by Tim Bowler
She started and turned, and looked into the eyes of the river boy.
He was just a few feet from her, treading water as she was, but without any trace of the pain or exhaustion she felt. Indeed, he looked as though he had just dived in from the other bank and swum up behind her, full of energy; and there was an elation in his eyes, a sense of joy.
He swam closer, watching her all the time, and stopped within arm’s length; and spoke again, softly. “Did you think I wouldn’t wait for you? ”
She was crying still, crying into the waves that washed over her as they slanted in from the sea, but she tried to speak, tried to tell him something of what she felt.
But he smiled and shook his head. “Don’t speak, ” he said quietly. “You don’t need to. Just swim with me a little longer. ”
And he turned to the side and began to swim on toward the sea.
She followed, weary still yet strengthened by the wonder of his presence. He did not swim fast, just a slow, even crawl, his head down and not looking her way; and she swam with him, filled with awe and deep, churning emotion.
And, as they drew closer to the mouth of the estuary, her feeling of wonder deepened. The river had changed so much during its journey, and here, close to its end, she knew she was on the cusp of something deep and powerful and infinitely mysterious.
She looked across at the river boy, still swimming quietly beside her. There was no mystery in him now, and nothing to be frightened of after all.
She felt more tears start and dug her face under the water so that he wouldn’t see them. Exhaustion was starting to master her again, and she knew she would have to head for the shore soon or she might not have the strength to reach safety.
But the river boy —she couldn’t leave the river boy, not now that she had finally found him again. She lifted her head from the water and looked to the side.
And, to her dismay, saw that he was gone.
She stared in desperation at the space where he had been. But she saw only sea now. And she suddenly realized that, just as the boy was gone, so, too, was the river.
They had indeed reached the sea.
Close by was the extremity of the seawall, and, behind it, kiosks, shops, amusement arcades, a café, pizzeria, and houses. It seemed inconceivable that she could have swum past without noticing all this, or being noticed herself.
But so little was inconceivable now.
She gazed back out to sea and understood at last; then struck out for the shore, praying the tide would not sweep her out.
But the sea was kind to her and her final, flagging strokes felt almost relaxing. She saw a slipway, made for it, and hauled herself out of the water, shivering and spent.
Far out to sea the sun was close to the horizon. The day was almost done, and she knew her journey was over.
Just as Grandpa’s was, too.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was there, curled up on the slipway, that the policewoman found her. “Are you all right, love? ”
Jess turned with an effort and saw the woman standing over her. At the edge of the road, close to the top of the slipway, was a police car, and a tall policeman standing beside it. Nearby, a small knot of onlookers observed proceedings.
The policewoman spoke again. “Would you, by any chance, be Jessica? ”
Jess frowned as the full import of the trouble and pain she must have caused Mom and Dad rushed upon her. “Yes, ” she said quickly. “Listen, I’ve got to get to the hospital. It’s urgent. ”
The policewoman seemed reassuringly understanding. “No problem. Come on, let’s get you away from all the prying eyes. ”
She helped Jess to her feet and up the slipway to the car. The policeman put a jacket around her, and she sat in the back with the woman, and they drove off through the little town.
“Here, ” said the woman, passing her a sandwich. “Peanut butter. Hope you like it. It’s all I’ve got. ”
“It’s all she’s ever got, ” said the policeman from the front. “She’d put peanut butter in her coffee if she could. ”
The policewoman laughed. “Never mind him, ” she said to Jess. “He’s got no taste. You go ahead and eat. ”
“Thank you. ” She hated peanut butter but she ate the sandwich gratefully. “What time is it? ” she said dully.
“Nine o’clock, ” said the policewoman.
Nine o’clock.
She’d been in the water about eleven hours. People had swum the English Channel in that time. She stared out of the window, unsure what to feel.
The policeman was passing on a message to the hospital.
“She’s fine, ” he was saying, “just tired and cold . . . been in the sea . . . right, yup, we’ll bring her straight there. . . . ”
She thought of Mom and Dad receiving the news and wondered what they were thinking; and what they would say. “How did you find me? ” she said.
The policewoman answered. “Your mom called us at about two o’clock from the hospital. She’d had a call from the old fellow living near your cottage some time before to say you were missing. He said you’d left the house and gone off somewhere and when you didn’t come back, he got worried. Your mom left it a bit, then when you still didn’t turn up, she called us and we went out to look. Spent most of the afternoon searching the river and the countryside around the cottage. But your mom kept telling us — ”
“My mom was with you? ” Jess stared at her, horrified at the thought of Mom leaving Grandpa on her account.
The policeman spoke.
