‘I love you,’ I say. And I mean it.
‘I love you too.’ He gives me a final kiss.
This is what commitment feels like. Drifting off to sleep, safe, warm, ready to face tomorrow, no matter what it brings. Thinking, maybe, God has been gracious after all.
Harry
On the bad nights, Val was always responsible for us little ones. The minute things kicked off downstairs, she would gather us up to the girls’ bedroom, pile furniture in front of the door to keep Dad out, and sit us on the lower bunk. While the storm raged beneath us, we would cuddle under a duvet as she told fairy tales to distract us. To keep our interest she’d do different voices and inject humour into the darkest of stories. Hansel and Gretel was my favourite, perhaps because the children were so resilient in the face of their parents’ abandonment of them. I loved Hansel’s cleverness with the pebbles, how Gretel was able to trick the witch into the oven, and how they made it home to find the wicked stepmother dead. And Val was so strong on those evenings. No matter how much shouting went on, she’d keep reading, distracting us from our parents’ rage, and if Dad came upstairs looking for a fight, she’d keep us quiet until he gave up trying the door and went downstairs. Val was my hero, she gave me the courage to survive. I wish she was with me tonight. I need her comforting voice to keep me going, particularly since I’ve lost my way and haven’t got a trail of stones to guide me back.
I’m kicking myself for not paying proper attention earlier. I was so focussed on getting to the garage that I didn’t memorize the route. I took the right fork instead of the left. The woods looked familiar, so I didn’t realize my mistake till now when, faced with a large field of cows to my right, I have had to admit I didn’t pass this way before. Fuck. It will take me twenty minutes to walk back to the junction and it’s another twenty from there. It’s another delay I could do without.
The cows are still awake, huddled bodies in the field, lowing mournfully. Even though there’s a fence between us they make me nervous. Ever since Shelley and I got stuck in a field with some heifers on a rare country walk I’ve always given cattle a wide berth. I suppose it was quite funny in retrospect, the way we had to cling to the fence because we were intimidated by their rolling eyes and stomping feet. Shelley was actually a lot braver than me on that occasion, but then, growing up walking on the Yorkshire moors, she had more experience than me. It’s strange that Shelley is so much on my mind tonight, I don’t usually think of her this often when we’re apart. But since she decided to stay behind, she’s been constantly in my thoughts. If she were here, she’d probably be giving me a hard time about our predicament, but even so I wish she was with me now. I’d rather be walking with her by my side, prattling on about the Kardashians, than this lonely journey in the darkness, spooked by every sinister rustle. I need her with me to tell me it’s ridiculous to be afraid of walking at night. That I shouldn’t let the stories Evan told me when I was eight still fill me with dread. But she is not here, so all I can do is tell myself to toughen up and keep moving, it’s not far. There’s nothing to worry about, nothing to worry about at all.
I am halfway back to the crossroads when a buzz from my phone tells me my signal has returned. I stop to check and see if it is Shelley but it is just an automated message from a supplier. I have a quick look at social media to see if she has posted anything but her twitter feed hasn’t been updated since midnight. For some weird reason she shared a picture of a sandcastle she’d made. She’s grinning wildly as if she hasn’t a care in the world. What the fuck has got into her?
Shelley might not have posted, but the rest of the world has; my timeline is full of videos of the eruption of the volcano followed by it crumbling into the sea. Someone must have got a drone up there, because the footage captures the exact moment it begins to break apart. A path of red lava is flowing from the summit, illuminating the cliff face allowing us to see the first small rocks chip off, followed by large chunks falling into the sea, exploding in a cloud of grey and white dust. More and more pieces break away until, eventually, the mountain itself splits in two, boulders and stones tumbling in the water, leaving a huge trail of smoke and generating the start of the wave that is coming for us. If that’s not an incentive to keep going, I don’t know what is. I put the phone away and march forward with more purpose. I’ve got to get back to the Maserati, get the boat to a harbour and get moving as soon as I can.
