by Bea Green
By the time she made it to the surf zone her muscles were screaming silently with the pain of pitting their strength against the forces of nature. She felt she’d reached the end of her endurance and had no idea how she was now going to find the strength to surf back to shore again.
She rocked backwards and forwards violently as she sat on her surfboard. Keeping an eye on the fast-moving waves, she wondered for the first time if she should have heeded Jennifer’s warning.
All she could hear in her brain at that moment was her mother’s voice, chanting like a mantra, that pride comes before a fall. She knew a well-grounded or mature person would have at this point conceded defeat and made their way by the safest means possible back to the beach, saving their strength for another more lenient day. But she’d never been one to give in to the promptings of her better self.
Her obstinacy came to the forefront. If she gave up now, her argument with Jennifer would have all been for nothing. And she was yearning to surf again. Never mind that the craving had hit her today, on a hideously windy day with the waves crashing in from what Elinor estimated was often a six-foot height and moving at a good twenty miles an hour.
She knew she wouldn’t have the strength to continuously attempt to ride the rollers streaming in towards land, so she would have to give it her best effort and then leave the rest for another day.
She caught sight of two wave peaks moving rapidly towards her and angled herself so she was in the right position to paddle furiously to try and catch them. She lay down and dipped her hands down into the water, starting to paddle aggressively as fast as she could.
Within a couple of minutes she felt herself sliding down into a trough before rising upwards again as the wave behind her pulled her upwards. As soon as she felt herself rise on the wave she continued to paddle furiously a few more times and then quickly pushed her body upwards, sliding her back foot first and then her front foot forward in between her hands, before standing up with her knees bent.
As soon as she stood up she knew she’d been too late.
She started to tilt back into the trough between the waves and lost her balance. She was hit with the full force of the second wave that was stretching up ominously behind her. As she slipped from her surfboard she felt her left hand ram itself at an awkward angle against the hard surface of the board, pain instantly firing up the length of her arm as she was tossed unceremoniously into the water.
What felt like the weight of an elephant or a mid-sized truck slammed on top of her, pushing her deeper than she’d ever been previously. Her ears began to hurt excruciatingly as the water pressure weighed in on her discomfort. Her left arm felt like it was on fire and the leash was tugging hard on her ankle as though someone had grabbed it and was pulling fiercely and repeatedly on it. She was shaken like a rag doll, a headache starting to spread across her forehead as the cold started to bite.
Forty seconds later, she felt the crushing roller that was holding her down lighten somewhat, and she knew she had to get to the surface for another breath before the next wave smothered her again. She kicked wildly with her legs, fighting against the turbulence in the water and trying to slice through the currents swirling around her. She managed with a great deal of effort to move slowly upwards, feeling more and more desperate as her lungs started to burn with the need for more oxygen.
When she managed to break through the surface of the water she gulped madly at the air, not caring if another wave was about to slam down on her head. And she did manage to take a few breaths before another wave rained down. Unfortunately for her the wave had broken. She felt herself shoved under the water again, shaking like a feeble piece of flotsam as she was spun around and around.
She no longer felt she had the muscle strength to fight her way through this second ducking. Inside her head, as she hung limply under the water, she felt strangely calm and philosophical. She knew she was fully at the mercy of the ocean and there was nothing she could do about it. Maybe this was now the end of the road for her...
All of a sudden she sensed a hand tucking itself under her arm, pulling and jerking her upwards to the surface, the iron grip squeezing painfully on her flesh. As she burst through the surface of the water again, she felt herself being dragged roughly onto a floating board and pulled shoreward.
Her chest was heaving with the deep breaths she was greedily gulping down. She opened her eyes after a moment and looked at the yellow board she was clinging onto tightly with her right hand.
The lifeguard.
He was now competently cutting across the choppy water, pulling her along with him. She felt her leash dragging on her foot. Hopefully her surfboard would be trailing along behind them.
The lower part of her left arm was still in excruciating pain and she knew that she’d done some serious damage to it. Miserably, she waited until they reached shallower waters and then slid off the board, her feet finding the soft sand. The lifeguard put his hand under her arm and walked with her out of the water.
As soon as she reached the edge of the dry sand she fell onto her knees. Her head was spinning wildly and she started to retch. Thankfully, she had next to nothing in her stomach.
After a while, once the nausea had passed, she sat down on her calf muscles and looked up. The lifeguard was crouched down next to her, watching her with concern.
Elinor smiled at him weakly and then looked around the beach self-consciously, wondering who else had witnessed her getting rescued by a lifeguard.
She could only imagine the scorn of the other more competent surfers as they watched her get tossed by the ocean that was too strong for her and then, in the ultimate indignity, saw her rescued by a lifeguard. And all because she was cocky enough to think she could manage these conditions.
In the distance, a man in a black wetsuit with an unruly mop of short blonde hair was making his way quickly across to them. As he came into closer focus, she groaned.
It was Tony.
She really didn’t feel up to getting a scolding today. She put her head down again, pretending not to have seen him.
