Storm Surge

by David Rees

  When Martin woke and looked at his watch he was surprised to see that it was past mid-day. Ann was asleep beside him. Aaron, he supposed, had been taken to hospital, but he was puzzled that this had happened without his being woken by the noise or movement. There was no sign of Lynwyn, or Kathleen and her baby. He put on his clothes and went to the window. The tide had come up again while he slept, but now it was falling. It was like Venice. A West Indian family a few doors down on the other side of the street was being taken out through a first-floor window. They were all in their best clothes, bright and multicoloured. A frail rocking boat was lashed between two window-frames and the people were being lowered slowly and with great difficulty. Two little girls, their frizzy hair in white ribbons, sat close together on a thwart, their faces solemn and a little frightened, but there were shouts and laughter from the adults.

  Their neighbours watched, waving and giving advice. The old man next door to them looked down in silence, smoking a pipe. Many of the windows were empty, and Martin guessed that these were houses that had already been evacuated. A punt passed, low in the water and laden with staring people, who looked as if in other circumstances they would have been sight-seers. Canoes paddled by in both directions, and a dinghy, empty except for its steersman, moved towards another waiting family.

  Another boat came close, carefully avoiding the roof of his car, which was a dark rippling shape just below the surface. One of the men in it was throwing food in to the stranded people. Martin decided he was hungry, and went down to Lynwyn’s room in order to get closer. He pushed up the window.

  ‘What do you want, mate? Sausages, cigarettes, coffee, sandwiches.’

  ‘I’m starving. Anything you can spare.’

  He leaned right out, and the man passed him up a hot dog, a cheese sandwich, a plastic mug of coffee, and two cigarettes.

  ‘How many in there?

  ‘Two of us.’

  ‘All right, are you? No casualties?’

  ‘No, we’re fine.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be long before the boats get to you.’ He paddled on.

  Martin ate and drank, leaving the sandwich and a cigarette for Ann. He lit his, and stared out at the scene. The water was filthy, and filled with an enormous quantity of rubbish, children’s toys, balls, orange-peel, cabbages, a dead cat, seaweed, plants, paper. A thin film of petrol, red, blue and purple, made beautiful constantly changing patterns on the surface. A boy leaned out of the window directly opposite, fishing with a home-made rod. He grinned at Martin and waved. ‘A great day for the fish!’ he shouted.

  ‘Caught anything?’

  ‘Three shoes!How’s your mate?’

  ‘What mate?’

  ‘The one they took out on the stretcher.’

  ‘My brother. I don’t know.’

  ‘They had to move that tree first. Did you see them?’

  ‘I was asleep.’

  ‘A crane moved it. Made a mess of that car outside your house.’

  ‘Did it indeed!’

  He threw his cigarette end into the water, shut the window and went upstairs. Ann was still asleep, so he went into the bathroom, and looked out at the scene at the back of the house. It was much more desolate. There were no people; just water, grey and dirty, stretching back to the railway line, lapping at Kathleen’s windows, covering the gardens, breaking over the tops of fences and washing-line posts. A garden shed which had somehow remained airtight was drifting slowly with the wind a few doors away, a cat placidly sitting on its roof, washing its face. The road, away to his right, curved slightly, so the backs of the houses further down were more clearly visible than those of his near neighbours. Some of them had been badly damaged: curtains flapped out of broken windows; the whole rear wall of the two end houses had completely collapsed and what was left was like a bombed ruin, the inhabitants’ wallpaper, fireplaces, tables, chairs and beds open to anyone who cared to look.

  Much of the ballast and a large quantity of earth from the top of the railway embankment had been washed away, and the lines, still intact, hung in places in mid-air. The allotments beyond were under several feet of water and jagged pieces of concrete stuck out, slabs of the breached wall that had been hurled forwards by the inrush of the sea. Here several more sheds floated, and dead animals, mostly pigs. There were also a large number of unusually-shaped boxes which Martin guessed were coffins; there was an undertaker’s yard next to the railway bridge. From his left, on the other side of the houses, came the sound of a police loudspeaker, broadcasting several warnings and pleas for help.

