Storm Surge

by David Rees

  Which the registrar agreed, with some reluctance, to allow. They went to the shoe-shop to tell Lynwyn. Aaron was still there, pretending to be a customer, and he agreed to pass the message on to the rest of the family.

  So, in the gathering dusk Martin and Ann, with a few possessions in a rucksack, began their marriage walking up the Ipswich road, thumbing a lift.

  Friday, Saturday and Sunday were mild days; Doris and Charley were able to spend a great deal of time on the island, Peter and Susan helping. Susan’s parents were busy cleaning out their house, too, and though she gave them a hand at first, they knew where she would prefer to be, and sent her off to The King’s Head.

  Restoring the pub to a state of normality was going to take a lot longer than Charley had first thought. The immediate task of cleaning out all the wreckage and hosing the place down was hard back-breaking work, but presented few difficulties. Drying out the downstairs was the real problem. The trouble was that the salt water had penetrated the stonework, and it was virtually impossible to get rid of it. Mildew appeared, and though this brushed off easily, it was not possible to paint or repaper the walls as they were so slimy. An official from the Housing Department told Charley that nothing could be done about it. They would have to build a false wall inside the rooms, that stood clear of the real walls and left a space for air to circulate between the two.

  The breaches in the sea walls on Flatsea were not completely repaired until the end of March, and none of the inhabitants was allowed back permanently until then. It was an unhappy, frustrating time for the family, particularly when Pat and baby Kevin came home. David’s house was just too tiny for all of them, and Doris, Charley, Aaron and Peter moved into the camp where Grandpa and Grandma were living. There were many other problems too. The amount of damage had to be worked out and claims made on the insurance; money had to be borrowed from the bank to tide the family over; and there was new furniture, carpets and curtains to buy. On one dry, frosty afternoon Peter lit a huge bonfire of paper, books, disintegrating furniture, old rags, everything that was useless but could be burned. Most heartbreaking of all to the family was the loss of some of their treasured personal possessions. The destruction of all the family photographs Doris took particularly hard, all the pictures of her wedding and her children at different stages of growing up. Charley never found his ring. He spent hours hunting for it, prising off drain covers, poking rods down pipes, even searching the mud at low tide, but it was nowhere to be found.

  Even when they moved back it was a long time before things were normal, as every downstairs room required the building of second walls. Charley’s plans for a party were postponed until the summer. The number of events to celebrate had increased, not only Martin’s wedding and Aaron’s eighteenth birthday, but Peter’s sixteenth, and his own wedding anniversary.

  Everything was still except for the gentle rise and fall of the swell. Susan lay in the bottom of the boat, eyes half-closed, absorbing the heat. Peter gazed intently down at the sea-bed, which shifted and rippled as the sea heaved.

  ‘There it is again! It glinted, I’m sure. I’m going in.’ He lowered himself over the side. Susan opened her eyes and stared out at the horizon where a long wrinkle on the surface and a crowd of gulls, their wings beating, indicated a shoal of fish.

  Peter surfaced. ‘Only a piece of tin,’ he gasped.

  ‘Let’s go ashore. You’ve been trying for hours.’

  ‘It must be somewhere.’

  ‘I don’t think we’ll ever find it. At least your dad was able to buy another.’

  ‘It can’t ever be the same as the one Mum bought him all those years ago.’

  ‘No. It’s rotten luck. I suppose he should never have taken it off. I’d never take mine off, never.’

  Peter looked at her and smiled, then pulled the boat in towards the sandhills. It ran aground with a dry, rasping sound. He jumped out and pulled it up the beach.

  ‘The new walls look impressive.’ They were higher and thicker; the sea-facing side was all concrete, right the way round the island. They stood some way inland; between them and the sea were the saltings, and mud-flats and creeks that were covered by most high tides, leaving little islands of sea-grass.

  ‘It’s a perfect summer day!’

  ‘Dad and I sometimes fish here, when the weather’s like this. Let’s lie in the dunes. The sun will dry me.’

