“We’d better get on,” he said. “Don’t want to risk anything.”
“Dear oh dear,” said Flora, “you townies!”
They set off again, Richard and Emma walking with Debbie and Alex now. Flora stomped ahead, her long rainbow-coloured scarf blowing in the wind, holding Rachel’s hand. Debbie watched anxiously for signs of flagging from Rachel. She was awfully little, Debbie thought, only six; this was a big journey for her. She said so to Richard.
“Oh Debs, don’t be silly. She’s a very good little walker and—”
“I’d feel happier if you were with them,” said Debbie stubbornly, “so if Rachel does start flagging you can insist on coming back.”
“Oh, all right,” he said. “Coming, Al?”
“No, thanks,” said Alex; he had become rather pale and quiet.
She watched till Richard and Emma had caught the others up, then said, “Alex, you don’t have to do this. We can wait here for them, if you like.”
He shook his head. “Granny’ll think I’m feeble,” he said.
“Which won’t matter one bit. Well, just say if you really start to get tired. Remember, every inch we walk, we have to walk back again.”
“Yes, all right.” He looked up at her and smiled. “It’s nice to be with Dad, isn’t it, Mum?”
For you, not for me; for me it’s horrible; everything about him hurts me—his voice, his face, the way he talks to me, just the way he isn’t who I want him to be.
“It is, indeed.”
“Soon we’ll be with him all the time again. It’ll be great, Mum, won’t it?”
Soon we won’t be with him all the time. It won’t be great and you’ll be very unhappy.
“Yes, it will, love. Really great. Now, shall we try and catch them up, or—”
“Mum.” He stopped walking. “I feel a bit sick. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Alex, you can’t help it. Although I did tell you not to eat so much of Granny’s ice cr—Oh, Al.”
He was very sick suddenly, there on the grass. Trying to comfort him, clean him up, looking after the others, too far ahead now to hear her call, Debbie wondered what she should do.
“Just stay there quietly,” she said to Alex. “I’ll go and tell them what’s happened.”
“No! Don’t leave me! I’m scared.”
“Lovely, there’s no need to be scared. I’ll only be ten minutes.”
“You might be longer. I can’t see them anymore.”
“Oh, it’s too bad,” said Debbie, feeling a wave of rage. “They could have waited for us. It’s just not fair.”
“Yes, and look, Mum. It’s getting misty.”
This was true; the sea mist that the wind blew in and onto Gower was descending, grey and wet and scary; it wasn’t thick like a fog—you could see perfectly well where you were going: for about two hundred yards or so. But no farther. And it had certainly blanked out the rest of their party.
“Well, what do you think we should do? Just sit here—or start going back? I think we should just wait.”
“OK, but it’s getting jolly cold.”
“Here,” said Debbie, taking off her scarf, one of Flora’s thick long ones that she had borrowed. “Wrap this round you. It’ll help. I’m sure they’ll be here in about half an hour at the most.”
“Half an hour! Mum, that’s too long.”
“Well, I can’t help that,” said Debbie.
“Where are they?” said Flora. “And however did they get so far behind?”
“God knows,” said Richard. He felt anxious now as well as irritated. He felt irritated with everyone, with Flora for proposing this absurd walk, with himself for not resisting her, with Debbie for not keeping up with them, even with Emma who was whining now, saying she was cold, she wanted to go back. Only Rachel was still dancing ahead, turning to beckon to them through the mist every few minutes.
“Oh, very well,” said Flora, “we’d better turn back. Come on, Rachel, everybody wants to go home.”
“Everybody but us,” hung in the air; Rachel stood still, her hands on her hips, clearly cross.
“Come on, Rachel. We’ve lost Mummy and Alex, we have to go back.”
“That’s their fault. I don’t want to go back. It’s so fun being here.”
“Look,” said Flora, “you go back, Richard, with Emma. Rachel and I’ll go a bit farther. Don’t worry, we won’t go near the Devil’s Causeway. But she’s enjoying it so much and it seems a shame to cut it short now.”