  He suddenly felt very depressed. Last night there had been the hardships of the freezing cold water, the journey to Flatsea ― that now seemed a curiously dream-like episode in the night’s events ― ; there had been moments too of sheer terror, but there had also been excitement, relief, a sense of doing something of desperate importance. Now the disruption of normality was dreary and pointless. It might be days before ordinary life could begin again. He returned to the living-room, and began to look through the pile of his pictures stacked against the wall. They were mostly pencil sketches or pen-and-ink drawings, but some were oils on canvas or sugar-paper. A few were framed. There were scenes of Flatsea, one of Balaclava Street, a sketch of Aaron done a long time ago; but most of them were of Ann or Ann and himself in different places in this room. It was an obsessive theme, this, their private world; Ann reading in front of the fire, or lying in bed, or in the bath, then just her face (several times), or her face and his, the two of them looking out of the window, a copy of Picasso’s La Vie with himself and Ann as the man and woman embracing protectively, the two of them cooking at the stove, himself shaving, himself idle and bored. This was all that mattered, this girl, this room.

  ‘Martin.’ She had woken up. ‘It wasn’t a nightmare?’

  ‘It really happened. And I came back.’

  ‘So you did.’ She smiled and held her arms out to him. ‘Come and kiss me.’ He knelt beside her. ‘How warm you are now! And I was afraid, terrified you would die. Martin, I behaved very selfishly.’

  ‘You did not.’

  ‘I did. You know I did. You said so. And I'm sorry. You’ve seen a bad side of me.’

  ‘I’ve known you for years and years.’

  ‘Not as bad as that. I don’t know why. I don’t know.’

  ‘You were just frightened.’

  ‘Y es, but it’s no excuse. I’m glad in a way you had to make that pointless journey to Peter. I was left on my own . . . I know Kathleen and Lynwyn were here, and Ron came . . . but I hadn’t got you, and I thought I might never see you again. You could have been drowned. I can’t describe it. It was so . . . desolate.’

  ‘I’m here now.’

  ‘Yes. Never go away again, never.’

  ‘Last night won’t happen again. Nothing quite like that, anyway.’

  ‘I do want to marry you, Martin . . . that’s what those hours meant. Now. Tomorrow, or the soonest we can. Say something.’

  ‘I don’t know what. Now you’ve said it I can’t believe it. Say it again.’

  ‘No. You say yes.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I do love you.’

  He was silent a long time, not knowing how to put the flood of delight in his body into words. When the words came they were so prosaic. ‘At the registry office you buy a licence, don’t you? How soon after that can you marry?’

  ‘One whole day.’

  ‘Let’s go there now.’

  ‘I should go and see him anyway. He’s my boss after all. The office will be a floating mass of papers.’

  ‘All those certificates going back all those years lost.’

  ‘To 1837. They’re in books, and locked, away in safes, so they’re probably quite dry.’

  ‘I shall ask Ron to be my best man.’

  ‘But he’s in hospital.’

  ‘Can we wait till he comes out?’

  ‘Yes. Lynwyn can be bridesmaid.’

  'Let’s go now. And t
hen find my parents and tell them.’

  ‘Later.’

  ‘How long is it we’ve known each other?’

  ‘Ever since I can remember.’

  ‘I used to think you were ugly.’

  ‘So were you when you were about thirteen. Thin and spotty.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘Come back to bed, Martin.’

  ‘Yes.’ He kissed her eyes and lips and shoulders. ‘You are beautiful.’

  ‘So are you. So are you.’

  Aaron was full of grumbles at being kept in hospital. After his long sleep and a good meal he felt almost normal, physically, apart from a mild ache in his lungs and a hot itchy sensation in his feet and hands. He was told that the irritation was due to frostbite, but he could not see why this should keep him in bed. The treatment was unpleasant. He had to put his hands and feet in what seemed like unbearably hot water, and he was not reassured by the nurse telling him that the water was in fact almost cold.