  ‘School on Monday.’

  ‘Not for much longer. I’m sorry we’re both leaving.'

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We shan’t see each other every day.’

  ‘We will in the evenings. It’s exciting. Both starting to earn our independence. Will you be happy?’

  ‘Building boats? Yes. Will you be in an office? In and out of Oozedam every day?’

  ‘I don’t mind. Coming home will be good, you at the pub not fifty yards off.’

  ‘We’ve known each other six months now.’

  ‘Six months? We’ve known each other for years.’

  ‘It’s six months to the day the floods came. That’s when it really started. I’m grateful to that tide.’

  ‘You’re the only person in England who’d say that.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘We’re different people from six months ago,' she said. ‘We’re growing up.’

  ‘I can sometimes almost sense it. I suddenly realize my bones, my skin, they’re a week further away from childhood. I sort of wait inside myself and watch it happening . . . I want to find that ring.’ He walked towards the boat. ‘It’s the party tomorrow, the party. If only I could give Dad back his ring tomorrow evening! He’s grieved about it so much.’

  ‘All right then, one more try.’ She helped push the boat back into the water.

  Oozedam, grey and smudgy, shimmered distantly in the heat. It looked tired and shabby and old, ready to sink again under the waves. There was not a cloud in the sky. The blue above was immense, resting on a circle of land and sea.

  ‘This is the life.’ said Peter.

  ‘Something foul happened at school yesterday,’ said Aaron. ‘Shall I tell you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘A note in my desk. Typed, unsigned. “Only white scum reckon black trash.” Not the first time either. If I knew who it was I’d turn him into pulp. And I’d rather enjoy doing so.’

  ‘It might be a girl.’

  ‘I’d turn her into pulp.’

  ‘Just ignore it. It isn’t the end of the world. It’s never worth fighting about that.’

  ‘Do you get insults like that?’

  ‘No. People in Oozedam get on with us well enough. Maybe whoever wrote that note was jealous. Some ex-girlfriend of yours. I’m not your first girl, Ron.’

  ‘No. I’m not your first boy either.’

  ‘Only one that matters.’

  ‘Listen. There’s something else I must tell you. More important than that note. I leave school this month. I’ve decided I’m going to London.’

  ‘London! Have you got a job? You never said.’

  ‘No, I haven’t. But I will. It would be nice to do something with music, my guitar, though I don’t suppose there’s much chance of that.’

  ‘What do your parents think?’

  ‘Give me a chance . . . I haven’t talked to them about it yet. But you’ve got to some time, leave home, I mean.’

  ‘And me too.’

  ‘No, no! Just wait, I haven’t finished. Whether I go or not depends on one thing. Will you come with me? You could find work there . . . will you?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘It would be a good time to end it, if you wanted.’

  ‘End it? No. What about you?’

  ‘No. Definitely not. This means . . . we really are serious, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I sold it. Twenty-five pounds.’

  ‘Twenty-five pounds! ’ Ann said.

  ‘Yes, quite handsome. Though I hate parting with it. Particularly as
it’s us, this room.’

  ‘Do you remember that bookseller in Royal Street who couldn’t bear to part with any of his books? The one who went bankrupt and became a librarian? Perhaps you ought to be a curator in an art gallery.’

  ‘No chance. End of next year, I’ll be painting, full-time.’

  ‘How will we live?’

  ‘I’ll do any work I’m offered. Sign-writing, posters, anything. And there won’t be any more nights away from you.’

  ‘Are you going to charge Lynwyn for this?’

  ‘I can’t.’

  Ann looked at the portrait of Aaron. ‘It’s the best thing you’ve ever done.’

  ‘It’s taken me a hell of a long time.’

  ‘Why’s it such an odd shape? I’ve never seen such a long, thin thing. A canvas over six feet in length, and it can’t be two feet wide.’

