Todd increased the speed and the boat began to bounce over the waves.
“I need some space. We won’t stay out too long.”
Todd slowed ‘Pepino’ down a little and it moved smoothly into the bay. The lights from the restaurants in the Santa Catalina district fell onto the dark water in splashes of blue, orange and green. ‘Pepino’ cut through colours sending rainbow ripples to the right and left. Someone played a flamenco acoustic guitar outside the Marina hotel close by. The notes were carried like hidden night birds moving through the air softly before fading into infinity.
Todd licked the salty water from his lips, feeling the gentle rocking of the boat beneath his feet, as he negotiated around a yacht anchored in the middle of the bay. He nudged slowly forward, feeling the fingering of a warm breeze against his face – oblivious of Stephanie sitting silently behind him. With one hand on the rudder, he balanced his weight first on his right foot and then pressed down on his left. The waves were quietly swelling in rhythm to his touch. It was a dance between Todd, ‘Pepino’ and the waves. He felt the undulations of the waves below ‘Pepino’ move through his body in a gentle caress. He looked up into the sky. The stars flickering pin points of light and Mars holding still with its characteristic orange hue. The moon - a crescent slither of platinum –a scythe hanging in black velvet. The sparkling waves around ‘Pepino’ transformed into stars – the waves undulating black velvet. Everything flowing around him - sky, sea and space. A ripple of pure joy shuddered through him as Stephanie raised her voice anxiously.
“Todd, the water is really coming in. We need to turn back.”
Stephanie placed her basket on the wooden seat, edged towards the front of the boat, to find the pump.
“Pass me the pump. This is turning into a nightmare. Can you not see that the water is now above our ankles?”
Todd turned around to see Stephanie hanging on with both hands to the side of the boat.
“I’m afraid to move. For God’s sake, pass me the pump.”
Todd extended a hand towards her.
“You’re panicking. Take my hand. Come here, you steer. I’ll do the pumping.”
They changed seats – the boat wobbled at the transfer of weight, the water inside rolling and swishing to the right and then left. Todd breathed deeply, pumped vigorously, and the water level inside ‘Pepino’ began to fall. Stephanie steered towards the beach. The waves lapped gently, licking the sides of the boat, a duck gave an occasional agitated squawk as they drew close to a family heading towards their nesting place in a Torrente near the Repic beach. Suddenly ‘Pepino’ slowed with a spluttering cough, coming to a halt – bobbing listlessly in the same place.
“Don’t tell me we’re out of petrol?” Stephanie leaned over grapping Todd’s arm, her voice trembling.
“Where is the spare can of petrol?”
Todd looked around the boat and shouted at Stephanie,
“I told you to lift it. It was on the pier beside your basket.”
Stephanie looked at the beach in the distance, back at Todd who continued to frenetically pump water back into the sea.
“The last time I saw it – it was in the boot of your car.” Stephanie let go of the rudder and with her fingers raked her frizzled auburn hair.
“Calm down, Stephanie. For God’s sake. We are not on ‘The Titanic’. The beach is not far away. We have oars.”
Todd clambered towards the front of the boat, loosening the oars tied inside on the left. He then splashed through the water, settled into middle seat, slotted the oars into their metal holders and began to row, shouting at Stephanie, “You keep pumping.”
Holding the pump in one hand, Stephanie inched her way towards the back of the boat and began to pump furiously, breathing heavily, glancing every few seconds towards the beach. Then she caught sight of a head bobbing in the water. Someone swimming the breast stroke in a slow and determined way, headed in their direction.
Stephanie screamed, “Careful, Todd. A man in the water. Keep to the right. Try not to make waves.”
Todd looked over his shoulder to his right. He saw a shape the size of a small dolphin raising itself out of the water and then disappearing under for a second or two before emerging again. Todd turned ‘Pepino’ to the right, slowing his pace. The waves almost made no movement now. Stephanie slowed her pumping, without taking her eyes off the man in the water. The water level inside ‘Pepino’ began to rise again. As they drifted closer to the swimmer, Stephanie and Todd saw that without a doubt - it was Paddy.