“Your mom wasn’t with us. We kept in touch by phone. There didn’t seem to be much point in either of your parents joining the search around the cottage, especially with your grandpa so ill. We had plenty of our people there, and those folks from the other cottage helped, too. ” He shook his head. “But we should have listened to your mom and started the search from this end. Could have saved us hours. ”
Jess looked at him. “What did my mom say? ”
He shook his head. “Quite a woman, your mom. Unflappable, you know what I mean? She said you weren’t the kind of girl to do anything stupid and that you were too good a swimmer to drown, unless something really unlucky happened, and that you often swam for three or four hours at a stretch, so probably your were upset about your grandpa and wanted to swim your anxieties off. Then, when you hadn’t turned up by two o’clock, she started to get a bit more worried and said you might just have gotten it into your head to swim all the way to Braymouth. ”
He chuckled. “Well, none of us gave that idea a moment’s thought, and neither did the old boy at the cottage, so we went on hunting around the river and in the woods. Should have listened to your mom all along. ”
She stared out of the window, thinking of the strange events of this day, a day that still had not run its course. But the last part was before her now.
They had reached the hospital.
Mom was waiting outside the entrance. Jess ran to her and threw her arms around her.
“Mom, I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean . . . I didn’t mean . . . ”
“Sshh, ” said Mom, stroking her hair. “It’s all right. It’s all right. Tell me about it later. I know you’ve done something very brave. But now I want you to be even braver. ”
Jess looked up at her, her eyes dim with tears.
“It’s all right, Mom. I know he’s gone. And I know he’s OK. ”
Mom looked down at her, still stroking her hair, then glanced at the policewoman beside them.
“Thank you for all you’ve done. I’m sorry we’ve caused you so much trouble. Whose jacket is this? ”
“My colleague’s. The man in the car. ”
Mom looked around at him. “You must have this back, ” she called. “We can find something for Jess inside. ”
He rolled down the window. “You hang on to it for a bit, ” he said. “We’ll be sticking around for a while, just to tie up loose ends. ” He caught Jess’s eye and grinned. “Looks nic
er on you than it does on me anyway. ”
Mom smiled at him, then turned to the policewoman. “Can we talk in a few minutes? I want to take my daughter to see her grandfather. ”
“Of course. ”
Mom put her arm round Jess’s shoulder. “Come on, love. ”
They walked into the hospital, ignoring the quizzical glance of the receptionist at the barefoot girl clad only in a swimsuit and ill-fitting jacket, and made their way down the corridor toward a room at the end.
So this was the place: a tiny place for the end of a huge life; or at least a life of huge achievement. Not that Grandpa would have seen it that way; no doubt he had been thinking right to the end of all the things he hadn’t had time to do.
She entered the room and saw him lying on the bed, and her father standing over him. Dad turned and saw her, and hurried forward, and threw his arms around her; she reached out and held him.
“Dad, I’m sorry, I’m — ”
“It’s all right. It’s all right. Just as long as you’re safe. That’s all that matters. ”
They finally drew apart and, together with Mom, turned to face the bed.
“He died half an hour ago, ” said Mom.
She looked down at the face of this beautiful, strange old man, and there was no pain there, no anger, no disappointment; it was so perfectly still, it seemed almost like a painting, a painting he himself might have done. She had never seen him like this.
But then, this was not Grandpa anymore. The Grandpa she had seen and would always know was a different Grandpa, a Grandpa who was ever alive, ever youthful, ever strong.
“He was amazing at the end, ” said Mom. “I wouldn’t have believed it. He seemed to feel no distress at all. And he kept talking about you. ”
Jess looked at her. “Me? ”
Mom nodded. “During the day, when the police were looking for you, he wouldn’t stop talking about you. The strange thing is, we didn’t tell him you were missing or anything because we didn’t want to distress him in his last moments. But he seemed to understand something was wrong and he kept on saying, ’Don’t worry about Jess. Don’t worry about Jess. She’s going to be OK. She’s going to be OK.’ He was very emphatic about it. We found it really comforting. ”
Jess looked away toward the window. Someone had placed flowers there, and the last rays of the sun were catching them. She thought of Grandpa, and what he had said.
Yes, she was going to be OK. She wasn’t OK yet; she wouldn’t be OK for some time; but she would be OK one day. She would grieve, just like Mom and Dad, especially Dad, and her grief would be deep, and it would hurt her.
But she wanted that grief: she knew it was natural and right, just as the passing of this strange and wonderful old man was natural and right, just as her own death would one day be natural and right. But there was much living to do first, much living, much growing.
Much swimming.
In the wake of the river boy.
Dad had sat down again by Grandpa’s side and was gazing at his face. Mom caught Jess’s eye and drew her back a few feet. “There’s another strange thing that happened, ” she whispered. “Something to do with your father. ”
Mom eyed Dad for a moment, but he was still staring at Grandpa’s face, lost in thought.
“Just before he died, ” she said, “he asked Dad to lean closer to him so he could speak. I don’t know what he said —it didn’t last more than a few moments —but since then your dad’s hardly stopped crying. And I don’t mean out of pain. He hasn’t told me what Pop said, but I’ll tell you one thing, there were no differences between them at the end. ”
Jess turned away and stared once more at the flowers by the window. And she remembered what she had yearned for yet been unable to speak of that time Grandpa had asked what he could do for her. She had not expected this; but Grandpa, as always, had surprised her.