  He was an uncooperative patient. Eventually the nurse said with exasperation ‘Don’t you realize what can happen if you neglect frostbite?’

  ‘Nothing much I should imagine.’

  ‘It can lead to gangrene.’

  ‘Gangrene!’

  ‘And you know what that means. We have to amputate.’

  ‘Amputate!!’

  ‘Yes. Don’t keep repeating everything I say. Chop chop chop!’

  He was surprised to see Lynwyn come hesitantly down the ward and stop by his bed.

  ‘The sister agreed it was all right,’ she said, when the nurse looked at her questioningly.

  ‘To see this young man? Perhaps you can drill some sense into him. Are you his girlfriend?’

  ‘Er ―’

  ‘Well, just see he keeps taking his feet in and out of that bowl. She went away to another patient. Aaron smirked and Lynwyn looked embarrassed.

  ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have come,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I wanted to know how you were. You were very ill. Sick everywhere and delirious. I went for the ambulance. Now put your feet back in that water!’

  ‘It’s too bloody hot.’

  ‘Do as I said or I’ll fetch the nurse!’

  He glared at her, then smiled, and put his feet back for as long as he could bear it.

  ‘How did you manage outside? The ground’s flooded out.’

  ‘They’re busy pumping it away. It’s nearly all gone. Look, I’ve brought you some things. There’s not many shops open . . . so it’s fruit and magazines I had in the flat.’

  She was attractive. This was interesting. ‘Can you show me? My hands.’ He held them out to her. The fingers were swollen and bent only with difficulty. They’re frozen, I suppose. I don’t think I can turn the pages.’

  They’re pop magazines. I’ve seen you playing at the Moulin Rouge Club. You’re good.’ The nurse was coming back down the ward. Martin and Ann were standing at the door. ‘I think I’d better go now. It’s not visiting hours.’

  ‘Will you come again?’

  She hesitated. ‘If you want me to, yes.’

  ‘I do. When I get out of here will you come out with me?’

  She laughed. ‘You don’t waste much time, do you?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Yes. I’d like to.’

  ‘It’s all very irregular,’ said the nurse, taking Aaron’s feet out of the bowl. ‘I don’t know how this girl got in here at all.’ Lynwyn winked and hurried away. ‘Your brother is here with his fiancée and says he must see you very urgently. But only for five minutes. Put your hands in this bowl.’

  Fiancée? What did it mean? Martin and Ann were standing by his bed, arms round each other, grinning happily. They said nothing, waiting for the nurse to go, but she stayed, holding Aaron’s hands in the water.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ he said. ‘I’ve guessed. You’re getting married.’

  ‘On Thursday,’ said Martin, ‘at the registry office. Ron, I want you to be my best man.’

  ‘Do you really?’

  ‘Why not? You are my best man.’

  Aaron smiled. ‘Did you see Lynwyn?’ he asked.

  ‘I must get some more water,’ said the nurse. ‘It should be a little warmer.’

  ‘I think she likes you,’ said Ann.

  ‘Does she?’

  Though she’s six years older than you.’

  They were silent. Martin fidgeted.

  ‘Have they found his body?’ Aaron asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When is the funeral?’

  ‘I’m not sure. ‘There’s to be an inquest on all the people who were drowned. I suppose the funerals will be after that.’

  ‘Martin . . . will you ask Mum and Dad to buy a wreath, and send a card. Ron, with all my love?’ He screwed up his face, and hid in the pillow. ‘Go away, Martin.’ Martin touched his brother’s arm, but Aaron pushed his hand off. ‘You only make it worse!’

  ‘Martin,’ said Ann. ‘Leave him.’

  When they had gone the nurse came back with another bowl of water and plunged Aaron’s hands in it. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘Did they upset you?’

  ‘No. It’s nothing. My God, that’s hot!’

  ‘Just be brave. If it’s all going well, you can be out the day after tomorrow.’

  The treatment continued for another half hour, then the nurse dried his hands. She stroked his fingers, softly and smoothly, bending the joints, then did the same with his toes. ‘Does it tickle?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. There’s a sort of sensation there. Erotic.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd.’ She bent his toes backwards and forwards more vigorously. ‘What about that?’