“Well, it’s getting terribly misty,” said Richard.
“Richard! It’s only a mist. It’ll be sunny again in half an hour.”
“It’s also getting late. It’s half past two, well past low tide.”
“Yes, and with at least two hours when it’s completely safe to cross. Look, we’ll just go a bit farther and then we’ll turn round and catch you up. Well, we’ll meet you on the Rhossili side. That’d be best. All right?”
“Yes, of course,” said Richard, “but do be careful.”
“All right, all right,” said Flora. “You sound like your father.”
“I don’t consider that such a bad thing,” said Richard slightly stiffly, and turned away with Emma.
Flora was quite right; in half an hour, the mist had gone again and the winter sunshine was back. As Richard and Emma reached the place where they had had lunch, they saw Debbie and Alex sitting and singing.
“What happened to you?” said Richard. “Why didn’t you keep up?”
“Alex was sick and felt rotton,” said Debbie. “We had to sit down and wait. Anyway, where are the others?”
“Oh, Mother decided to take Rachel on a bit, she was enjoying it so much. They’ll be here soon.”
“Hope so. Can we start to cross?”
“Yes, she said we should meet her on the other side of the Causeway.”
“Good. I hate this walk, it frightens me. And I think I was right. Actually. What with the mist and the cold, and—”
“Yes, all right. Come on then, let’s get started.”
“I don’t like leaving them here,” said Debbie, looking over her shoulder. “I wish you hadn’t agreed to them going on, Richard.”
They reached the other side safely, although it took almost three-quarters of an hour. Alex was feeling sick again, and kept stopping, and the mist had made the rocks more slippery. Both children fell several times.
“God, I’ll be glad to get safely back to the house,” said Debbie. “I’m exhausted.”
“So am I,” said Alex plaintively.
“Well, you can have a rest now. Let’s go up the hill a bit, then we can watch them coming.”
They went rather slowly up the cliff path, found a place to sit, and settled down to wait.
“I’m thirsty,” said Alex.
“So am I,” said Emma.
“Well, you’ll have to wait,” said Richard.
He sounded harsher than usual; Debbie wondered why, then saw he was looking down into Rhossili Bay.
“The tide’s coming in quite fast now,” he said, almost as if it didn’t matter.
“Hello!”
It was Colin Peterson, dressed in a virginal waxed coat and matching cap. And Hunter Wellies so new they gleamed. His voice was incredibly welcome; he was so sensible, so—so normal. What did he want to get mixed up with Flora for, Debbie wondered.
“Hello, Colin. How nice to see you. This is Richard, Richard, this is Colin Peterson.”
“How do you do,” said Richard rather shortly. “Sorry I missed you the other night.”
“I was sorry too. But very pleased to meet you now. And this must be Alex.”
“Yes. And Emma you met.”
“I did indeed. How are you, Emma?”
“All right,” said Emma. “We’ve just had a picnic.”
“Only your grandmother would have a picnic on a day like this,” said Colin.
Too right, Debbie thought. And where is she? And where is my youngest child?
“So where is she, the redoubtable Mrs. Fielding?”
“Oh, just coming,” said Richard. “She’ll be here any minute, I should think.”
Only she wasn’t just coming. There was no sign of her, of either of them.
It was Debbie who cracked first. “Where are they? Where are they? What are they doing? Why don’t they come? What’s happened?”
The tide was rushing in, up the beach; in ten minutes, Debbie thought, it would be lapping at those stones, those bloody stones, all of which had to be crossed before Rachel was safe. God, the wind was creating crosscurrents, the sea was getting up; it was horrible—her worst nightmare.
“I’m going back,” said Richard, standing up. “Something must have happened.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, you won’t. It’s dangerous. And someone has to stay with the children.”
“I can do that,” said Colin. “No, better still, I’ll come with you, Richard. Debbie can stay with the children.”
