by Blake, Rosie
‘There’s a public toilet over there you can change in,’ Steven said, pointing to a distant block of cement. I looked at it with narrowed eyes. I knew there was little point in complaining. This was a man who planned to spend a week defecating in a pot in the Himalayas, so I didn’t think moaning about these facilities would meet with a huge amount of sympathy.
I pushed the door open and instantly gagged from the damp, musty smell. The loo seat was up and the toilet was streaked with yellow. The flush had lost the bit on the end of the chain and the sink was not an adequate size for even a five-year-old child. There was no loo paper and no hook for my clothes. There was no real manoeuvrable space , so I was in for a really fun five minutes.
I tried to breathe through my mouth. As fast as I could, I whipped my jumper off and flung my jeans in the bag. My flesh was already breaking out into goosebumps and I gritted my teeth as I plunged into my bikini. Grabbing the wetsuit, I struggled for another few minutes, stretching the material over my limbs. It was a little on the small side. I put on the boots, a thin strip of skin around my ankle was laid bare to the elements. Also in the bag was some kind of hat made in the same material as the wetsuit. It looked as if it hooked under the chin. I inspected it in disbelief. Surely not. I would look like a skittle. Stuffing it back in the bag, I collected up the rest of my things and ventured out into the elements, feeling highly self-conscious.
‘Great!’ Steven said as he jigged enthusiastically about by the kayak. He was wearing the hat. He did indeed look like a skittle. Oh God. ‘Do you want me to do your hat up for you?’ he offered.
I nodded silently. I slowly tied my hair back in a ponytail and let him tug the hat over my head for me. My left eyebrow was stretched uncomfortably taut and a piece of hair on the other side of my face was tickling me where it had escaped The Hat’s clutches.
‘Okay,’ Steven clapped his hands for a second time. The sound was only slightly dampened by the hat covering my ears. ‘Let’s hit the sea! You take that end and I’ll lead the way.’ He pointed to a toggle at one end and I lifted it, instantly dropping it again as I realised how heavy it was.
‘You’ll probably need to use both hands,’ Steven called behind him.
I was tempted to poke my tongue out at his back. Mentally preparing myself, I took a deep breath and grabbed the toggle with both hands. I lifted, lurching forward as Steven set the pace. I half-walked, half-hopped along behind him, trying to keep hold of the kayak, block out the wind hitting my face and ignore the pain as I realised the small wetsuit was rubbing my legs and crushing my boobs down. Then we rounded the corner and I saw the sea. All other thoughts emptied as I watched the waves roll in, crashing dramatically on to the shore and throwing up white surf. The grey expanse of dark clouds overhead reflected the foreboding I felt. Up ahead, a man, wearing at least eighteen layers of clothing, was walking his dog. There was no one else in the water.
‘You’ll be in the front,’ Steven gestured to the first seat. ‘And I’ll be in the back doing the steering and providing the brute strength.’ He grinned warmly at me. I realised he was making a big effort and I managed to smile back at him.
‘Hop in, Nicola.’
I gasped as the water hit the bare patch of ankle and, with a slight wobble, I managed to settle myself into the kayak. A few seconds later a wave washed past us, spraying a little water over me. I shivered. Feeling a great surge of weight behind me, I realised Steven was in. He handed me a paddle and shouted instructions.
‘Right! We’re going to head out and try and make it round the coast, depending on conditions,’ he yelled. ‘If you paddle, I’ll copy you and you’ll be fine.’ Then he roared with excited delight and his laughter carried on the air like a maniac’s.
I started to paddle straight at the waves. I squealed as a second wave headed towards us. My squeal soon died on my lips as it crashed over the kayak, smacking me full in the face. I was so shocked by the icy cold that I simply stopped paddling and opened and closed my mouth in wordless surprise.
Steven was yelling, ‘Just keep paddling, Nicola, this is the hardest part.’ But all I could make out was, ‘Blank, blank, Nicola, blank, something, Mardi Gras.’
Gritting my teeth, I paddled on. Another wave hurtled over us, unbalancing me and blasting water down the gap between my hat and the wetsuit. My spine tingled and my body jerked. I was going to die today. In the sea, in November, canoeing with a stranger. Oh sorry, KAYAKING with a stranger.