‘What’s going on?’ Tony asked anxiously as he came up to them.
‘Hi Tony, you’re just the man we need,’ declared the lifeguard thankfully. ‘This lady was wiped out by a wave and then she seemed to be struggling to keep her head above the water, so I went out to help her. But as soon as we reached the beach she seemed to get dizzy and she’s been retching for a while. I don’t know if it’s concussion or not.’
‘OK. Thanks, Dave. Leave her to me, I’ll take care of it.’
Relieved, the lifeguard got up and went back to his post.
Tony proceeded to ask Elinor a number of questions that she recognised straight away as being related to concussion. He asked her if she could follow his finger as he moved it from left to right. As he started to test her eyes with various exercises she started to feel increasingly upset.
‘Look, Tony,’ said Elinor impatiently, grabbing hold of his hand to stop it moving. ‘It’s not my head I’m worried about. It’s my left arm! It’s killing me just now with the pain of it.’
Tony looked down at her left arm and saw that it was hanging limply by her lap. He tried to pick it up but as soon as he touched it she yelled out.
‘Ow! Bloody hell! No, don’t touch it. It’s sore!’
There was a long pause as they stared at each other.
‘Elinor, I think the best thing for you to do right now is to go to Newquay Hospital and get your injuries looked at. You might need an X-ray done. Do you want me to call Leo for you?’
Hearing Leo’s name, Elinor felt the tears start to her eyes. Irrational thoughts started circling in her head. What on earth was she going to do with Leo’s car, which was sitting in the car park?
‘Leo’s not here,’ she said in a small voice. ‘He’s in London and he’s not coming back until Sunday.’
/> ‘No problem. I’ll take you up there myself, then. Can you stand up?’
Elinor nodded brusquely and stood up quickly, carefully putting all her weight on her right arm, before Tony even had the chance to bend down and help her up.
Tony then crouched down to undo the leash on her ankle and picked up her surfboard.
‘Where’s your surfboard?’ asked Elinor in surprise.
‘I didn’t bring it. I wasn’t planning on going surfing,’ answered Tony shortly. ‘I only came out here today because I received a call from Jennifer. She told me you’d insisted on going out in very rough surfing conditions and she was worried about you.’
Elinor didn’t have anything to say to this. She walked slowly across the beach towards the car park, wallowing in self-pity and self-recriminations. That day, the whole length of Constantine Beach felt like the walk of shame to her.
44
‘She was right, you know.’
‘Who?’
‘Jennifer. Who else?’
Tony didn’t bother replying to this.
They were both sitting on bright blue plastic chairs in the waiting area of Newquay Hospital’s Minor Injuries Unit, waiting to be seen.
Thankfully, it was a Friday and still within GP surgeries’ opening hours, so the place wasn’t too busy.
Elinor was dressed in a loose jumper and a pair of baggy trousers. She’d given up on trying to get her long sleeved T-shirt on.
Because of the pain in her arm, Tony had insisted on cutting off her wetsuit with a pair of scissors. Normally this would have utterly distressed Elinor, as good winter wetsuits weren’t cheap, but she was too worn down to care any more. She’d sat quietly on the car seat as Tony fetched the scissors from his first aid kit and started to slice through the tight-fitting, rubbery material.
Elinor was feeling completely exhausted. Tony had given her some ibuprofen for the pain in her left arm but it was barely taking the edge off it.
Without consciously being aware of what she was doing, she leant against Tony and dropped her head against his arm in weariness. Tony didn’t move or object, so they stayed like that until the nurse called them through.
An hour and a half later, the pair of them walked tiredly out into the hospital car park.
It was now three o’clock in the afternoon and Elinor had a cast on her left hand and lower arm. The X-ray had shown that she’d cracked her wrist and the nurse had informed her it would probably take up to eight weeks to heal. No more riding the waves for the time being.
There might be no more surfing for the short term but Elinor could only be thankful it was her left wrist that had cracked, as she’d still be able to paint with her right hand. Without both surfing and painting, she knew she would have soon sunk into morbid depression.
‘Where now?’ asked Tony, as they sat in his car.
‘Trenouth, please,’ said Elinor, puzzled by his question.
‘They’ve said you have mild concussion so you shouldn’t really be alone for forty-eight hours, Elinor,’ said Tony wearily, as if talking to a troublesome child. ‘Is there anyone you’d like to call to stay with you?’
Elinor shook her head silently, cringing slightly at the rush of pain in her head as she did so.
‘What about Barbara?’
‘No. Please don’t call her. She’s got a lot on at the moment. Thursdays she’s at the day care centre all day and I know that tomorrow morning she was going to visit her sister in Penzance.’
Tony looked across at her with a frown on his face.
‘OK, then,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Look, I’ve got to be at Porthcothan tomorrow morning to help out at the surf school, but I can pack a bag and stay with you at Trenouth tonight. Tomorrow morning you can come and watch us at Porthcothan, or I can drop you off at The Ninth Hole with José and Elena for a few hours.’
