Phosphorescence

by Raffaella Barker

  ‘Um, I’d better go,’ I mutter. But not quick enough.

  ‘Tell that idiot with the really sad shorts to get away from the birds, Lola.’ Josh pauses, then adds, ‘Oh, and be careful of fires. There could be one starting behind you right now.’

  I swivel in time to see Pete approaching with a lit cigarette. God, they are all so lawless. I wish Mr Lascalles had brought a sidekick to keep control when he wanders off to commune with nature.

  ‘Oh, leave us alone,’ I snap at Josh. ‘God, we’re supposed to be on holiday, not in a sodding military camp.’

  I hurl my phone off the roof and it thuds on the ground next to Freda. The sausages are done. Harry builds up the fire and we sit round it, waiting for Mr Lascalles, thawing out privacy and self-consciousness. I remain silent and inhibited until Nell, with a sigh, stands up and announces that she must go.

  ‘I thought you were waiting for the next tide.’ Harry jumps up too.

  ‘I can’t, I’ve got stuff to do. I’ll swim if I have to.’

  Her hair is piled in a high knot, with curls escaping. She is thinner than when I last saw her, and she moves with a luxurious confidence that is mesmerizing. Or so Harry seems to think. A flame of loathing for my best friend shoots through me. She’s showing off – she knows it’s too dangerous to swim.

  ‘Bye, Nell,’ I shout, busying myself with the washing-up Jessie is piling in the biggest saucepan. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  Nell looks anxious for a minute, then turns away.

  ‘I’ll see you soon,’ she calls.

  ‘I’ll walk you part of the way,’ offers Harry.

  My choked fury is interrupted by Pansy, still on her own mission.

  ‘Is there a mirror anywhere? I desperately need to pluck my eyebrows,’ she says, brandishing a torch.

  Jessie and I subside, giggling, on the sleeping bags we have hurled in a heap by the fire, ready to sort for sleeping out on later. It is dark now, and Mr Lascalles finally comes to from his reverie to take charge. He has been reading the comment book from the hut, and now he slaps it shut.

  ‘No mirrors. But could everyone make their beds up now and start thinking about putting the camp to bed,’ he says, and is interrupted by weedy Dave, whom I suspect has been knocking back the vodka.

  ‘Mr Lascalles, it’s only ten o’clock. What about a dune expedition now? We could reconnoitre for the morning mission.’

  ‘You may do as you please as long as you are careful,’ says Mr Lascalles, who has become so relaxed and benign it is creepy. ‘I am going to turn in now.’ He continues, ‘I want to be up at dawn to observe the birdlife here. I cannot bear to miss a moment of daylight. I’d like you all to stay within hearing of the camp.’

  Then he makes his big mistake. He drops his box of earplugs and we all watch the little wax balls spill on the ground, rolling out into the beam of his torch as he bends to pick it up. If I wasn’t so cross about Nell and Josh spying, I’d be thrilled. The teacher, who seems to have abdicated any responsibility because he is so entranced by nature, is putting earplugs in and going to bed. There is a full moon, the night is young, and we are eight teenagers alone on an island.

  Chapter 13

  ‘Hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,

  they danced by the light of the moon,

  the moon,

  they danced by the light of the moon.’

  ‘Come on, let’s go skinny-dipping,’ squeaks Jessie, who, along with Dave, has been drinking vodka with a straw out of his rucksack pocket and giggling over the washing up. They skip ahead towards the sea singing ‘The Owl and the Pussy-Cat’ and in a moment are invisible, swallowed by the inky late evening light, although their voices are still audible. Mr Lascalles is in his tent, the light from his tilley lamp creating a warm red glow so the tent is a tiny echo of the sunset before the last glimpse sinks beneath the horizon.

  I don’t feel guilty about Mr Lascalles, because I reckon the sea is within hearing of the camp, and I don’t really feel I am disobeying Dad’s constantly repeated rule that an adult should be aware when you swim off Salt Head, because Harry is seventeen and that is more or less an adult, in some areas of life anyway.

  ‘Let’s go up to the dunes and have a game to warm up, and then find those two and swim.’

  Harry lopes past me, barefoot and chucking a Frisbee straight up in the air, spinning it so it comes back down to him. Pete and Carl are on the shore, walking with Pansy up the beach in the direction Harry has indicated.