‘Nearly there, Nicola, we’re nearly beyond them!’ (Blank, blank Nicola, something blank bee, blank them!).
I could feel Steven powerfully manoeuvring us over the waves and, after another two had passed us/smashed me in the face, we were out beyond what I now knew, thanks to Steven, was the break line.
‘Sorry, Nicola. That’s always the worst bit, but at least you’re used to the temperature now, eh?’ He laughed, absolutely loving this, which was unfathomable to me. I tried to nod my head so he could see I was coping, but I wasn’t, so my head just wobbled a bit as I tried to bite back the tears. I really didn’t need any more saltwater on my face.
‘Okay, we’re heading to the left so start paddling,’ he called on the wind.
I put a paddle in and tried to work into a slow rhythm, not sure if I was going too fast or too slow. Not really sure of anything, to be honest, except the slight ringing in my ears as the cold seeped in and the pain around the bare strip of my ankle, where I imagined they were going to have to amputate.
The trouble was that every time a rogue wave threatened to blast me in the face, I stopped rowing and our paddles clashed together, putting us out of sync. Steven kept calling out helpful instructions like: ‘If you could just keep a steady rhythm, Nicola,’ and ‘You see our paddles hit if you change the pattern of your paddling!’ So that really helped me to focus. After what seemed like an hour in the water, we appeared to have travelled around one hundred yards.
I tried to stay positive in the face of near death. I tried to focus on sticking the paddle in the left and then again in the right. I tried turning my head to one side so the water didn’t hit me full in the face and instead just got my cheeks. I tried to think of warm places (a beach in the Caribbean, a sauna, the fires of hell, etc.), but instead, I imagined I was being forced to paddle for my life. That if I stopped I would die (which I suspect was, in fact, the truth). I started to pray to many, many gods for this ordeal to be over. I lost track of the time as I moved in as steady a rhythm as I could manage. Steven and I were just two skittles paddling the high seas together.
At long last, thank you, Jesus, there came the blessed call. ‘Let’s head back!’ Steven yelled.
Heading back! Yes, yes, yes, yes, let’s DEFINITELY do that.
‘It should be a little easier as we are moving with the current now,’ he called.
We started to turn and my whole body jumped happily with the notion that we could soon be warm again. I paddled with all my might, throwing up sea water and heading for the sand. Steven was right. It was easier. I was only hit once in the face and the rest just got my lower body parts. And I hadn’t been able to feel those for the past half an hour anyway. Before I knew it, I was wobbling out on to dry land watching Steven drag the kayak higher up the sand and away from the water.
Thank God.
‘Right, let’s get warmed up,’ Steven yelled over at me, throwing me a towel. I grabbed at it gratefully but my arms, numb with cold, failed to react in time. The towel slapped me on the chest and fell on to the soggy sand. I watched it fall in slow motion, my mouth rounded into a silent ‘Nooooo’. I scooped it up without a word and put it over my head like a tent. Get me off this beach.
‘Let’s get this back to the car. I brought tea in a flask,’ he sang, grinning at me. I thought he was going to add a TA-DA, he was so damn perky.
I tried to lift the kayak and watched as the toggle slipped from my frozen grasp. My fingers had turned a pale whitish-blue colour. I looked up at Steven the Skittle. ‘I can’t,’ I
whispered.
Steven examined my face briefly and then made a decision. Handing me the paddles, he pointed to the car park. ‘See you back there,’ he said, and, just like when Superman lifts that van in the film, Steven hoisted the kayak onto his back and headed up the path towards his car. I slowly traipsed behind the kayak with dead legs, dragging the paddles, reckoning that if I were twenty degrees warmer, I would find this image funny.
I entered my flat, Steven’s jaunty goodbye still ringing in my ears (‘Well, Nicola, hope I haven’t put you off the ocean for life, HA HA HA!’ MASSIVE CLAP OF HANDS), and straight into a Disney movie, as I found Basia cleaning the bathroom taps and singing: ‘The hills are alive weeth sound of musica’. On seeing my expression, beneath the streaked mascara smears, she muttered something like, ‘I see kitchen now’ and scampered out.