She heard sounds in the corridor, footsteps and voices, all discreetly low. Thoughts of the world and the business of living started to filter back, and with them came the exhaustion she had somehow fought off or forgotten, here in the presence of death.
There would be the police to speak to, and the hospital staff, and Mom would want her to have a medical checkup after her marathon swim, and there would be arrangements to be made about Grandpa’s body, and . . .
She turned to the door. People were coming in now, a doctor and two nurses, then the policewoman and the policeman, and another nurse, all grave and respectful. She felt a moment of annoyance at their intrusion; but Mom smiled at them and put her arm around her again, and they all stood there in silence and looked down at the calm, still face of Grandpa.
CHAPTER TWENTY
She never said anything about the river boy. When they asked her what happened, she simply said that she had swum; that she had needed to swim and had not meant to worry them all.
The story of the river boy remained locked within her. Somehow she felt he was a secret she was meant to keep to herself, a secret more precious to her than ever now that he was gone.
Yet during the next few days, while Mom and Dad were busy with the funeral arrangements, she still found, as she wandered by the river, that she was looking for him.
It didn’t matter that she knew he was gone. Indeed, she would not have wanted to see him again now; the spirit of Grandpa had set off on a new adventure, and she would not want to hold him back. He had left her the painting, Dad said, and she could see him whenever she wanted.
The ceremony at the Braymouth crematorium was simple, just as Grandpa would have liked it. They had considered having his body taken home for the funeral but quickly discounted the idea: this was the place he had wanted to return to —the only part of his past he had ever acknowledged. It was only right that he should be put to rest here.
Alfred was with them, looking distinctly awkward in a suit and tie, and Mr. and Mrs. Gray, and that was all. The service was brief, and afterward they wandered out to the gardens overlooking the sea. Dad was crying again, but Jess no longer worried about him as she had been doing.
He would be well now, just as she, too, would be well — in time, when the worst of the pain was gone. And he had Mom, as strong and unflinching as ever, and herself, ready to give him everything she could; and they each had their memories.
The following afternoon he drove back to Braymouth on his own and returned with Grandpa’s ashes in a small metal urn.
“I’ve been trying to think on the way back what to do with these, ” he said, putting the urn on the table.
Jess looked at it and felt something stir inside her, a strange inner certainty she would have to express. But Mom spoke first. “What would Pop have wanted done with them? ”
Dad shrugged. “Don’t suppose he ever gave it a thought. You know he was as uninterested in the future as he was in the past. Think of the trouble we had getting him to make a will. ”
“But what would he tell us to do with them if we could ask him now? ”
“Chuck ’em in the trash, probably, urn and all. ”
“We can’t do that. ”
“No, obviously. I suppose we could take them home and scatter them in the garden, or bury the urn completely and plant a tree, or — ”
“Dad. ” Jess had to speak now.
Mom and Dad both looked across at her.
“Dad, I . . . I know what Grandpa would have wanted. ”
There was a silence; a silence in which she felt she caught the listening presence of Grandpa himself.
Dad watched her for a moment, his eyes searching her face. “Do you want to take them? ” he said.
She felt herself color.
“Not on my own. It wouldn’t be right. I mean, we should all be together for this. I shouldn’t . . . have them to myself. ”
“But is that what you want? ” His voice was very low, but, to her relief, without resentment.
She nodded; and he smiled at last.
“Then take them, my love. ”
It was a bright, clear day, and the sound of the river seemed louder, livelier, more irrepressible than ever. She stepped off the path and into the water and strode up against the current, the rocks hard and lumpy under her bare feet but tolerable enough as she made her way up the cool, splashing stream. And, as she walked, she tried to drink in all that she saw and heard and felt.
Because she knew she would never come back to this place. To return would be to destroy a spell, a spell that had fallen upon her for a few short days but now was passing from her life. Better to leave this place sacred, just as she had found it, and let the enchantment live on in memory.
But the spell was not yet over.
There was still this last thing to do, and then she could go home and recommence her life. She wandered on, staying in the stream, just as the river boy had done on his way down, and she did not stop until she had reached the upland lake where she had first seen him, standing at the top of the fall.
She looked up at it, plunging down with ebullient power, as timeless and majestic as ever; then, without hesitation, she began to climb.
This time the ascent was easy, even without her shoes on. She felt somehow as light as gossamer, as though her body were nothing more than a thought, a whisper, as ephemeral as a cloud; her hand reached straight to holds they seemed to know in advance, holds different from the ones she had used the last time.
She reached the top, took the urn from her bag, and studied it for a moment as the light caught it; then she threw the empty bag down onto the rocks at the base of the fall and walked on up the rise, and did not stop until she had reached the source —the place where she had sat with the boy and seen the river’s life. And she sat down again on that same small rock and gazed out again.
And there in the distance, unchanged yet ever-changing, was the sea.
