The Wave

by Virginia Moffatt

  When I finally got a moment to speak, I thought it might make things better, but it seemed to only set them off more. Then somehow the argument shifted and before any of us could stop it, Yan and Poppy were yelling at each other, till he stormed down the beach. The rest of us were left feeling awkward and uncomfortable, reminding me of family Christmases when I was a child. So many days that started off so pleasantly then descended into anger, shouting and blame. Grandma always tried to make light of it, and she often managed to calm everyone down, but it was always too late for me by then. Christmas, with all its excitement and eager anticipation was always over the minute the first angry word was spoken. I hope this argument won’t follow the same pattern. This beach has been such a haven today. It would be a shame if the last few hours are to be spoiled.

  Since I am the cause of the conflict, it is impossible for me to try and make it right, so I’m grateful to Shelley for providing a distraction. When she picks up James’s guitar everyone begins to relax. James and Nikki who have been sitting apart, come closer again while Poppy jumps up, saying she’s going to try and put it right with Yan. She doesn’t look at me when she leaves, but at least she is trying to sort things out with him.

  The music helps me too, particularly when Shelley begins to sing. She has a lovely voice. I sit back in my chair, staring up at the stars. She starts with “Scarborough Fair”. Grandma used to love this song – she’d sing it in the kitchen, the place where she was most at home.…

  … I am five years old, watching her with her sleeves rolled up, pinny on, hands plunged into a basin, mixing the pastry for mince pies. The air is infused with the smell of Christmas: cinnamon, ginger, cloves and brandy for the cake and pudding she will serve till Easter. Her kitchen was old-fashioned even when I was small. She had no time for mod cons, cooking on the black range that had been there since the house was built at the turn of the century. She had no fridge until the late Fifties when Uncle Eric insisted on buying one for her for Christmas. Until then, she used a cool box in the pantry and bought ice from the ice man until he stopped visiting the street. It didn’t matter to me. In winter the range kept us warm. In summer, the back door was wide open, the range only used for the evening meal. The summer scents were fresher, lighter – mint, cucumber, strawberries – but the aroma I most associated with her was of bread rising or bread baking, for ‘without bread,’ she always used to say, ‘a house is not a home.’ She always let us help. As the eldest, I always had first stir, followed by my cousin Kath and my little brother Andrew, until, the cake or pie or pudding was ready for the oven and we were dispatched to play in the garden.

  When I was little, I never noticed the tension between my father and uncle. It was only as I grew older that I began to observe the strain in Dad’s voice when his brother’s name was mentioned, the slightly false smile from my uncle when our families met. I noticed Dad didn’t seem to enjoy Uncle Eric’s tales of selling cars to the rich and famous as much as the rest of the family. I picked up on the sneer in Uncle Eric’s voice whenever Dad referred to his job in the tax office. At unwrapping time, I began to understand the true meaning behind the polite thank yous: our family’s gifts were too mean, Uncle Eric’s too ostentatious. Once I became aware of such things I saw that the annual argument was inevitable, So I learnt to take Andrew and Kath away to the conservatory where we could play with our toys in peace away from all the shouting. It was usually over by tea time because Grandma was so good at making them stop. Until the year of the fridge.

  Grandma had always had said she never wanted a fridge, she was happy with her ice box. But one Christmas, Uncle Eric ignored her wishes, wheeling in the most expensive model on the market, making my parents gift of plants for the garden look even less impressive than usual. I think that’s what set Dad off. He accused Uncle Eric of buying their mother’s affection, while Uncle Eric just said he was jealous. This time, no-one was able to stop them from trading insults and harsh words, not even Grandma.

  The day ended with Dad dragging us out of the house, yelling he never wanted to see Uncle Eric again. We never went for Christmas after that and things were never the same …

  … The song has ended. Shelley starts another, and then another. Her singing is sad and melancholy, but suits my mood. For years Kath and I had despaired of our father’s pig-headedness, but when it came to it, we were just as bad. I thought we’d find a way back to each other, but we never did, and now it is too late. I brush away a tear. How stupid of me, to have left it too late. How bloody stupid of me.