“Paddy,” Stephanie, dropped the pump into the floor of the boat and waved her arms.
Todd rowed gently towards Paddy. Drawing alongside him, Stephanie lowered a metal ladder into the sea. Without saying a word, Paddy caught hold of the lower rung. He looked up at Stephanie, smiling his toothless smile. Todd rested the oars inside the boat and manoeuvred himself beside Stephanie. The boat dipped heavily to the right. Todd patted Stephanie on the back.
“I’ll stand on the left hand side or the boat will capsize. Can you help him in.”
Stephanie sobbed and whispered.
“OK.”
Todd gently manoeuvred towards the left the boat. ‘Pepino’ steadied as Stephanie leaned over the side, her face covered in sea salt and tears.
“Paddy climb up. I’ll help you.”
Paddy put his hands on a higher rung and then a foot on the lower rung. Stephanie was able to slide her arms under Paddy’s armpits, clasped her hands together behind his back and with a superhuman effort hauled him over the edge of the boat and then they both collapsed onto the watery floor.
♥
Gurtha helped Paddy into the dry clothes retrieved by Todd and Stephanie, while Barry heaped logs onto the wood burning stove. The fire crackled and hissed as damp wood spluttered into life. Gurtha buttoned up a checked blue and white shirt and felt Paddy’s hands again. They were cold. Paddy sat on a chair, Gurtha knelt in front of him pulling on two socks and then gently slipped on brown leather shoes. He looked into Paddy’s eyes,
“What on earth were you doing Paddy? You gave us all a shock.”
Paddy smiled, stretching his hands towards the wood burning stove, “That’s a great fire you’ve got going. What are all these people doing looking at me?”
Gurtha poured a cup of tea and placed it in Paddy’s hands.
“If it wasn’t for Stephanie and Todd you would be still swimming to Barcelona.”
Paddy sipped his tea.
“Barcelona? I’m not going near Barcelona. Do you have a custard cream biscuit?”
Gurtha shook his head.
“Not here but I have them at home.”
Paddy took another sip of tea.
“When are we going home then? I’d like a custard cream or a jammy dodger.”
Gurtha shook his head, “I don’t know. I’ll take you home. Don’t worry. You don’t like flying on your own.”
Barry asked Todd,
“What made you think of searching at sea? That was a bit of luck wasn’t it?”
Stephanie shivered and stared at the floor. Todd rubbed his hands on his trousers and leaned over to Barry.
“Divine inspiration. Where did you and Angelina go to look for Paddy?”
“We stayed in Soller. We didn’t think he would far away but that was a misjudgement.” Angelina flushed red, holding her hands over her face for a moment and pretended to sneeze.
♥
They say that your body holds your life. That there is no thought or feeling that isn’t registered and stored. That is why some people experience the past unfolding rapidly within minutes before they die.
Gurtha looked at Cornelia holding Paddy’s hand, both gazing into the fire, and had a flashback.
♥
He was eighteen years old. It was his first day arriving at Nottingham University. The taxi swept up a curving driveway to Woodward Hall. A gentle mist settled over the grass beside a small pond. A peacock strutted along the gravel outs
ide the front door – opening its tail with a swish and turning round and round. Large wooden doors led into reception. Before going inside, Gurtha looked at his new home for the next year – a nineteenth century building made of granite stone with large wooden windows made up of tiny square lead frames. There was a hanging basket to the left of the front door, filled with small blue and yellow flowers and in the centre three robust autumnal orange tubular plants which were topped by a cascade of white pearl flowers flowing down into the flurry of blue and yellow. It smelt different here from Belfast – there was sweetness in the air – maybe from the hyacinths in the lawn or from the roses to the right of the front door, grown into a tree shape in a wooden barrel pot, with more than thirty blossoms bursting into a symphony of bouquet.