“OK,” said Debbie, her teeth chattering with fright and cold. “Thank you.”
“Be careful, Daddy,” said Emma cheerfully. She and Alex were mercifully unaware of the real danger.
“I will.”
Richard and Colin started running down the path; Colin’s new cap blew off, was tossed out on the wind. Debbie watched it slowly descending into the dark grey sea, a hideous omen of what might come. Suppose they were already in that sea, Flora and Rachel? Suppose Flora had decided to explore some cliff path? It was more than likely, stupid bloody woman. Suppose Rachel was hanging on desperately to some rock. Suppose—
“I hope they’ll be all right,” said Alex.
“Of course they will,” said Debbie. “They’ll be fine.” She started making bargains with God; if they got out of this, if Rachel came back to her safely, she’d give up work, she’d never see Joel again, she’d train as a teacher, she’d have sex with Richard every night—
“There they are,” said Alex suddenly. “Look!”
“Oh, thank God, thank God,” said Debbie, even then thinking fearfully of her bargains.
But then: “It’s not them,” said Emma. “There’s only one. Mummy, it’s Rachel—look…”
Well, it was Rachel. Not Flora alone, thank God. But how would she manage? She was so tiny; how had she got this far alone? But the men would reach her, surely, before the tide really came in.
She was waving furiously, trying to attract their attention; she must be so frightened, Debbie thought, so terribly frightened, she was just a dot out there, a solitary dot, moving dreadfully slowly…why?
Don’t be ridiculous, Debbie, she’s being careful not to slip.
“Daddy’s coming, darling!” she shouted, while knowing it was totally impossible that Rachel could hear her.
She looked down the cliff path, realised that Richard and Colin might not even have seen her, from their lower viewpoint, and shouted to tell them, but the wind blew her voice away from them as well.
“Stay there,” she said to the children. “I’m just going down to the rocks, to tell Daddy and Colin. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in no time.”
“Don’t go, Mummy, please.”
“I must. I promise I won’t go far.”
She reached the bottom of the path, waved, shouted, but they didn’t hear her. She wondered if she should go after them, but decided it would be silly, someone had to be with the children. And someone not be drowned came the thought unbidden into her head, and she went back up the cliff, to watch as Richard and Colin began to work their way, agonisingly slowly, across the causeway. The water was already creeping up over the stones.
“Oh God,” she said, for Richard had slipped, fallen heavily; it took him what seemed a long time to get up again, and Colin came back to help him. This was terrible, awful. He seemed to have hit his head; she could see him wiping his forehead, look at his hand, obviously at blood. He sat down very gingerly, took something from Colin, dabbed at his head.
“Get on, get on!” she screamed into the wind. “Your head doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except Rachel, don’t waste time!” And then Richard slowly stood up, said something to Colin, and together they recommenced their journey. Having lost precious time.
It was very difficult to make out what was happening from where Debbie and the children were sitting. At times Rachel seemed to be going in the wrong direction, moving away from her: surely that couldn’t be right. But maybe it was; maybe she could see the tide coming in, had decided to go back. She was so little, Debbie thought, looking at her, and so vulnerable in the pink anorak she had begged for and the pink Wellingtons, a tiny little girl, just six years old: battling now all alone with the sea and the tide and the wind. How could she have left her, trusted Flora to look after her, how, how?
Richard appeared to be halfway across now, and the water was well over his feet; he had boots on, but they were slippery in the water and he kept sliding sideways, just managing to right himself each time. But for how long, she wondered fearfully, and what would happen when the water came over his boots, filled them: which it would, in a few more minutes, another clutch of waves. At least he had seen Rachel now, was waving at her, and she was waving back, apparently cheerful. God, she was brave. Colin was moving doggedly forwards too, rather more confidently than Richard; he was almost level with him now. But what could they do? How could they bring a small child over, once the water was thigh-high, waist-high—chest-high on her, as it would be, and it would be dangerous, fast-running.
