The Bucket List to Mend a Broken Heart

by Anna Bell

  The last of our group takes to the fake board and I start to think that this windsurfing malarkey might be quite easy after all. I can already stand on the board and pull the sail up, and Brett says from there the wind will carry us, so really I can practically do it already.

  Maybe I should just get Linz to take the prove-I-was-here photo and then I can call it a day.

  ‘Right, guys, let’s grab our boards and get in the water. I’ve already attached the sails and I’ll teach you about connecting the rig after lunch.’

  Brett has deposited our windsurfers on the edge of a concrete slipway and he helps each of us carry ours into the water.

  I can’t help but try and tiptoe as the water starts to run over my ankles and into my wetsuit shoe.

  The coldness of the water takes my breath away and I can’t believe that I’m voluntarily wading into it.

  We all hang onto our boards like seals, with our torsos resting on them.

  ‘Right, guys, push away and have a go.’

  Brett brings a motorised orange dinghy down the slipway. ‘When you need towing back to the shore, just give me a wave and I’ll bring you back. Don’t go any further than that orange buoy.’

  I look out onto the horizon and just about see the orange dot he’s talking about. I almost laugh. There’s no chance of that, it looks like it’s miles away. I’m going to be hugging the shore as much as possible.

  ‘Come on then, guys – mount your windsurfers.’

  I slide my chest off the board and my feet sink into the muddy sand below. I place my hands flat on top of it and go to push myself up like you would getting in and out of a swimming pool.

  I instantly tip the board backwards and fall into the water.

  It was a whole lot easier when the board was on concrete.

  ‘Almost, Abi,’ calls Brett.

  I look over and see that everyone else has made it onto their boards, and I’m the only one splashing about.

  It takes me three attempts to get on all fours on the board, and I’ve already got my hair wet. The water is so cold that my head feels like I just took part in the ice bucket challenge.

  I stay for a moment in crawling toddler pose and watch the others as they shakily get up. One guy stands up for a second before tumbling backwards. He’s so tall that he makes it look as if he’s just stepped off his board – as he’s still waist deep in the water that comes up to my shoulders.

  Linz stands up first time and without the sail up she looks like she’s surfing.

  ‘Way to go, Linz,’ says Brett circling her in his dinghy.

  Her flirtatious cackle catches in the wind and I feel like it’s taunting me.

  I try and block her out and think of Joseph instead. I imagine him standing astride a board with his hands on his hips and it spurs me on as I get lost in a fantasy of the two of us windsurfing off into the sunset.

  Before I know it I’m standing on my own two feet.

  ‘I’m up!’ I shout, involuntarily. ‘I’m up.’

  Or at least I am for about a second before in my celebration I lose my balance and topple backwards.

  I land clumsily in the water and my knees buckle from the impact of the mud.

  I’m now the only one in the water. Everyone else is standing and attempting to pull up their sails. They remind me of snake charmers slowly coaxing the snakes up out of a basket.

  ‘Come on, Abi, hop on,’ says Brett, waving at me.

  I fight the urge to stick my finger up at him, and instead smile through gritted teeth. I practically bellyflop onto the board and push myself up. At least I’m perfecting the beached whale to crawl pose. This time I make it up to stand and I attempt to balance, putting myself into the rope-pull position.

  ‘Here goes nothing,’ I mutter under my breath.

  The sail’s much heavier than it was on dry land. The water’s fighting against it, and I’m struggling with all my might to pull it out gently whilst keeping my balance. It’s touch and go as it emerges out of the water, and I just manage to correct my balance in time, and before I know it, I’ve got the sail up level with me in the neutral position.

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes momentarily, trying to remember what comes next.

  ‘Turn it round and off you go, Abi.’

  I try and remember how to turn the sail, crisscrossing my hands over one another like I’ve been shown.

  ‘Lean back into it,’ shouts Brett.

  I wobble as I try and take his advice, but I push through my legs, like we were taught, and hey presto, I’m actually moving.

  There’s a light breeze and as I move the sail slightly the wind catches it, and I find myself cruising along. Maybe I’m a natural after all.