Thank fuck, there’s the turning. My mood improves. At least I’m in the right place now. Spurred on by images of the turbulent sea, I up the pace, eager to get back to the car as soon as I can. But I’m not as fit as I’d like to be, so I am out of breath quickly and I keep stumbling. Everything aches and I have to put the can down every few minutes. And still the rustling trees, movement of wildlife, hooting of owls fills me with a fear I cannot shake off. I am so tired of this walk; why is it taking me so long to get back. I have almost given up hope of ever arriving when I finally see the outline of buildings, the shape of the Maserati on the road. I am almost sobbing in relief as I run up to it, opening the hub cap to pour the petrol in and the liquid rushes through the pipe like rain after a very dry season — the sound of my salvation. I climb back into the driver’s seat. Now I am back in the Maserati I feel safer, but I will have to decide soon which road to take. Do I go right and collect Shelley, risking not getting far enough around the coast, or left to St Ives and the certainty of reaching safety? I can’t work out what to do. Despite my uncertainty and the fact I have to drive more slowly with the trailer attached, my earlier confidence returns., My eyes feel heavy but, I almost feel happy and I am no longer panicking. Even with the boat bouncing behind me, I love driving this car. I remember the first time we took it out for a spin. We pulled the top down and shot down the A23. The sun shone all the way and we picnicked on the beach on French bread, cheese, tomatoes, washed down with champagne. Shelley isn’t much of a swimmer, so spent the afternoon sunbathing, but I’ve always loved the water and was in and out constantly, making her laugh with my Craig Daniel impressions. And then, later, we booked into a hotel where we had steak and chips and sat out on the beach watching the moon rise and send a silver path across the sea, just as it has tonight, before returning to our room where we had the best sex we ever had. That was a day that was; we were so close, then. What happened to us?
Oh Shells, I think, failing to suppress a yawn, why did you have to stay behind? Why did you choose to leave me for a bunch of strangers and make sandcastles at midnight? Why didn’t you trust me to get us both out of this alive? You should be with me now, joining me in my triumphant escape instead of waiting for death in the darkness. I wish you’d come with me, I really do.
God, I’m knackered; my eyes are struggling to focus on the road ahead. I glance down at the clock, the blurry numbers say half past three. I am not far from the turn when I make my decision. I’m going back for her. We can drive up to St Michael’s Mount and go from there. We probably have room for one more too. I think it has to be Poppy. Behind that jolly bossiness and organisational skills, I detect a ruthlessness that I admire, a kindred spirit, a fellow survivor, who, in other circumstances might have been a friend. Yeah, Poppy can come if she wants, though Shelley is all I care about. It’s taken tonight and this absence to make me understand that. She maybe a bit dippy at times, but she’s kind and caring and I’m too old to be on my own. Fuck it. Maybe I should be thinking of settling down, giving her kids. All these years I’ve avoided the family life – at first, because my own was so crap. Later, because watching my sisters settle for a life of nappies and demanding children, my brothers and mates restricted by domestic duties, I was sure it wasn’t for me. But tonight it occurs to me that maybe it’s time. Living through this has shown me I don’t have long left on this planet and I have to leave more of me behind then a string of hotels and big fat bank balance, don’t I? Yeah. I’m definitely going back for Shelley.
The road bends sharply to the left and I think I’ve slowed dow
n in time, but I’ve misjudged the distance, and I have to pull hard to get round the corner. Something jumps out in front of me. Jeez, where did that come from? I slam on the brakes to see a deer running off into the night. I should get going again, but now I’ve stopped, I can barely focus. I just have to lay my head on the wheel for a minute. There’ll be no harm in that; I’ll just close my eyes for a bit . I am so tired … I won’t be a minute. I just need to rest my head. I lean forward, clasp the wheel with both hands, my head resting on top. Just for a minute, just for a minute, and then I’ll be on my way.
Shelley
I have slept in fits and starts all night, drifting in and out of consciousness as the minutes pass. At some point I wake to discover Margaret has gone and I turn over and doze off again, coming to at the sound of voices approaching. I hear Margaret whispering ‘good night’ to someone, Poppy I think, before entering the tent. I don’t say anything; I’m talked out and I suspect so is she. I close my eyes and force myself asleep. Sometime later I can hear voices murmuring by the cliff, it sounds like Nikki and James. I sleep, I wake, I sleep, I wake, I sleep awake … Normally, I would feel frustrated by now, but every time I look at my phone I am aware I am still here, I am still alive. I am so grateful to be still alive. Let the night last fore ever. Let me stay alive – please God, if you exist, if you have any thought for me, please let me live.