  ‘This is amazing.’ Freda catches me up. She is muddy and crumpled and her hair is all over her face. Her eyes are shining. ‘I can’t believe this place can be real. I’ve just found a nest in the stones, just a little hollow with two pale grey eggs in it. It’s like a magic sign or something. Thank you so much for bringing us here, Lola,’

  I am so grateful for her enthusiasm I could cry. We link arms and crunch along the shingle. The sun has set over the horizon, but pink still floods on to the surface of the sea, casting a faint glow on to us as we walk along the beach.

  ‘If this place was somewhere hot, it would be mega crowded,’ Freda adds.

  ‘But it was quite hot today,’ I point out. ‘And – oh no, what has he got?’

  This is under my breath as Harry sprints towards us with a coil of netting in his hands.

  ‘Look what I found,’ he shouts. ‘We can use this as a football goal.’

  ‘You can’t,’ I reply, struggling to keep my voice steady. ‘That’s my grandfather’s sea bass net, or if it’s not his, it’ll be someone else’s.’

  I feel violated, almost as if someone had walked into my house and taken all my most precious things. I know I am overreacting, but I can’t help it because it is Jack’s.

  ‘But it was just lying on the beach over there,’ protests Harry, pointing to where I can just see the hump of an upturned boat. Jack’s boat. The one he used to take out for the sea bass. Tonight would be a perfect night for it. Tears blur my eyes, and I press my fingers into them. Harry is really winding me up by arguing, and I think he’s doing it on purpose. He must be, no one could be so insensitive by mistake.

  ‘You can’t take things just because they’re lying around. People leave things here because it’s safe.’

  I grab the net from his hands, and it falls, tangling and snagging, on to the shingle.

  ‘All right, keep your hair on.’ Harry makes a face at me, and Freda, behind me, giggles.

  There is a shout from Carl, climbing a dune behind Pansy and Pete.

  ‘Hey, Lola, come and tell us about the tower.’ He points to the lighthouse, a grey column just discernible in the darkness as the moon sails out from behind a bank of low cloud.

  ‘It’s the lighthouse. It isn’t used any more. They used to use gas lamps in it, when my grandad was young, and he told me that they brought the gas for it by pony and cart from Salt. There used to be a way over the marsh in those days.’

  ‘Why didn’t they just put it in a boat?’ Carl has waited for us, but the others have disappeared, and I suddenly realize that weedy Dave and Jessie have been gone for ages.

  ‘Oh, the currents are too unpredictable and the undertow is terrible.’ I run up the next dune, anxious to find everyone. ‘That’s why there’s a lighthouse here. Seal Point is like an island that gets exposed at low tide but when the tide is high you don’t know it’s there underneath the water and boats can get stuck on it.’

  Carl is behind me.

  ‘Do wrecks still happen? I thought they went out with the pirates and pantomime years ago.’

  I can’t see Dave and Jessie anywhere, and I feel worried and distracted.

  ‘Oh, yes. Boats get grounded quite often, but not right here because the coastline has changed and the channel around Salt Head is deeper than it used to be. The sea changes things all the time.’

  I am running now, and calling out, ‘Where are you?’

  Darkness is creeping off the sea, and although I can make out the humps an
d hillocks of the landscape, I can’t see any of the others.

  Harry, Freda, Carl and I stand for a moment on the highest dune, looking in all directions. Back towards Salt we can see the tiny ember-red glow of Mr Lascalles’s tent, but it is a long way back, and I know that this is the only point it can be seen from in the dunes.

  ‘They won’t know where they are.’ Freda’s voice is strained and nervous.

  ‘And the dunes are huge. They must stretch for twenty minutes in each direction,’ says Carl.

  ‘We could shout,’ I suggest. ‘But the sound carries weirdly here, and Mr Lascalles will probably hear if we do.’

  ‘I think we should light a fire here and it will attract them. They’ll definitely see it on top of this dune.’

  Harry’s suggestion for once seems sensible. He and Carl run down towards the sea to look for driftwood.

  ‘Sh, listen,’ I whisper to Freda. ‘We’ll hear them talking.’ But the rush and slap of waves hitting the beach are the only sounds around us.