  ‘All right, Abi!’ says Brett, whooping.

  I want to do a victory air punch, but I daren’t let go.

  The wind picks up and I start to gain speed and suddenly I’m going pretty fast and the shore is disappearing behind me at a rate of knots.

  I look back at Brett to see if he can help me, but he’s circling Linz, who’s managed to turn her sail and is heading back to the shore.

  How did she do that? I can’t remember what Brett said to do, and the orange buoy is getting ever closer.

  I vaguely remember that I have to move the sail round, and as I go to move it out of the wind I lose my balance and not knowing what to do I drop it. The next thing I know I’m crashing into the water. Only this time I’m far from the shore and I plunge straight under.

  I pop back up a second later and throw my arms over the board, spluttering from the mouthful of water. I can confirm it tastes as bad as it smells.

  I wipe my soaking wet hair out of my eyes and wonder what to do.

  I’m contemplating how I’m going to get back on the board now that my feet aren’t touching the ground, when a small two-person sailboat floats by. The couple, who are wearing matching orange life jackets, give me a small smile of pity as they glide past. Why couldn’t Joseph have put that on his list instead? Look how lovely and romantic that looks. The lady’s got a little cap and sunglasses on (despite a lack of sun), and her hair’s nice and dry. That’s more like it.

  I get boat envy as I watch them navigate to shore, twisting their hand this way and that to move the sail. No wetsuits that make you feel like a whale or arm- and leg-workouts required.

  The more time I spend in the sea, the more I realise how cold it is, wetsuit or no wetsuit. I’ve got to make it back to the others.

  I try to climb on my board. My first attempt sees me tip the board backwards and plunge down to the icy depths. The second sees me do the same manoeuvre, only this time I wallop my nose on the board in the process. Third time lucky I make it up on, and I’m standing within no time. What do I do now? I’m drifting along and the orange buoy is only a metre or two away and beyond it is what looks like a giant industrial ship. What if I bring my sail up and I can’t turn it and I crash head first into it? What if I don’t stop and I drift across the water and I find myself landing on Hayling Island? Or worse, I hit a current and I’m swept out into the sea and lost for evermore.

  I’m practically hyperventilating as I try and wave to catch Brett’s attention so he can rescue me, only he’s still sailing round Linz as she wiggles around on her windsurfer.

  ‘Help!’ I shout. Only the wind is blowing in the wrong direction and not one person hears me.

  By now I’m panicking. I’m not a strong enough swimmer to drag the windsurfer behind me, and with the sail dragging in the water I doubt I’d be able to paddle it back like a surfboard.

  I curse Joseph and try and conjure up my best memory of him, the one where he first told me he loved me. If I’m going to die doing this stupid list, I might as well die with a good memory in mind.

  Brett’s still perving on Linz as she demonstrates her ability to turn her windsurfer. I knew letting her come was a mistake. If she hadn’t been here, I might actually have been rescued.

  I watch her with annoy
ance as she drops the sail and leans it round the wind, turning herself in the process.

  ‘That’s it,’ I say to myself. ‘That’s what I need to do.’

  I look once more at the orange buoy that’s coming perilously close. I lift the sail, trying to lean into it to counter-balance. Somehow I manage to do what Linz did and my sail swings, turning my board around. I find myself facing the shore and I cling on for dear life as the wind catches the sail and propels me towards safety.

  For once I don’t mind that I’m moving pretty fast. I’m just relieved to be heading towards dry land.

  ‘Hey, Abi,’ says Brett. ‘What kept you?’

  Steam practically comes out of my ears.

  ‘Right, guys, let’s head back into the centre and we’ll get a hot chocolate and I’ll teach you the next step.’

  Next step? Isn’t this it?

  I let the sail down gently and dismount as gracefully as I can into the waist-deep water. I pull the board behind me and just as I’m congratulating myself I slip onto the concrete slipway and bash my knee.

  ‘Ouch!’ I cry.