Elinor nodded mutely.
Her head was aching badly, whether from the hammering she’d taken in the water that morning or from her two nights’ insomnia she wasn’t sure. All she wanted to do right now was curl up on a bed or a sofa and sleep...
Tony looked anxiously at her, started up the car and drove off. Elinor stared out of the front window of the car in a daze.
They arrived at Tony’s flat in West Hill, Wadebridge, half an hour later. Elinor wearily followed him into the modern, cube-like building and then up some stairs to the top-floor flat.
She could tell she wasn’t looking too good because of the concerned glances Tony kept firing across to her, as though he was expecting her to keel over at any moment.
‘Right,’ he said as he opened the front door. ‘Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the sitting room?’
He pointed down the corridor to a door at the far end.
‘In the meantime, I’ll rustle us up some food. You look like you could do with some nourishment.’
‘Thanks Tony, for everything. And I’m sorry for screwing up your day.’
‘Now I really know you’re not well! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so docile.’
Elinor smiled back at him weakly and made her way to the sitting room.
Apart from a unit filled with books across one wall, the decor in the flat was very minimalist. It really looked as though Tony spent hardly any time at home, which was probably the case given his wholehearted involvement in surfing.
After briefly studying the numerous photos on the bookcase, Elinor surmised he probably had a very active social life too.
She sat down on a comfortable leather recliner seat, tilting it so she was lying back and looking out at a view of Wadebridge from the large window. Then she swivelled around slowly on the chair, wanting to inspect the room out of curiosity once more, and suddenly noticed with amazement that her painting from the gallery was hanging up, in pride of place, above the fireplace.
It stood out magnificently against the brilliant white wall of the room and it suited the minimalist decor. The colours in the painting gleamed like jewels against the background light provided by the large windows of the sitting room and the looseness of the brushstrokes on the canvas were nicely juxtaposed with the angular, geometrical lines in the room.
Despite how beautiful the painting looked in its new location, she felt shocked and mortified that Tony had spent ten thousand pounds on one of her paintings. She wondered why he hadn’t told her.
She got up and walked back to the kitchen.
‘Tony, why didn’t you tell me you’d bought my painting?’
Tony looked up from the saucepan where he was stirring some soup. Two plates with buttered bread were on the kitchen table.
‘I didn’t realise I was obliged to let you know,’ he commented, smiling to himself.
‘No, but... You know, if you’d let me know you wanted it, I could have sold it to you for so much less.’
‘And rob you of your publicity at the gallery? That wouldn’t have done your artistic career any good. You need to take a leaf out of Barbara’s self-promotion book.’
‘Well, anyway, I’m very honoured you thought my work was worth ten grand, Tony.’
‘You should be. It’s not every day I splash out that kind of money. Still, it’s a lovely painting and I’m very happy with it.’
Elinor giggled.
‘I’m open for commissions if you want any other pictures painted.’
‘Don’t push your luck, young lady. One’s enough for me. The soup’s ready now. Come on, let’s get some food down us.’
Tony looked at his watch.
‘Lunch at half three. We’re going for continental times today.’
Eating the lentil and bacon soup delicately, savouring every mouthful, Elinor felt the strength returning to her body. It really was extraordinary the impact wholesome food could have on you when you hadn’t eaten for near enough eight hours. And
yet, as her stomach worked to digest her lunch, overwhelming tiredness hit her.
Elinor reached for a piece of bread and noticed Tony watching her worriedly, having wolfed down his soup and bread earlier on.
Looking at Tony’s empty bowl and plate Elinor felt a pang of guilt. She wasn’t the only one who’d been hungry.
‘Elinor, you look completely and utterly drained. Why don’t you have a nap in the spare bedroom and we can head over to Trenouth later? I’ve plenty of work I can catch up on here.’
‘That would be wonderful if you don’t mind too much. I’m so overtired I’m not even sure I’ll be able to nap, but a rest would be appreciated. I haven’t slept well since Leo left for London and it’s beginning to catch up with me.’
‘Why’s he in London?’ asked Tony, frowning as though this was a thoroughly inconsiderate thing for Leo to do.
‘He’s visiting a friend of his and he’s also trying to get a book I found at a book sale valued and sold.’
Elinor reached out for her plate and grabbed a piece of buttered bread with her right hand.
‘I bought the old book because I liked the few lines written in the front of it,’ she recounted, before taking a big bite of bread. She chewed and swallowed it quickly, eager to finish her tale. ‘And now it turns out that the book expert, here in Wadebridge, thinks the written lines and the painting on the edges of the book are by William Blake. And so it turns out the book might actually be worth something.’
‘I’m sure you weren’t expecting when you came to Cornwall to be painting with a well-known local artist. Or to be learning to surf, for that matter, or to be finding a valuable book completely by accident...’
Tony paused for a moment, lost in thought.
‘And also taking part in a prestigious art exhibition in Truro,’ he added.
Elinor laughed with a mouth full of buttered bread, wincing slightly at the ache in her cranium.
