed the nose of his board down, into the water, and dived. My board was too big for me to do a duck dive, so I pushed it down as hard as I could, and braced myself. The wave broke, sending an avalanche of white froth down on me. It took me back a few feet but I was soon back at it, using my new muscles to get the board forward, fast as I could. G looked surprised. Maybe surprised I wasn’t a bloody stain on the reef.
He followed the guys in our gang, over to the headland. I joined a small huddle of girls and some groms like me in the calmer part of the bay, under the cliff. Sue was there too, on a long board. I’d done so much surfing by myself, it was weird having to keep an eye out all the time, for who was going when a wave came, for who was already on one I wanted to get. There were clearly rules when there were loads of surfers in the water. I just didn’t know what they were.
I surfed okay, picking up the smaller late breakers the pack didn’t bother with, getting on the shoulder of waves that had already broken, or where a surfer had already come off.
In between rides, I had time to watch the others. I swear, even if you didn’t know them, you could tell a lot about them just from how they surfed: Rag, making easy-going swoops on his longer board; Skip, full of energy, tucking in to the power pocket on every ride. And – of course – Jade and G in the heart of it, jostling into waves that weren’t always theirs to take, paddling round older surfers and into the take-off point so they could claim it was theirs. And getting away with it. Because they were good. Really good.
G and Jade. Ripping it up, making impossible moves, up, down, into the air… right into the air… flying, turning, grabbing a rail, crouching, riding back into the juice.
It looked impossible.
I wondered if I’d ever surf like that.
Shit, I was jealous.
They were in the pack, a good fifty metres away. From where I was near the cliff, I could watch them take off and surf almost to where I sat with the other groms. They’d kick off the back of the wave before they got to us, then paddle back out, around and back into the line up. It wasn’t like the beach break I was used to surfing. The waves here broke mechanically, in the same spot, peeling down the reef in the same way each time. Like clockwork. It was easy for the surfers to know where they were going to break, and – apart from the get-in point – easy to avoid other surfers, as they could paddle round them. There was none of the relentless paddling through white water you got on a big day on a beach break.
Big G took one wave that had marched out of the ocean from a long way off. When he paddled out quick to get in the right place, no one else bothered to even try. It was moving super fast, but he caught it easy. It had enough power in it to make a long green wall, right across the bay. A skate ramp for him to play on. He rode it in S shapes, up the wave, turning, coming back, then turning again when he hit the breaking part. He was headed straight for me, but then he twisted hard, the fins missing my leg by inches, spraying water in my face. He landed with his chest on his board – a neat trick – and paddled out.
I felt like a dog had run up and slashed on me. And what he’d done looked deliberate. I paddled after him.
“Hey!” I shouted.
“Yeah?”
“What was that about?”
“Surfing,” he said. I was up for asking him what his problem was, but then he pulled up and sat on his board. A green wall was rising up over the reef. It hadn’t broken near the headland, so no one was on it. He turned round, and went for it. His way of saying our little chat was over.
I could have paddled over it and let him get on with it. But I was pissed off. I decided I was going. I sat up, turned around, dug my hands into the water and went at it. It was nuts: he was a surfer; I wasn’t. But I had the bigger board and thought I might just get on it before he did. And if I did, I reckoned it was mine.
I lost sight of him. I paddled, getting into it as the surge picked me up, then I made two big strokes, and the wave took me. I popped up, landed my feet, turned and rode straight into a nice, steep wall of green.
“
Hey!” G said, from behind me. I was on the wave. And laughing inside. I’d left him in the foam.
“Hey,” he shouted again. But this time, his voice was right behind me.
He’d got the wave too and was shooting straight at me. I had a second to think, Oh shit, before I felt a heavy thud in my back. I was thrown from the board. The world went dark.
I went under, churning over and over. But not just getting battered by water. Big G was right there with me. His knees or foot or elbow went deep in my ribs, my board hit my head and my back hit the bottom of the reef. Hard. It was like being in the usual washing machine, but this time with bricks in it. There was nothing to do but hold on and take the pasting.