  ‘Yeah, you have to be careful coming up onto here. The seaweed can make it slippery.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I mumble. I’m not particularly reassured that he’s making today any safer for me.

  He helps me heave the board out and I collapse on the ground for a moment, allowing myself to breathe deeply.

  I can’t believe I did that. I look at the orange dot in the distance and a sudden burst of pride washes over me. I, Abi Martin, have managed to windsurf. I don’t think I’ll be sailing off into the sunset any time soon, but I feel like I can almost tick it off my list. All I’ve got to do is get through the rest of the day without too many more injuries, snap that all-important photo and not get swept out to sea. Sounds like a breeze . . .

  Chapter Eleven

  Four weeks, six days until the end of the list, and at this rate, my muscles might just be operational again after the windsurfing . . .

  ‘Seriously!’ I shout as my door buzzes for the third time. Unless it’s Joseph standing there naked with a rose up his bum like James Nesbitt in Cold Feet I don’t want to know. It’s Sunday morning, pure lie-in territory, and whoever it is has obviously not got the memo.

  I pull my pillow over my head in an attempt to block out the mechanical din, but the goose feathers aren’t dense enough and I can still hear it.

  I sigh loudly as I get up, not that whoever’s buzzing can hear me because there are two fire doors between me and the main entrance, but at least it makes me feel better.

  I shove a hoodie over my PJs and sigh again when I notice my clock and see that it’s not even ten o’clock yet.

  ‘Quarter to bloody ten,’ I mutter as I attempt to walk to the hallway to pick up the intercom. I make pretty slow progress as the windsurfing yesterday has left me walking like John Wayne due to the muscle aches. Not to mention the fact that I’m black and blue with bruises.

  ‘Yes,’ I snap into it the intercom as I pick it up.

  ‘Abi, it’s Ben. I’ve been out for a ride and I was passing and thought we could talk about next week.’

  It takes me a minute to compute.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’

  ‘Yeah, if that’s convenient? But if it’s not I can give you a shout later.’

  ‘No, I’m up now,’ I say, perhaps a little more tersely than I meant to.

  I buzz him in and unlock my door, before going and poking my head out of the main corridor to direct him through to my flat.

  He wheels his bike inside the lobby.

  ‘You can bring it in if you like. Probably safer than leaving it there.’

  ‘OK,’ he says. I blush slightly as his skin-tight lycra is leaving nothing to the imagination.

  I try and hide my blushes by focusing on finding somewhere to put the bike. There’s just about enough room for it next to my shoe rack.

  ‘You’re up early,’ I say, yawning.

  ‘Yeah, I’m an early riser. Sorry, did I wake you?’

  ‘I was awake, I was just refusing to get out of bed. Cup of tea or coffee?’ I say, automatically filling up the kettle. I need a caffeine fix even if he doesn’t.

  ‘Coffee, if it’s going, please. I should have texted you before buzzing, I didn’t think as I’ve been up for hours. I went out to the Witterings and watched the sunrise.’

  ‘The Witterings? Blimey, they’re miles away.’

  ‘As I said, I was up early, and it was worth it. Have you ever been to see the sunrise there?’

  ‘I’ve never been to see a sunrise anywhere.’

  ‘What?’

  Ben’s wrinkling his face like I’ve said that I’ve never eaten chocolate. I’m surely not the only person in the world that hasn’t seen one.

  ‘How can you never have seen a sunrise?’

  ‘Because I’m in bed, like normal people. You can sit down, you know,’ I say pointing over to the sofa. His hovering about is making me nervous. Not to mention, I keep staring at his skinny bones in his lycra and finding my eyes drawn to his crotch as if there are flashing neon lights down there. Seriously, why do they have to wear such clingy stuff? He might as well be naked, and that’s before we even discuss the fact that part of his leg fabric looks see-though.

  ‘I’m a bit sweaty.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s only faux leather, and my mum’s Labrador sits on it when he comes.’

  ‘Good to know that you hold me in the same esteem as a dog.’

  I bite my lip. That came out all wrong.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ I say, turning round to face him and realising he’s grinning.