  She has just begun ‘A North Country Maid’ when the breeze blows an echo of a laugh up the beach. To my relief I can see Poppy and Yan running towards us, their quarrel seemingly forgotten. That’s one thing less to worry about. And Yan seems to have forgiven me too, he sits down besides me as if our earlier argument had not happened. I wish I could say the same for Poppy, but she doesn’t even acknowledge my nod. There’s nothing I can do about it, but as I watch her staring at the flames, I wish things could be different. I’d hate for this row to sour the rest of the evening.

  Shelley finishes her song to enthusiastic applause, which she acknowledges with endearing modesty.. . I take advantage of the break to apologize to Yan and, to my relief, he really is over it. If only it was as easy with Kath and Poppy.

  The air is getting cooler; I pull my sweater on and, as I do so, Nikki and James stand up and wander towards the cliffs, hand in hand. I am not sure if they are lucky or not to have found each other at this moment, but the sight of them fills me with warmth. Richard and I fell in love on a night like this, thrown together by our mutual dislike of our fellow students on a geography field trip. We sneaked away from the campfire, found a spot on the cliffs, and talked till sunrise. I’d known then I wanted to marry him, and although the marriage was cut short so early, I never regretted it. I hope Nikki and James can snatch that kind of happiness tonight. I really do.

  When Shelley finishes “The Water is Wide”, she puts down the guitar, and though we ask for another, she has had enough. Yan stretches, stands, and announcing he is tired, disappears into his tent. Poppy is silent. Her body bristles with disapproval and I wish I could find a way to get through to her. I try and soothe myself listening to the rush of waves crashing and retreating from the shore.

  ‘I love that sound,’ I say

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ says Shelley. ‘It’s the best part of being on a beach.’ This is the last thing I’d have expected her to say. I am beginning to realize that she is more than she seems. Kath always said I was too quick to judge; maybe she was right. And then Shelley surprises me again, ‘I always have to make a sandcastle when I come to the beach, just by the shoreline.’ The brittle young woman of earlier has disappeared, replaced by this eager, enthusiastic girl.

  ‘We should make one now,’ I say, fired up by the thought of doing something active.

  ‘In the dark?’

  ‘Why not? The moon is bright enough to see. I’ve always loved making sandcastles too.’ I don’t add that I don’t think there’ll be time in the morning, or that doing this is another convenient way of delaying being alone with my thoughts at bedtime. ‘Coming, Poppy?’ I say, hoping that because she is smiling at Shelley’s enthusiasm, she might be willing to forgive me. She declines, claiming exhaustion, though I think it’s probably to avoid being with me. I watch her grab her wash things from the tent and climb up to the car park, wishing I could put it right, but I can’t think how.

  ‘Come on, then,’ says Shelley, ‘If we’re going to be daft, it might as well be now, as my dad always says.’

  I hurry down the beach with her to the firm sand by the high tide mark. With no buckets or spades, we are reduced to scooping it with our hands and placing it on a mound which gradually takes shape. I concentrate on building the base, making the foundations firm. I am not particularly artistic, and my sandcastles are never usually up to much, but it is always the simple pleasure of building something from nothing that I enjoy.
Shelley, on the other hand, is an expert. She pats sand, crafts corners and crenellations, forms little windows, creates a moat and a drawbridge across it. It’s a work of art. It is close to completion when we hear voices. I glance up to see Nikki and James clambering on the rocks by the headland. They must have got caught by the tide. Nikki reaches the end of the stones and jumps down onto the sand. Behind her James slips and topples head first into the water with a curse. Nikki laughs at him, a warm laugh, signifying intimacy. I am glad to see something good coming out of this wretched situation.

  The couple come towards us. I’m a little nervous of speaking to James again, but he smiles at me and is genuinely apologetic, and Nikki is delightfully enthusiastic about our sandcastle. She’s so excited by it that though James returns to the camp to get out of his wet clothes, she stays to help. With her assistance we add further turrets and crenallations, decorating the final effort with seaweed and pebbles.When we are done, we are all ridiculously pleased with our creation. It’s only a stupid sandcastle, but somehow it feels significant. Shelley takes a few pictures. They’re a bit dark, but the castle is clearly distinguishable, so I take one too. I’ll send it to Hellie before bed time, to show her … what exactly? That life goes on? That imminent death isn’t necessarily as bad as all that? That I’m a silly old fool? Maybe all three.