Gurtha carried his suitcase inside and rang a brass bell sitting on the desk. There was a picture frame on the table detailing the history of Woodward Hall since its construction in the sixteenth century by Sir Thomas Fintonbury who made his money from the Nottinghamshire coal pits. The reception desk was made of solid oak as were the panelled walls behind it. There was a formidable portrait of Sir Thomas and Lady Sarah on the wall behind. Sir Thomas was standing, Lady Sarah sitting on a chair beside him and lower down a black pointer dog lay at their feet. Sir Thomas wore a black striped tunic which was tight at the waist before it opened up into a ballerina style skirt which had a puffed cream underskirt. He had a black hat tilted to one side with a feather in it, black trousers and the most delicate of silk flat pointed shoes. Lady Sarah wore a hat like a twisted curled snake on her head. You could see a strong widow’s peak beneath the hat. She had a ruffled collar like something you would put on a dog to stop it scratching its ears, a long black velvet dress draped in pearls and a pink ornately-decorated left sleeve. Her hand rested on the dog’s head. The dog’s eyes looked directly into Gurtha’s in an unsettling way. He was trying to work out why it felt uncomfortable when a door opened on his left and a sprightly elderly man dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and black tie, approached the desk.
“Welcome to Woodward Hall. Let’s get you registered.”
He searched through a list of white envelopes which were neatly laid out in rows on top of the desk, checked Gurtha’s passport for identification and handed him the envelope and a key from a pigeon hole in the wall behind.
“Follow me. I’ll show you your room and explain how it all works here. Your neighbours have already checked in. You’re a lucky man. This place will be sold next year by the University. You’ll be the last year of students to enjoy it.”
Mr Starkley opened the door into his bedroom.
“We serve breakfast at 7.00 am in the dining room which we will see in a moment and dinner at 6.00 pm. If you wish to have your dinner elsewhere, please let us know.”
Gurtha saw a single bed to his left, neatly made with an orange quilted bedspread and white pillow on top. Two blue towels sat folded on top of the pillow. On his right was a small writing table and chair. Towards the window there was a large white washbasin with a glass tumbler.
“The TV can be watched in the sitting room and we have a shower and toilet along the hallway.”
Gurtha walked towards the window with its small square leaden panels. He had a view over the front lawn with the drive snaking its way out of sight towards the main gates. He could see the pond with four ducks, the peacock and a newly appeared peahen stood, still unmoving, looking towards him.
Later that afternoon he met his two room neighbours - Bosie from Rotheram with red fuzzy candyfloss hair, a slightly bloated face and redeemingly clean fingernails. Bosie studied Physics. Andrew was a thin matchstick man with black hair and blue eyes studying Chemistry who even on that first afternoon couldn’t be stopped sharing with Gurtha his insights into visual spatial thinking as it related to Chemistry. They were both in their second year.
Within a month, the three of them met Cornelia. Bosie literally stumbled over her on the way to order a drink at the bar. Cornelia was a mature student – studying English and a regular visitor to ‘Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem’ near Nottingham Castle.
Cornelia was then twenty three, with a classic black bob, pale translucent white skin and that evening she wore a Moschino black quilted denim mini-skirt with a bodice make out of safety pins. A long thick blonde plait was woven into her raven hair. She had the habit of holding it and twiddling with it on her right shoulder. Her tights were black lacy roses and her boots were knee length patent leather with an unusual flap at the top like a butterfly wing. She smoked long thin menthol cigarettes, blowing the smoke into Gurtha’s eyes, laughing.
“So you have talked a lot about Nuala. You are a real Mummy’s boy aren’t you? Don’t they say that a man looks for his mother in the women he marries? Do I look like her? Does my mind tick like Nuala’s? Of course I am already married to darling Henry but it’s still an interesting question don’t you think?”
She threw her head back and blew smoke towards the ceiling. Bosie poured Cornelia a glass of Pinot Grigio, before helping himself to a Rioja. A waiter lit a red candle in a Mateus Rose bottle, covered with the molten remains of previous intimate candlelit conversations.
Gurtha looked into Cornelia’s green eyes, “I don’t think any two people are the same or even similar. There is only one Nuala.”