  He digs into his backpack and pulls out a pair of tracksuit bottoms and slips them on.

  I breathe a sigh of relief – at least that’s put crotch-gate to bed.

  I dig out a cafetiere from the back of the cupboard where it’s stayed since Joseph last used it. As much as I like proper coffee, I can never be bothered to get rid of the coffee grains after. But I’ve got company so I don’t break out the Asda Gold Blend knock-off.

  ‘Well, one morning you should go over to the Witterings. On a clear day, there’s nothing more magical.’

  Maybe when Joseph and I get back together we could go there and do it. I can imagine sitting on the sand watching the sunrise with him curled up around me.

  The kettle boils loudly and snaps me out of my fantasy. I fill up the cafetiere and leave it to brew.

  ‘I ride out there quite a lot to see it. You could tag along one day, if you like.’

  I laugh out loud. ‘How long do you think that would take me?’

  Ben shrugs. ‘OK, so maybe it would be better to go and see the sunset on West Wittering. That way you’d have all day to get there.’

  ‘That sounds a bit more like it. Although I have to say that I think after yesterday I’m going to be a bit of a speed demon. I actually went pretty fast on the windsurfer and enjoyed it,’ I say proudly.

  ‘So it went well then?’

  ‘Yeah, it did. Amazingly.’

  I bring the coffee and a two pinter of milk over to the table, before I return with two mugs and some sugar.

  ‘Help yourself,’ I say waving my hand over. I’m sure my mum would mark me down for not pouring the milk into a jug and the sugar into a sugar bowl, but seeing as how I own neither, Ben’ll have to take it as it comes.

  ‘So you can now windsurf?’

  ‘Yep,’ I say, sitting down on the other end of the couch and instantly curling my legs underneath me. ‘I can stop and go. And I even turned a couple of times without falling off.’

  ‘That’s pretty good.’

  ‘I know. I impressed myself. The only thing is, my thighs are burning. I feel like I’ve been put through my paces in the bedroom by Christian Grey.’

  Ben’s hand spasms and he shakes the spoonful of sugar he’s holding all over the table.

  I can see his cheeks go a little pink under his stubbl
e. I think I crossed a line, forgetting that he’s not one of my girlfriends.

  ‘I mean, I’m not used to my inner thighs having such a work out,’ I say hurriedly.

  ‘You’re not making it any better,’ says Ben. He’s managed to recover his steady hands and is now stirring his coffee. ‘So, aside from the thighs, you managed to do it?’

  ‘Yeah, I did. It was weird, but with Linz, my annoying work colleague, there, I felt like I had to prove something, and then once I started I was off.’

  ‘Maybe that’s the problem you’ve had with the bike: you’re going so slowly that it’s easy to put your foot down and stop yourself before you pick up speed. Maybe we need to build you up some momentum so you’re forced to go faster.’

  I don’t think I like the sound of momentum. It conjures up the image of metal balls smacking into one another in a Newton’s cradle.

  ‘How about we go and grab a bacon sarnie and do some bike riding?’

  I screw my face up. ‘How about bacon sarnie and no bike riding. My thighs, remember.’

  ‘How could we forget your bow-legged thighs. Seriously, it will help to stretch them out.’

  I pull a face.

  ‘Come on, lazy bones. We won’t go all day. Just for the morning. It’s gorgeous out there and it’s actually warm.’

  I’m not convinced. I had already planned a busy morning of squeezing as many episodes of Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt from Netflix as I could.

  ‘Look, you can come back and have a nice relaxing hot bath after. But I promise you, it will make you feel so much better. Plus, it’s great training for the Isle of Wight next week.’

  I’d been trying to banish any thoughts of that until after my windsurfing, as I don’t know how my legs are going to recover in time.

  ‘Do we have to?’ I say, pouting like a sulky teenager.

  ‘No, we don’t have to. But I think we should. It will be fun, plus I want to see how much of an improvement you’ve made from riding to work.

  ‘I’ll ride home and pick up the car and that should give you time to get ready.’

  ‘I’m not going to be able to convince you that I should stay at home all day, am I?’