  We wash our hands in a sea so icy that it hurts my fingers. As I shake them dry my skin tingles with the cold. How can my life be about to end when I can feel the sensation so deeply? I rub them together to warm them up, remembering another night, another beach, when the children were small. Kath and I had snuck out from the holiday cottage, leaving the Dads in charge. We’d swum in a sea, feeling every part of our body tingle with the cold before sitting by a campfire and drinking red wine. A happy evening, liberated from the burdens of childcare, one of so many Kath and I shared. How had we let an argument ruin all of that? Why had I never tried to put it right?

  ‘Shall we go back?’ says Shelley. ‘I think I’m ready for bed. And I want to talk to my dad.’ Nikki nods

  ‘You go on,’ I say. ‘I just want to sit here for a bit.’

  I sit down on the damp sand, take out my phone, hoping Kath still has the same email address, and begin to type.

  James

  Shelley has been singing for some time now. Her voice is astonishing, it gives me hope, fills me with life, makes me feel anything is possible. The moon is bright, the air is cool, the flames of the campfire are glowing and all at once I am ready to take the kind of risk I’ve avoided since Lisa left.

  ‘Fancy going for a walk?’ I whisper in Nikki’s ear. She nods, takes my hand and we stroll down the beach.

  ‘You were a bit unfair, back there.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘To Margaret. I mean, how was she to know? She had an impossible decision. Would you have done anything differently?’

  I think about this for a minute. ‘Probably not,’ and then, sensing this is not enough, ‘I’ll apologize to her when we get back.’

  She squeezes my hand and leans into me. We are both barefoot and the sand beneath our feet is damp, but we feel comfortable, at our ease, as if we’ve done this a thousand times before. The waves crash on the shoreline ahead of us, the white light of the moon sparkles and splits among the rising and falling crests. The tide is coming in, but it has yet to reach the cliffs. We probably have an hour or so before we are cut off. Enough time to show her my favourite cave. I lead her across the damp sands, passing the rocks around the headland. The cliffs tower above me, making me stop for a moment; how could a wave be so high that we won’t even be safe up there? Nikki squeezes my hand as if she has the same thought. As we turn the corner, out of sight from the others, I stop and pull her closer. She holds me more tightly, raising her face so that our mouths meet and we kiss, and kiss and kiss, till my phone vibrates in my pocket breaking the spell.

  ‘Come on,’ I say taking her hand again, peering at the cliffs, looking for the crevice. ‘It’s round here somewhere …’ I find the opening between the rocks. ‘The first section’s a bit dark, I’m afraid.’ She follows me up the sandy shingle. ‘Careful. The pebbles are a bit slippy here.’ The stones are slimy underfoot, the mouth of the cave reveals an inky blackness ahead. Nikki switches her phone torch on, its narrow light exposing the rock pool ahead, the walls of the cave marked in green seaweed. I do the same. The buzz was Lisa. Of all the times to text me. I try to ignore it but as I say ‘Stay by the side, it’s deep in the middle,’ I am acutely aware that I have done this before, with Lisa. Early in our relationship, when she still laughed at my jokes, told me I had a great singing voice, that she loved playing music with me. Back when I was stupid enough to believe her. That night we’d made our way to the centre of the cave and, though it was a cloudy night, it didn’t matter. We’d made love here and she said she loved me. And I believed that too. Fuck you, Lisa, what are you doing texting me now? After all these months. I don’t need you now, not when Nikki is with me, when I’m thinking about those kisses, how much I enjoyed them, how much I want to kiss her again. I force Lisa from my mind, concentrating on what I am doing, holding the side of the cave wall as I find may way through the pool. The water is cold, but not icy, and after a while it feels quite pleasant. In the darkness I am aware of Nikki breathing behind me, the splash of her feet through the water. Ahead, I can make out a bright light, which grows stronger until we reach the centre of the cave, where we clamber out of the water onto soft sand that sinks under our feet, leaving deep impressions. Shafts of moonlight illuminate the walls and light up the water. Ahead of us we can see the full, round moon shining through the hole in the ceiling like the iris of a dark- blue eye.