“Oh Emma,” she said aloud, unable any longer to pretend everything was all right. “Oh God.”
Emma looked at her. “Do you think we should get help?” she said.
Richard was scared. He knew these seas and this crossing, he had grown up near it, knew the dangers. But Rachel was only about two hundred yards away, and still clear of the water; she should stay there, he saw with sudden clarity. It was perfectly safe there; the inshore lifeboat at Port Eynon would rescue them; and he began to wave at her, to try to indicate that she should go back up onto the Worm. But she misunderstood, waved again cheerfully; she had no real idea of the danger she was in. He went on towards her; at least he could see properly, the late-afternoon sun was brilliant, it helped, made it seem just a little less frightening.
He heard a shout, saw Colin had caught him up; he was being pretty brave, the old chap, and he’d been grateful for his help when he fell. His head was bleeding quite hard; large drops of blood fell steadily from his wound into the water, but he felt nothing, no pain, only the awful fear.
Colin was picking his way across the higher stretches of the causeway, steadily and confidently. He grinned at Richard as he drew level with him. “We’re doing OK, I’d say,” he said. “Nearly there.”
“Hardly,” said Richard. “But we should be with Rachel in five minutes now. Where the hell is my mother?”
“God knows,” said Colin, managing a half smile, “and it’s possible that even He isn’t sure. So we’re agreed, we’ll go back up onto the Worm?”
“Yes. Rachel,” he shouted, “go back, go back!”
And this time she did hear him, but shook her head and shouted something in reply, her light child’s voice useless against the wind.
“Plucky little soul,” said Colin. “Look, if we go over onto that side there, look, it’s a bit higher and dryer, we’ll get to her sooner. See? Come on.”
He was right; it was higher and dryer. But Rachel was not coming that way, she had chosen the central route and her small pink Wellingtons were already half-covered in water. And then she stopped still, for the rainbow scarf had become unleashed, was blowing away, and she grabbed at it, almost losing her balance in the process, and it blew away into the wind.
“I’ll go down and head her off,” said Richard. “You carry on up to the Worm.”
“No, no, I’ll keep with you. We could both be needed. Oh—shit.”
And Richard saw a wave suddenly br
eak over the rocks and rush towards Rachel.
She was knocked flying by it. Screaming with fear, Debbie watched in gut-wrenching terror as the small pink figure struggled to right itself, only to be knocked sideways again.
“Do something! Do something!” she shouted to anyone or thing who might be able to hear her, and to help, but Richard and Colin were too far from her to hear and from Rachel to reach. And God seemed to have turned away.
Flora surfaced again to find Rachel gone.
She had forbidden her to leave, had insisted, through the pain that kept blacking her out, that they should stay together, but Rachel had argued vociferously that she should go, that she could get help. It wasn’t even a temptation to let her try, it was too dangerous, the tide would be rushing in now; when it went down again, people would be able to find them, they would be rescued. They might even be rescued before that; if Richard had the sense to get help, to ring the police. But they must stay together, she told Rachel, wrapping the rainbow scarf round her to try and keep her warmer; it would be cold and dark and boring but they would get through it, they would sing songs and play games and they would be rescued. But the third time she had blacked out, for longer than before, Rachel had simply been gone when she surfaced again.
And then there had been terror; absolute terror; for she could see, when she hauled herself painfully, so painfully and slowly onto her feet, hanging onto the rock to support herself, to keep the weight off the leg that she knew was broken, that the tide was coming over the causeway; and any chance of Rachel getting across now was being removed, yard by dreadful yard.
She had sunk down again, weeping with remorse as well as terror, for her arrogance in insisting she and Rachel went on, her folly in suggesting the outing at all, her stubbornness in refusing to listen to the voice of caution and common sense that was Debbie’s. And decided that however great the pain, and impossible-seeming the task, she must make her way at least as far as she was able, so that she might have a chance of calling Rachel back, of stopping her.
An Absolute Scandal Page 57