Five minutes later, and exactly three hours after I’d entered the ocean, my body was cocooned in my massive towelling dressing gown, and yet, I was still cold. I rubbed my arms, trying to get rid of the goosebumps that still covered my skin, and pulled a blanket over my legs. I felt cold to my core. I felt cold in my organs. I felt like I would never be warm again. Ever. I dialled Mark’s number. This was his fault.
‘Ahhh, Prick Face,’ I said slowly, when he answered. Prick Face had been my name for him when I was twelve. It seemed a wholly appropriate time to resurrect it.
‘Ahhh, hey, Sis. How was the date? How’s Steven? Did you say I said Hi?’
‘You said he liked sport,’ I said in a low, dangerous voice.
‘Huh?’
‘You. Said. He. Liked. Sport,’ I spelt out slowly.
‘Er, he does …’ came the confused replied.
‘Yes,’ I said gritting my teeth. ‘I know he likes sport, Mark.’
‘Good,’ he answered, not gauging my tone. ‘So how was it?’
‘He doesn’t just like sport, though, does he, Mark? He loves it.’
‘Yeah, I suppose he is quite into it. So anyway, what did you guys do tod—’
‘—Quite into it?’ I repeated. ‘Quite into it? Mark, Steven LOVES sport,’ I exploded. ‘He loves sport to the point of obsession. He lives, breathes, dies for sport.’ My breathing turned heavy. ‘He loves sport like I love cleanliness and you love bats, Mark. He LOVES IT. If sport were a woman, he would have asked it to marry him years ago. Steven wants to get sport pregnant.’
‘I do like bats,’ said Mark, chuckling in a way that only annoyed me more.
‘I have never in my life met anyone so into a hobby. He can’t get enough sport in his life, Mark.’
‘Sorry, sis, I don’t get what your point is?’ Mark seemed perplexed by my angry rant. ‘I mean, everyone has to have interests. So did you say I said Hi?’
‘No, brother,’ I hissed. ‘In between the whole being slammed by tons of freezing sea water thing and trying to ensure my body temperature remained capable of sustaining life, I forgot to send him your love and kisses.’
‘No need to be like that, Nic,’ Mark lectured, beginning to sense the date he’d set me up on hadn’t been the triumph he’d been anticipating.
‘I’m not being like anything, Mark. I am cold. I have spent the day in a kayak …’
‘A kayak,’ he interrupted, ‘cool, yeah, his last girlfriend was into water sports,’ he chuckled.
I hung up.
Reaching for the remote, I tried to map out the rest of my day. I brought up the TV listings and scanned the channels, searching for anything mindless and comforting. Basia poked her head out of the kitchen.
‘All done,’ she chirruped. I’d completely forgotten she was here.
‘Great,’ I smiled weakly at her. ‘Thank you, see you next week, have a nice evening!’
‘Okay, I am leave to go on the tiles,’ she said, miming a pretty indecent dance move for my benefit.
‘Er, great!’
‘See you on the next week, yes?’ she called, shrugging on her coat in the hall. ‘You good week hoping I. Byeeee!’
I sighed and snuggled deeper into my sofa, daydreaming of roaring fires, boiling water and steam rooms.
Chapter Fifteen
Single girl WLTM man who enjoys darts, board games, crosswords, watching TV and cosy nights in.
Contact: Box No. 5811
‘You look exhausted,’ Caroline said when I arrived at the office the next day.
‘Thanks,’ I scoffed, swinging my bag down by my desk. ‘I appreciate your lovely compliment.’
Caroline noted my grumpy expression and giggled. ‘Oh, you look pretty too, Nicky Wicky, just a teeny bit tired … up all night were you?’
I threw the nearest thing to hand, a pink highlighter, at her but she just ducked out of the way.
With mock horror, she said, ‘Nicola Brown are you CLUTTERING our office space?’
I poked my tongue out at her just as James walked through the door.
‘Very mature, Nicola. I’m sure she deserved it.’ He smiled, as I felt my cheeks get hot.
‘Good morning, James.’ I mumbled.
Caroline was openly laughing at me.
When James was firmly settled into his office next door, I told Caroline about my sea kayak experience of the day before, relishing retelling the gory details, remembering just how cold the sea had been, and loving the varied expressions of shock on Caroline’s face.
‘He made you get in the water?’ she gasped. ‘In November? He’s as mad as a box of toads.’