After a few seconds, we separated and I came up. The sea and sky were spinning round. I was a little numb, and sore, but I was in one piece and nothing hurt too bad. There was no blood in the water. Big G was already paddling off. I did a quick check on the board. By some miracle it hadn’t been dinged. Then I went after him.
Jade was cruising down a wave, heading right at me. She threw herself off it, then got back on her board. I ignored her. I was set on getting after Big G. I paddled and paddled, but I was in slo-mo, going nowhere. It took me a few seconds to suss Jade had a hold on my leash and I was flapping in the water like a fish in a net.
“Let go. Did you see—” I started.
“You dick. What you playing at?”
“What am I playing at?”
She shook her head and went after Big G, leaving me catching my breath, and wondering what the fuck had just happened.
It was only when I was back in the little gang with the other groms and someone said “bad drop in” that I figured I’d done something wrong. There were a lot of embarrassed looks, a few shaking heads.
Surfing alone and surfing in this maze were clearly two different things. I didn’t like G much right then, and I still wanted to ask him what his problem was. But for some reason, I’d been in the wrong – not Big G, me – and I reckoned I’d look even more stupid if I pushed it further.
“Don’t feel bad, man,” said Skip paddling over to me. “Let me tell you the rules.” He told me about who had rights on any one wave, depending on how it was breaking and where the surfer put themselves. I listened. I forced myself to listen.
“Okay, okay, I get it. They didn’t say anything about this yesterday when we were training.”
“What kind of training?” said Skip.
I told him about Whitesands, about the jumping. His eyes gaped open with horror.
“You did… what?”
“It was no biggy; it was fun. Everyone does it, don’t they? You’ve done it, right?”
“No! There was a kid from Truro tombstoned it three years back. He smashed his spine. He still can’t walk properly. And, if you hold your breath that long you can pass out… and drown.”
“Jade and G do it all the time.”
He shook his head. “Be careful. They’re both mates, I don’t want to slag them off, but they’ll get you in more shit than you can imagine, trust me. And…” He looked away, noticing something on the shore. “Who’s that?” he said, pointing to the rocks, where we’d got in.
A surfer had got out of the water and was standing on the rocks, waving at us. He did a thumbs up.
“Dunno,” I said. We did the same, just not to be rude I guess. When he saw our thumbs up, he put his hand to his throat and drew it across like it was a knife. Ice ran through me.
“What’s that about?” I said. “Something to do with me?”
Skip shook his head. “Doubt it. It was G you pissed off. No one else. Weird.” We kept watching the guy, but he didn’t look at us again. He climbed up to the cliff and disappeared.
We surfed another half hour. The tide dropped, leaving the waves closing on to a pebble beach. At least it would be easy to get out, I thought. At the end, our gang were the only ones in the water. After ten minutes of no waves, and under a sky that was getting dark, we made our way in and back to the van.
I was last, with Skip. Ahead of us I could see Ned stamping around. And the others – Jade, Rag, Big G, Sue – all stood around the van in a half-circle, with their heads down.
“Great. Just really great,” Ned shouted. They were staring at a very flat tyre.
“You got a spare?” said Skip.
“Yeah, Skip, I got a spare,” said Ned, sounding narked, “but I ain’t got two!”
Someone had slashed both the front tyres, leaving us stranded, a quarter mile from the main road.
Me and Skip looked at each other. We had the same thought. The guy who had drawn his hand across his throat. But neither of us said anything.
“It’s because of earlier, isn’t it?” said Big G. Skip rolled his eyes. Jade shot him a look. Rag grabbed his bag out of the back of the truck and walked off to get changed.
“What happened?” said Ned. No one answered. “Rag?”
Rag was busy with his towel and bag of clothes. “Not my bad,” he said.
“Rag, what happened?” said Ned.
“Ask Big G.”
“I’m asking you.”
Jade stepped in before Ned got to Rag, folding her arms and looking at Ned, pretty much as she’d looked at her dad when he was drunk. Or at Billy. Defiant.
“St Wenna,” she said. That was all the explanation Ned needed. He rolled his eyes and threw his hands up to the grey sky.
“Brilliant. Who? How many?”