  ‘Wow, it’s beautiful,’ she says.

  ‘We’ll have about twenty minutes before it moves away.’

  My phone vibrates again, reminding me of Lisa’s text. Weird that I can get reception here. I glance at it. Dearest James. I’m beside myself with worry. Call me xxx. I put the phone away, tell Nikki it was nothing. Forget Lisa; I only want to think of the gorgeous woman in front of me. She moves towards me.

  ‘Thank you for bringing me here.’ She takes my head in her hands and kisses me on the mouth. I put my arms round her and kiss her back. Gradually we sink to the ground, not caring it’s damp, that sand that is getting in our clothes. We kiss and kiss as our hands begin to explore each other’s bodies, removing clothes quickly until we are semi-naked in the darkness. I want to lose myself in this moment, forget the wave, forget the past, forget everything. But somehow I can’t get a picture of Lisa out of my head. My kisses lose focus, my body tenses, not sure if this is what it wants. In response she falters, and then all of a sudden she sits up.

  ‘Stop.’ She is half crying.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s just that … I don’t know you … I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t normally do this.’ She pulls her skirt down, her knickers up, finds her bra and laces it up. Part of me wants to tear it back off, feel those smooth breasts in my hands and mouth again, but as she puts her top on I can feel desire fading too. It’s not that I don’t want her, it’s just that … ‘Time,’ she is saying. ‘We need more time … I think that you could be somebody. We could be something. But we don’t have time.’ She starts to cry properly now and I put my arm round her, because she is right. There is not enough time to understand the way I am feeling about her and simultaneously wonder how I feel about Lisa getting in touch. And the sense that I am too old for one-night stands, and if the wave were not coming tomorrow, if it all proves to be a horrible mistake, I’d hate to have slept with her too soon. ‘I know,’ I say, ‘I know.’ And now I am sobbing too, for the waste of it all, for the possibilities we are losing, for the knowledge that when this night ends there is nothing left for either of us. And that knowledge isn’t romantic and bittersweet like in the movies. It is just so fucking unfair. To be dying before my time, dying before I am ready, dying be
fore I have the chance to get to know this woman who might just be the one for me. And there is nothing I can do but sit with her, sobbing on the floor of a damp, cold cave.

  At last,our crying comes to an end.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says.

  ‘It’s OK.’ I kiss her on top of her head. ‘It’s just …’

  ‘Too soon.’

  ‘Yes,’ and then because I feel I owe it to her to be totally honest, ‘And my ex just texted. Bad timing …’

  ‘Oh.’ Nikki is about to say more when she jumps up as water splashes up from the pool. Shit. The tide is coming in. I should have been more alert.

  ‘We’ve got to move.’ I follow her back through the pool. Already the water is deeper, up to our knees, swirling about us as the waves enter and leave. We need both our hands to cling to the rocks in order to stay upright. When we reach the edge of the cave, the sand has vanished, the sea is at shin deep and has cut off our escape. We will have to make our way back along the rocks at the cliff edge until we round the corner to the safety of the beach. Nikki nods as I explain and she immediately applies herself to the task of plotting out the easiest route, avoiding stones covered in seaweed, carefully navigating the smallest boulders, keeping as far away from the sea as possible. Watching her progress I am grateful that it is Nikki rather than Lisa who is accompanying me. Lisa had her strengths but she’d have baulked at this. She would have made so much fuss that the journey would have taken twice as long. Nikki reaches the end of the rocks and jumps onto the sand. I have just reached the shallows and am thinking that, if Lisa were here, she would be bound to fall in the sea, when I miss my footing and find myself slipping backwards. Before I know it I am sitting in the water as the waves break over my midriff. Nikki turns round and starts laughing.

  ‘You look a bit wet,’ she says, running up to me as I emerge from the water.