  I know Freda is scared, because she is stiff with silence and standing as close to me as is possible without actually hugging me.

  ‘What if someone else finds us before the others come back?’

  I put my arm around her.

  ‘It’s all right, Freda, there isn’t anyone on the island at night.’

  ‘But there are spooks and spectres,’ hisses a rasping voice behind us.

  Freda screams, and so do I, feeling foolish and clamping my hand over my mouth immediately.

  It is Pansy, who has sneaked up the dune to us with Pete.

  ‘We’ve been for a swim,’ she announces. ‘It’s lovely.’

  I would gaze at her astonished if I could see her in the dark, but I can’t, so can only marvel to myself at the hearty outdoorness of Pansy. I never would have thought it of her. Harry and Carl call from the bottom of the sand dune.

  ‘We’re doing the fire here on the beach so we can come back to it when we’ve swum.’

  An orange flame flickers below us, and we run down, feet sinking in the cool, giving sand. The fire takes fast, and stretching my hands in front of it I notice a twist of rope, a broken board with most of a notice saying:

  ICE REAMS

  50p OR 90p

  ITH FLAKES

  It is the ice-cream sign on Dad’s warden’s hut, which opens as a tiny cafe in the summer when school parties come over. They must have ripped it off the wall. The fire sinks a little and a pole rolls into the cinders. Jack’s pole that he used in his little boat to hook up the net with.

  ‘Where did you get this stuff to burn?’ My tone is so casual that no one pays any attention, so I sidle up to Carl and ask again, ‘Where did you find the stuff for the fire?’

  ‘Oh, it was by that boat. I think it’s some of the fisherman’s stuff, but I don’t reckon we’ll be caught.’

  ‘No, it’s fine.’ Harry chucks what looks to me like an oar on to the fire. ‘It’s a great blaze, isn’t it?’

  This is a nightmare. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to stop them destroying what needs protecting here on Salt Head. I turn away from the fire, and move into the darkness beyond its glow and begin to walk to the sea.

  ‘I’m going for a swim,’ I call, when I hope I am far enough away for no one to follow me.

  I am so angry that I don’t even think twice about taking every item of clothing off and walking straight into the sea. I am soon up to my waist. Automatically I suck in my stomach, something I have done whenever I swim since I was little and worked out that holding my breath meant less circumference of tummy would be in the water. Something like that. Anyway, whatever. It’s a habit. And I am in properly now, silky water over my shoulders, bubbles rushing as I duck-dive to wet my head. My brain cools, and I know it isn’t Harry and the others I’m angry with. It’s myself for being too keen to impress them. It was up to me to stop them burning equipment, and I said nothing because I wanted everyone to like me. I didn’t want to be the killjoy, but they won’t know any better unless I tell them. I kick my legs and a spray of light green bubbles bursts in my wake. Raising an arm, I turn in the moonlight, drops cascading around me.

  ‘Cool. This is wicked, man.’ Harry is in the water with me, and behind him I can hear the others shrieking and giggling on the edge. I don’t want to be left with just Harry.

  ‘Come on in,’ I shout, treading water. ‘The phosphorescence is fantastic tonight.’

  ‘Where are you?’ Freda is the nearest, but then she shrieks, ‘Oh no! There was something gliding past. It’s a monster.’

  Screaming, half with laughter and half in fright, she runs out.

  ‘Of course there isn’t,’ I shout, and Harry, next to me, says, ‘You are a cool babe, Lola. Is there anything you’re scared of?’

  It is amazing what a compliment can do to soothe a ruffled temper. The others in the shallows splash after Freda, and I can see them running in and out of the water, laughing and daring one another to go further in again. I don’t think they’ll come as far out as we are. I lie on my back and flick my legs lazily. Harry dives down, a trail of pale green fire following him, and emerges on the other side of me, a luminous spray arcing behind him when he tosses his head back.

  ‘Come on, let’s go on,’ he says, leading me deeper into the glittering sea. And suddenly my heart is pounding with excitement, and my irritation with him has vanished. I am naked in the sea with a boy. The sea is cool and taut when I stretch my legs and kick or dive, pressing onwards beneath the surface. I am out of my depth. I laugh out loud, because of the pun. I half wish the others would catch up, and half pray that they don’t. My head is the only bit of me that feels cold, but when I dive, I am warm all over.