  ‘It hurts!’

  ‘Good. You’ll be all right quite soon.’ She smiled cheerfully. ‘When people have frostbitten toes they sometimes fall off. Not very nice, is it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m going to bandage your hands and feet. Then I want you to sleep.’

  ‘I don’t feel a bit sleepy.’

  ‘I’m going to give you a tablet.’ He made a face at her.

  ‘Now these bandages will cover your hands and feet completely. You won’t be able to use your fingers at all until I take them off. Cheer up, worse things happen at sea.’

  The pill made him drowsy very quickly. As he fell asleep the shape of the pillow and the gentle breathing movement of his chest against the sheets became the movement of the sea, and he was back in the icy water fighting for John’s life. There were his staring drowned eyes: somehow Aaron knew that the seeing was gone, even while he was pushing breath back into the useless lungs. He forced the picture out of his head. Lynwyn. Would she be any different from all the girls he had known? He hoped so. It was time now to begin his life properly.

  Martin and Ann, after leaving Aaron, went upstairs to the maternity ward. Pat was well, though very tired; baby Kevin was asleep in a crib beside her, only his little face visible.

  ‘Of course he looks like David!’ Martin said. ‘What nonsense Mum talks!’

  ‘What a night it’s been here!’ Pat said. ‘No light, no heat, and no one’s had a wink of sleep. Kevin’s certainly had a dramatic start to things.’

  ‘We’re getting married,’ Martin said. ‘On Thursday.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad! Martin, give me a hug.’ He did so, feeling guilty about the rude remarks they sometimes made about Pat being plain, her not fitting into his family’s way of life. She was a warm friendly person, an ideal wife for David. He kissed her with real affection.

  ‘Here!’ said Ann. ‘He’s marrying me!’

  Martin laughed. ‘Have you seen Ron? ’ he asked Pat.

  ‘Yes.’ Her face clouded. ‘Bad. He’s quite shattered. About John, I mean. I didn’t know they were so close.’

  ‘I don't think Ron knew himself.’

  ‘You two! Out!’ A nurse bore down on them. ‘How did you get in here? We’ve quite enough trouble without visitors
adding to it.’

  ‘See you,’ Pat said. ‘Look after each other.’

  Charley and Doris picked Peter up at the school. They were all going to stay at David’s until they were allowed back home. However, his little house had only two bedrooms and when Aaron joined them it would be bursting at the seams. Peter would have to sleep on the sofa then; it was felt that the hospital patient was more in need of a proper rest than the stalwart defender of The King’s Head. ‘But at least,’ Doris said, ‘David will get good meals now, what with Pat being away.’ There was much heart-searching as to what to do with Grandpa and Grandma. They could not go to Aunt Sal’s in Tilbury, for like them she had been flooded out. There was just not enough room for them at David’s, and though they knew dozens of people in Oozedam and the surrounding area, no one could take them in. Most of their friends had been washed out of their homes too.

  They were to be billeted in a disused army camp with three hundred others. It was about five miles away from David’s house. Doris said, trying to be cheerful, that that wasn’t far; Charley would come every day and drive them to the hospital to see the new baby, or wherever they wanted. But the old people were miserable. On the island Grandpa lived only a few doors away from his son; though Charley had been away during his National Service just after the war, he had otherwise never been further off since then, except for holidays.

  ‘I shan’t get used to it,’ Grandpa said, looking glum. He was sitting on his suitcase in the middle of the school hall.

  ‘Neither shall I,’ said Bessy. ‘Do you think them places are clean, Charley?’

  ‘What places?’

  ‘This here camp. I don’t suppose soldiers know much about keeping a place clean.’

  ‘There’s no soldiers there now,’ said Charley patiently. ‘It’s the W.V.S. will be looking after you.’

  ‘Never happened to us, never, not even in ’97,’ said Grandpa. ‘Not even in Hitler’s war. Where’s the nearest pub, Charley; can you tell me that?’