Eventually I reach a point where no matter how much I close my eyes and breathe deeply, I cannot sleep. It is dark, but I sense morning is not far away. I check my phone; five fifteen. Margaret is snoring beside me. I had hoped that perhaps Harry might be back for me by now, but looking at his texts again I don’t think they’re very encouraging. Though he’s on his way, he doesn’t seem eager to come and get me; maybe it’s not even possible. He might be much further up the coast, not able to make it back round to Dowetha. Besides, I’m not even sure he knows how to steer. Even if he did want to get back to me, he might not be capable of managing the journey.
Shit. Alison was right. I should have gone with him. After all this time with Harry, why did I choose tonight of all nights to leave him? I should have stuck it out, trusted he wouldn’t let me down, seized my only opportunity for escape. I shouldn’t have let my frustration and tiredness and the lure of good company keep me here. I know I was right to leave him, but why didn’t I wait till we’d reached safety? I should have known that he would find a way to get out. Now I am left with the grim reality that, in a few hours, my life will be over, because I lost faith in him at the crucial moment. But haven’t I always got it wrong at every turn? I’ve been a constant disappointment to Dad ever since we came down south. Unlike Alison the Perfect, who has never made a misstep ever. Alison, with her endlessly good grades, her university degree and promising career in marketing. Her words from last night ring in my ears, Why didn’t you wait till you were safe before you left him? Only this time, she’s not exasperated, she’s sneering; my older sister, superior as ever, shaking her head at my foolishness.
Suddenly, I am filled with anger. At Alison. At Harry. At my own stupidity. I want to scream at the top of my voice, but I can’t do that. Nor can I go back to sleep. I think of waking Margaret, but she is sleeping so peacefully it doesn’t seem fair. Instead, I unzip my sleeping bag, quietly slip out of the tent and make my way down to the sea. The waves rise, fall, crash on the shoreline with a soothing rhythm rise, fall, crash, rise, fall, crash. The sky ahead is still a deep dark blue but, behind me, the clifftops glow with a golden light, sunrise is coming.. The air is cool, but not unpleasant, the wind has died down, the waves lap at the shore gently. The sound is soothing, and as I let the noise wash over me I can feel my anger evaporate. I rarely think of Mum but all of a sudden her voice comes back to me loud and clear, don’t be too hard on your sister, she loves you very much. When I think about it, I was a gobby little sister at times. That must have been so annoying. If I’m honest with myself, I often got away with murder, playing on being the youngest, pretending to be more innocent than I was. It wasn’t her fault she’s cleverer than me, or mine that I struggled to study. It’s just how it was. And I know she doesn’t mean to criticize me really; it’s just a force of habit. I check my phone, five thirty. Harry hasn’t sent me any more messages, so it doesn’t look like he’s coming back for me. Bastard. He really is a bastard.
‘Morning.’ I jump. I hadn’t heard Yan approaching. All of a sudden the sick feeling in my stomach returns. ‘Can’t sleep?’ he asks.
‘No.’
‘Me neither. I’ve been stargazing.’
Now he is here, I cannot avoid the truth. I can hardly look at him because he is living confirmation there has been no mistake. We have less than three hours left. I don’t think I can bear it.
‘Have you looked at the Facebook page?’ he says, hesitantly.
‘No.’
‘It’s just that someone has told a website about Margaret and there are loads of nasty comments.’
Someone … ‘Harry.’
‘We thought so.’
‘It’s just like him. I could bloody kill him. First he gets everyone angry with her, and then he does this.’ I pick up my phone and without stopping to edit, I send a message How dare you tell people about Margaret? What a foul thing to do. Unforgivable. Fuck you. That feels better. Though he’ll definitely not for me now.
‘That’s probably another stupid decision I’ve made,’ I say, ‘to add to being with him in the first place and not leaving when I had the chance.’