  ‘Can they see us?’

  Harry is right in front of me, luminous skin, eyes shaded by the fall of the moonlight. He puts one hand under my chin and kisses my mouth, treading water. All I can think as I kiss him back is that I am not sure if this counts as a snog. We sink together and green sequins flash and sparkle around us. It is exactly like being in a Walt Disney movie. It is brilliant. The others are sitting by the fire when we come out of the water. I had forgotten about getting out if you are naked, but Harry behaves as if it is perfectly normal, so, looking anywhere except at him, I try and do the same.

  ‘Pulling on jeans over wet legs on sand could be a good race, like the sack race,’ I gasp.

  Harry is already dressed, and looking towards the fire.

  ‘You know what?’ he says. ‘Dave and Jessie aren’t here, and they should have seen the fire and found their way back by now.’

  ‘They’ll be all right.’ I don’t know what I’m talking about, but I don’t want to wake up from this magic spell of having swum with Harry. He is so nice to be with, rubbing my back when I shiver, and smiling secret messages to me. Honestly, I could melt. I don’t know how I was annoyed with him, but it has vanished now.

  At the fire, Carl and Pete are smoking cigarettes, holding them between thumb and forefinger.

  ‘Any sign of the others?’ Harry asks.

  Crouched by the fire, absorbing its heat, there is no excuse for me to say, ‘Don’t worry, I know they’re fine. They’ll be back at camp.’ Of course, I don’t know anything of the sort. In fact, I know enough about being out here to send everyone home screaming with their hair standing on end if I chose to tell the wedding dress story, or any other legend about the Point. But I don’t. Carl throws his cigarette end into the fire, and I try and look nonchalant like everyone else.

  ‘I think we should go and look for them,’ says Carl. ‘Then we’ll be able to chill out and listen to a bit of music.’

  I wonder if he has remembered to charge his iPod, but I say nothing. All I am interested in is preserving this mood with Harry. This involves standing right against him, brushing my hands past his, and then, when we have kicked sand into the fire, walking so close I can feel the heat of his body down my side.

  Everyone is acting
as though me and Harry being together is normal. I love it. It makes me smile in the dark as we walk back down the shore towards our camp. As we approach, I begin to pray that they are there, and I hold on to Harry and follow close behind Freda and Pansy, willing Dave and Jessie to appear.

  The camp is silent and still, the fire has burnt down to embers which give off the only light. Further off, Mr Lascalles’s tent is in darkness, but the door of the lookout hut is ajar. Pansy pushes it open.

  ‘Here you are,’ she cries.

  ‘Sh,’ whispers everyone else, crowding behind her into the little room.

  Inside, a candle gutters on the table, a fire smoulders in the grate and yet more wet clothes are hanging off the mantelpiece. The smiling and somewhat glazed faces of Jessie and Dave loom from the darkness. Next to the candle is Dave’s bottle of vodka and a pack of cards.

  ‘We’re having a game of cards,’ says Dave, speaking very slowly and trying to decide where to fix his gaze. Jessie is wrapped in a towel, but doesn’t seem to be wearing much else. She hiccups and giggles.

  ‘I’ve lost everything, my underwear, my innocence, my—’

  ‘All right, all right, steady.’ Carl pats her on the back. ‘That’s enough now.’

  ‘They’re drunk.’ I am surprised to hear the shock in Pansy’s voice. I thought she was the type to have been drinking people under the table since she was about seven. ‘What shall we do?’

  Pete takes the bottle, now only a quarter full, off the table and puts it on a shelf.

  ‘We should all go to bed. If we get caught with you two in this state there’s going to be hell to pay.’

  It is hard not to aim a kick at the sniggering, lolling pair as we guide them out of the hut and across to their tents. They make no attempt to keep quiet, and the rest of us are whispering and tiptoeing in anxiety. If Mr Lascalles wakes up, they’ll probably be expelled for this. Shunting Jessie through the door of Pansy’s tent, I have to remind myself to be kind, in order that I don’t just leave her. Pansy and I heave her legs into the sleeping bag, leave her wrapped in her towel inside it and creep out again.