  ‘He’s a long, thin person. Metaphorically, I mean.’ He painted a few delicate strokes of pale yellow on Aaron’s hair.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘This picture’s turned out to be what I feel about him, rather than a real portrait. No. Perhaps that’s what a real portrait is.’

  ‘Isn’t that his voice, downstairs?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll bet he’s told Dad he’s staying the night with us. I wish he wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he stays with her.’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘No. But it annoys me, all the same. He uses people.’

  ‘Lynwyn?’

  ‘No. He loves her. I think. Odd. Even Mum’s got used to the idea. Her son and a Jamaican girl. It must have alarmed her. She’s funny. She can be dead against us doing certain things, then when she sees we’re determined to do them, she’ll champion us against all-comers.’

  ‘That’s mother-love.’

  ‘I suppose it is.’

  ‘Are you taking the picture to the party?’

  ‘Yes. It’s finished.’

  ‘Six months to the day since the great tide.’

  ‘Which was more important to us than anybody else.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It decided you to marry me. Is that hair too pale?’

  ‘No. He’s almost albino. No? Flaxen? It’s about right. Yes, we got married. I think now we should have done before. I Was silly. Frightened of tying myself. To you! How absurd.’

  ‘I think you were right. We’re only twenty now. We needed that time. Supposing it had all gone wrong? Much more difficult then, being married, than sharing a room.’

  ‘There’s a long, time ahead for things to go wrong.’

  ‘You don’t think they will, do you?’

  ‘No. Though nothing is for ever. We’ve a fair chance.’

  ‘I think we have.’ He stood back from the picture and looked at it for a long time. ‘It's finished,’ he said.

  The party was on a Sunday night because the pub closed half an hour earlier than on weekdays; the celebrations could begin as soon as the bar was tidied up. The family had all assembled long before this, however, and were enjoying themselves in the private part of the house. Baby Kevin was the centre of attention; all the women were thoroughly spoiling him. That afternoon he had sat up for the first time : it was a marvel. Grandma left at about half past nine. It would soon be her bedtime, and she did not altogether approve of drinking late on a Sunday night. Others could do so; she had resigned herself to that a lifetime ago, but she would not. On this special occasion, though, she thought Fred could be permitted to stay for as long as he liked; if he was asleep beside her in the morning that would be good enough, this once. She wouldn’t even mention the subject.

  At ten o’clock all the tables were removed from the bar and stacked outside in the shed, and the chairs pushed to the side of the room. The bar was to be used for dancing, and Aaron's Rod was providing the music. The house was full of bustle and excitement. There were all the regular drinkers as well as friends of Charley and Doris and friends from school and college, people of all ages. In the kitchen every surface was covered with refreshments; Doris presided over her two daughters-in-law and Susan and Lynwyn, issuing a stream of orders and directions. This had been the pattern for the women, on and off, all day. Now everything was ready.

  The bar was soon full of dancers. Those who just wanted to talk and drink stayed in the sitting-room. Charley, hurrying from one room to the other looking for Doris, almost bumped into Peter.

  ‘You look very excited, son. Enjoying yourself?’ They had to shout, the music was so deafening.

  ‘I am. I’ve an announcement to make later.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘A surprise.’ He laughed. ‘Don’t look so worried.’

  ‘I hope I shall like it.’

  ‘I can guarantee you will.’

  Doris was in the kitchen, alone, looking out of the window. ‘Charley, Ron’s told me about this idea. London.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Well, what do you think?’

  ‘That if it doesn’t work out he’ll soon be back here. Anyway, I’ve told him he’s not leaving home till he gets a job there first.’

  ‘London. Vice and drugs.’

  ‘We must learn to trust him.’

  ‘He’s very young.’

  ‘Eighteen. That’s an adult nowadays. Come and dance with me.’

  ‘What, to this noise? I wouldn’t know where to begin. Oh, all right.’

  In a pause in the music Lynwyn held something out to Martin. ‘It’s for the picture. Ron said to give it to you. Go on, take it! He earned it last week at the club.’