‘Seems to me like you’ve made the right ones,’ says Yan. ‘Besides, if he’s not on the water by now, I can’t see how he can get out of the danger zone at all.’
I shiver. The danger zone. That’s where we are right now, and unless Harry gets a move on, that’s where we’re going to stay.
‘It’ll be here soon,’ says Yan. I nod miserably
‘I can’t believe it’s happening.’
He reaches over to me and we hug in silence, tears falling. We have so little time left. And there is absolutely nothing we can do about it. At last we break away. I stare up at the cliffs. A red-gold light is shining just above the horizon, the night is nearly gone.
‘It is so beautiful here,’ I say, looking back at the sea, which glows orange and red in the reflected light.
‘Yes.’
‘This won’t look beautiful though … afterwards. The beach, the land. I’ve seen pictures after tsunamis. It will be a hell of an operation to clear up …’ And then the idea comes to me. ‘We could do something, we could help. I could help.’
‘How?’
‘I could sing. You could video it, and we could ask my dad and sister to use it for fundraising.’
‘That’s a brilliant idea.’ He isn’t laughing at me. He genuinely thinks this is worth doing. ‘Come on.’
We run back to the campsite. I, for one, am pleased to have something to focus on, to have the energy to do something, no matter how small. We grab Yan’s iPad and James’s guitar and then I go and spruce myself up in the bathroom. I don’t have any make-up – I left that in the cases – so I wash my face and sweep my hair to one side. I’ll look a bit pale on the video but it will have to do. When I emerge, the sky ahead takes my breath away – red, gold, orange, blue, over the vivid green fields. It doesn’t seem possible this will all be gone soon, taking me and everyone on the beach with it. I push that thought out of my mind and walk with Yan to the clifftop.
I strum the guitar as Yan sets up. It takes a while to get started. At first I cannot get through ‘The Water is Wide’ without crying, and then, at the fourth attempt, I have an inexplicable giggling fit. We get it right for the seventh version when my singing and playing are in perfect harmony and I hit the right emotional beats. Better still, Yan captures the moment that the sun rises, a fiery red ball, lighting up the sky behind me. I’m stunned at how good it is, that we have done this together. I have never done anything like this in my life. Yan gives me the iPad so I can send the
video and heads back to the beach to start on breakfast.
As I email Dad, I check the time: six thirty. The sun is warming me already. Below me the sea sparkles invitingly. It is going to be a gorgeous day. Despite my lack of sleep I feel alive, and though it seems strange to say it, in this moment, I feel happy. I will follow Yan in a minute, but right now I want to appreciate this feeling of the peace while it lasts. I am still sitting there, enjoying the sound of birdsong, the splash of the waves, the slight breeze on my face, when Dad rings.
‘‘What are you doing up this early?’ I ask.
‘Couldn’t sleep.’
‘Me neither.’
‘We can see. Shelley, love, that’s such a beautiful video, such a beautiful thought.’
‘We’re proud of you,’ Alison chips in on the speakerphone.
‘Really?’
‘Honestly, it’s a wonderful thing to do.’ It’s been such a long time since Alison has been this nice to me, I don’t know what to say. ‘And … sorry about last night. I was a bit of a cow. I’ve just never liked Harry and couldn’t believe your bad luck.’
‘I’ve not been much better. Fancy that, eh? Takes the end of the world for me to see what an idiot I’ve been.’
‘You’re not an idiot,’ says Dad. ‘You’re my girl and I’m so proud. We’ll make this video go viral, you’ll see.’
I don’t quite have the heart to say I won’t see, but when they hang up, after I promise to call later, I am almost skipping back down the path.
I stand on the slipway looking down at the campsite below. Only yesterday morning I had no idea who these people were, but if it wasn’t for them I wouldn’t have thought of singing, wouldn’t have made that video. I may have made the wrong choice staying here, but at least something good has come from that choice. At least I can say my life hasn’t been totally wasted. Though I am terrified, I know I am with friends, people who care about me, who appreciate me. It shouldn’t make that much of a difference, but as I walk down to breakfast, I know that it does.
The Wave Page 18