On the walls were photographs of Hollywood actors from the 1950s – Humphrey Bogart in a suit with a black tie looking as though he was going to a funeral, Clark Gable with a bow tie, Marlon Brando looking mean and moody in a stretch tight t-shirt. There were women - Hedy Lamarr with a perfectly symmetrical oval face, arched eyebrows leading in a fine line to a long straight nose and perfectly plumped cupid lips. Kathryn Hepburn, arms crossed, wearing a dark suit and white shirt, looking frostily away from the camera. Brigitte Bardot with a cascade of strawberry blonde curls over bare shoulders, her mouth hanging slightly open as though gasping for air. The walls were papered a warm rose colour with a gold vertical line which every so often converted into a gold heart. The lighting was soft and golden emanating from cream scallop shell lampshades perched on the walls.
From the table, Cornelia watched the kitchen where a red brick pizza oven vibrantly blazed with flames jumping into the air and the pizza makers slid long thin metal plates holding pizza into the oven. She turned to Gurtha, “Well if there is no-one else like Nuala in the world – do tell us what you like best about her. I’m sure we’re all dying to know.” She took another deep inhalation of smoke and released it making small circles of smoke which drifted towards Gurtha.
Gurtha waved the smoke away from his face, “That’s easy. She is the most honest person I’ve ever met. She doesn’t try to impress anyone. She’s mysterious.”
Cornelia stubbed the cigarette into the ashtray.
“Mysterious. What does that mean?”
Gurtha pushed the smouldering cigarette and ashtray to one side.
“It means that you feel that you can never know her. You can’t pin her down and say that she is this or that. You can’t control her. She won’t try to please you. She is a mystery and although you attempt to plumb her depths you will never fully know her. You circle around – watching to know the unknown.”
Cornelia pulled another cigarette from the packet; Bosie leant forward with a lighter, “Aren’t we all a mystery? I find your attitude towards Nuala rather odd. She can’t be more special than anyone else here.”
She stubbed a second cigarette, almost unsmoken, into the ash tray.
“I’m paying remember.” Cornelia smiled into Bosie’s eyes. “I have a wealthy man at home to take care of me.”
♥
The second time they were together, Cornelia wore a gold coloured satin dress with a plunging neckline and fake gold ear-rings in the shape of a cross. Over the dress she wore a blue satin jacket with three quarter length sleeves. On her hands were gold lacy gloves which finished at the end of the sleeve. She had matching gold high heels.
“Why don
’t we do something different?” Cornelia placed a menthol cigarette into a holder which she placed in her mouth and leaned across the table this time for Andrew to light.
Andrew flicked on his lighter several times before the flame smouldered orange. She closed her eyes in appreciation, giving a slight shiver of her shoulders.
“We’re always eating and drinking. It’s so boring. Can’t we have a proper adventure? Don’t you first year students do things like “Expeditions”? Why can’t we have one of our own?”
Andrew spread his linen napkin over his knees and grabbed a black olive from the dish in front of him, scooping it with his fingers and then pushing it into his mouth, pressing his hand heavily against his lips.
“What are you thinking of – Kilimanjaro, a trip through the Congo following in the footsteps of Che Guevara or maybe to the Bolivian jungle tracing his last few weeks to investigate if he was betrayed by Fidel Castro?”
Cornelia leaned across the table and caught Andrew’s hand before it reached for more olives as the waiter arrived with two sizzling pizzas – one for Andrew – with roasted artichokes, red caramelised onions, red pepper and goat’s cheese and one for Gurtha – with spinach and egg. Andrew slipped his hand away from Cornelia’s and sat back as the waiter grated fresh parmesan cheese on top.
Cornelia stabbed out her cigarette in the ashtray, “Well, I have in mind something simpler - a walk along Offa’s Dyke towards Hay on Wye. Andrew, you can take Bosie in the mini. Gurtha will come with Henry and me. We will follow you to Hay and then you can all pile into the back and we’ll go to the starting point in Henry’s car.”
“Don’t look like that Bosie. You are eventually going to meet Henry. I am married to him. It’s still quite in the Honeymoon period, you know, five years later. I can’t leave him all alone for a whole weekend.” She chuckled glancing at Gurtha, peeling off her gloves as her salad nicoise arrived.
“I think we should go next weekend – before snow falls. I’ll book a hotel in Hay.”
The Secret Wound Page 11