  ‘I don’t want it.’ He gave it back to her, but she pushed it down the top of his trousers, and hurried away. He pulled it out. Two five-pound notes.

  ‘Peter has an announcement to make,’ Aaron shouted over the talk and laughter. ‘Silence for my kid brother.’

  ‘What’s it all in aid of?’ Doris asked Charley.

  ‘I dread to think.’

  ‘On the night of the flood,’ said Peter, ‘a very precious object was lost in this house, and it was never found. I’ve been looking for it all these months, and . . . er . . . Susan’s been helping me. We found it this afternoon. We were out in a boat, just off Dangie Point, looking down into the water. There’s some shingle there on the sea-bed. Anyway, there it was, in the stones. Heaven knows how it got there, but . . . Dad! Your wedding-ring.’

  Charley put a hand on the counter to steady himself. Doris threw her arms round him, but he was too overcome to hear what she was saying. Everyone was applauding, shouting, laughing.

  Peter was standing in front of him. ‘Hold out your hand, Dad.’ He did so, and Peter eased the ring onto his third finger. ‘Now you’re legally married. Speech!’

  ‘Speech, speech, speech! ’

  ‘I just don’t know what to say,’ Charley stammered. ‘Thank you. No, I just don’t know what to say.’

  ‘That’s exactly what he said at our wedding,’ Doris whispered to Ann.

  ‘Say nothing, lad,’ said Grandpa. ‘You’re behind that bar. Give everyone a drink instead. Start with a big one for Peter.’ Charley obeyed.

  Grandpa left at about half past midnight. He went home by an unsteady, circuitous route that took him to the sea wall; he had had more than enough to drink, and a little night air would help before he faced the music. No, she wouldn’t be playing the harmonium at this hour surely; the music he could hear was Ron and his friends. It was a brilliant moonlit night, and another very high tide, just like six months ago, except that the sea was now a quiet continuous rustle. Everything was normal: telephone wires back in their places, hedges and fences repaired, lights across the water. It was a very hot night, almost too hot for walking. July heat-waves, that meant a wet August. The insurance had paid better than he’d hoped. All those costly repairs to the house; he hadn’t had to pay a penny. Of course there were many precious things they weren’t able to replace. Bessy had been upset about that. But the ol
d sampler had washed and ironed out well; she had sewn up the tears and he’d reframed it himself. It was hanging now over Peter’s bed. Amazing how well the harmonium had dried out. Sounded a bit wheezier, but that suited it; Bessy herself was wheezier. Peter had been pleased by that old sampler. Grand boy. His only regret was he wouldn’t live long enough to see Peter’s children. Martin’s maybe, but not Peter’s. There wouldn’t be enough years. All those grandsons now married or with girls; that was a reminder how time was sliding. There’d be many more great-grandsons; Browns always had boys.

  He climbed unsteadily onto the top of the wall. Good thing he’d remembered to bring his walking-stick. The tide was not far below him, but it wouldn’t come over, perhaps never would again. These new walls were stouter than he could have imagined possible. But they say nothing can ever be sure of keeping out the sea if it really wants to return and claim its own. Some people said the land was tilting, but how could that be? Nature just came back at times and took its revenge, that was all.

  Two people stood on the wall, away to his left, lovers, arms round one another, kissing. Careful, she might fall backwards into the sea. Who were they? Any of the young people from the party ― not Ron and Lynwyn; he could still hear the music.

  David and Pat, Martin and Ann, Peter and Susan? No. Yet they looked familiar. He strained his eyes. Charley and Doris! He felt embarrassed, an intruder, as if their emotions should somehow be kept more private than those of their children, and he hurried down the bank and went home.

  About the author

  David Rees was born in 1936 and went to King's College School, Wimbledon, and Queens’ College, Cambridge. He taught in schools in France and London, and is now a Lecturer at Exeter University.

  Since 1975 he has published eight novels for Children and teenagers.

  His hobbies include surfing, listening to music and tracing the family tree. Mr Rees is married and has two sons.

  A Puffin Book