“They started it,” said Jade, suddenly going from defiant to looking innocent as she could, which wasn’t much.
“And?” said Ned.
“I finished it,” said G. Ned nodded, folded his arms.
“Right. I want details.”
They all told him, in bits, talking over each other, bigging up how nasty Billy had been, how Big G had had to do something, else it would have turned into a scrap between Jade and Billy. How it had all totally, and without any doubt, not been their fault.
When Ned had the full picture, he went and picked up his board, and put it in the back of the truck. “I don’t like aggro. I don’t want to find out who slashed my tyres and then do the same to their face. I don’t want to. But if this kicks off, I may have to.” He pointed at each of us in turn. “If you want to avoid that, then you have to sort it out with the St Wenna mob. I don’t care how you do it. G, you’re the smartest in this gang of lemons. And you kicked it off. So you’re in charge. This gets sorted. Understood?”
“Yeah. Understood,” said Big G.
Ned and a shivering, very pissed off Sue went into the truck cabin to find a phone and start ringing round Ned’s mates for help.
“What we going to do?” said Rag.
“Nice one, G,” said Skip.
“It wasn’t my fault, man,” said G, shaking his head and spitting into the mud.
“I don’t think it was anyone’s fault,” I said.
“You were as much use as you were in the water.” G was talking about my drop in.
“I didn’t know,” I said. “You didn’t have to take that wave.”
“Twat. Why didn’t you just get off it?” G pushed me on the shoulder. A little push. Nothing really, but like everything he did it felt like it was designed to test me. So I pushed him back. Harder.
That surprised him. Especially as he was a good half a foot taller than me, and much wider. He thrust his chest out, lifted his chin. His eyes flashed anger. Then everyone was talking at once. Arguing about my drop in, about what had happened that afternoon, about the tyres. And G was squaring up. Arms at his side, eyes drilling into me. I saw his arm come up, ready to push me again. Just that little bit harder. Then I’d push him. I wanted to. And there’d be a fight. I’d lose. But right then I didn’t care.
Jade stepped into the middle of us all.
“Shut up. All of you. Let’s just wait for the tyres to get fixed, get changed, calm the fuck down. We’ll go to the cafe at Lanust. We can talk there.”
“But I gotta
get home,” Skip complained.
“No one’s going home till we have a plan,” said G. “Apart from Sam. This isn’t his problem. Right, Sam?” He looked right at me.
The others looked at me too, to see how I’d react.
“It’s fine,” I said. I could feel how hard I was glaring at G, how hard I was breathing. “I’m in.”
Sue had thrown all our bags and towels out of the cabin. We picked them up and sulked off to our own spaces to get changed. And to calm down.
TWO OF NED’S mates turned up in a bongo van. One of them stayed to help change the tyres, the other gave us a lift to the cafe at Lanust.
The cafe was in a converted church, near the clifftop. It was big. There were lots of wooden tables and a huge black wood burner right in the middle of the place, with a glass front you could watch the fire through. It was the right place for surfers that were cold and starving hungry.
We ordered hot chocolate and bowls of chips.
It was cosy, and it should have been nice, but there was an edge to the group that wasn’t going to make talking easy. All round, the day hadn’t gone too well. No one even talked about the waves. Everyone was hacked off. Apart from Jade. She sat on the edge of her seat with her elbows on the table, smiling that cat-with-the-cream smile, getting off on the whole drama.
The drinks appeared along with bowls of fat, crispy chips. Without asking anyone how they liked them, Rag and Jade drowned them with vinegar and ketchup and threw a ton of salt on them. I ate and drank quickly, sucking up the heat into my shivering body. The thermal rash vest had helped, but the suit still leaked.
“Okay,” said G, “Billy had it coming, and Rag’s one of us. I ain’t sorry about any of it.”
“But you heard what Ned said,” said Skip. “Now we have to make like we’re sorry. And that’s that.”
G shrugged. “Sounds weak to me. We don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
“Right,” said Jade. Rag raised his eyebrows, shaking his head. He didn’t want aggro. And I was with him. But however it turned out, I’d feel like a real kook if I didn’t join in or help out.