I was pleased that someone else thought this was particularly abnormal and reminded Caroline that during this entire nightmare I’d been dressed top-to-toe in figure-hugging neoprene. Hat and all.
‘Honestly, I looked like a skittle.’ I shook my head as Caroline rocked in her chair, laughing at the image.
James re-emerged from his office, ‘All I can hear is you two laughing. What is so funny?’ he asked with a raise of an eyebrow.
‘Nicola has taken up kayaking,’ Caroline said, exploding into another bout of giggles.
‘Nicola?’ he enquired, turning to me.
I mumbled a potted version of the story I’d just told Caroline, excluding the fact that it had been a blind date, and looked up in confusion as James started chuckling as well. I couldn’t remember ever making him laugh before. Well, except for the time I’d been cleaning under my desk and fallen off my seat, head first, into the bin. But on that occasion he’d been laughing at me and not with me. This was new. It felt good. For the first time in twenty-four hours I was genuinely glad to have been out with Steven yesterday. It wasn’t that I was reconsidering making winter trips to the ocean, but I realised I had a good story to tell. I’d done something outrageous this weekend and retelling that tale was part of the fun. I gave myself a small, and imaginary, pat on the back.
So when I received a text from Mark later that morning that read: ‘Sorry about Steven, have got another lined up … interested?’ I didn’t instantly recoil from the idea. Fine, so me and Steven were never going to be future life partners, but he hadn’t been a horrible person. Aside from his fanatical desire to push his body to its physical limit, Steven had been a perfectly decent human being. He hadn’t been rude, hadn’t been unpleasant, hadn’t been dull. He hadn’t taken recreational drugs on our date, he hadn’t had deep psychological problems, he hadn’t appeared violent, abusive or needy. It could have been worse. In the warmth of the office, retelling the tale, it sounded comical, adventurous, exciting. Not enough to repeat the experience, obviously, but enough to see who else was out there. Buoyed up by these thoughts, I texted Mark back. ‘Okay I’ll do it. Get him to give me a call’.
Clearly surprised by my positive response, Mark immediately rang my mobile.
‘That’s the attitude, Sis! Try, try, try again. I’ll get Lewis to call you. You’ll like Lewis; he’s like the opposite of Steven. He’s not outdoorsy at all. But he’s not fat,’ he tacked on, just in case I assumed that if you weren’t running a few marathons a year you were bound to be obese.
‘And what does Lewis do?’ I asked.
‘Lots of things. He’s a bit of a handyman, but, you know, educated.’
‘Age?’ I enquired.
‘My age. Oh, hold on, Carol is calling me over. I better go!’ He gushed.
‘Have a good day, run off to Carol,’ I laughed.
The phone went dead and I was left staring at the handset.
Excitingly, James had decided that we could all do with a nice team-bonding lunch out, so Caroline and I pretended to work, while really clock-watching, until James emerged from his office and announced time.
He’d booked a table in one of the restaurants on the river in the centre of town. It was a magical winter’s day. My breath hung in icy clouds and frost sparkled in the sunlight. Everyone was bundled into big duffel coats, holding gloved hands, their noses pink.
I’d splurged on a cherry-red woollen dress and a faux-fur hat that made me look, in Mark’s words, ‘very Anna Karenina/ like a silver-haired bat.’ My black leather knee boots were keeping my feet toasty warm as the three of us walked down Park Street amidst the buzz of the shoppers.
James was wearing a thick grey topcoat over a russet cashmere jumper that made him look like he’d stepped out of an advert from the Ralph Lauren’s men’s catalogue. His mobile started to ring. His wide shoulders hunched as he spoke into the mobile and he curved his body away from us. I shivered and tucked my hands around me protectively.
‘I’m going to have to throw it in the river so he can’t work over lunch,’ Caroline sighed, eyeing James’ mobile.
Almost as if he had heard her, James hung up and ambled back to rejoin us. Our eyes met for a brief second and a hint of something in his expression made me look away quickly, eyes darting anywhere but his face. We walked along the quayside until we got to the restaurant, a converted canal boat moored next to a low stone bridge. Ducking inside, we were immediately greeted by a baby-faced waiter and shown to a small round table tucked in a corner, ivy strewn along wooden shelves behind us, candles flickering as we sat down. James pulled out my chair.