The Wave

by Virginia Moffatt

  It is twelve thirty. Give it another ten minutes and the car will be as right as rain. I try to think of something positive. The boat, discovering the boat. The wind in my hair as I push down the jetty and speed away to safety, laughing at the idiots I have left behind. I will do it, I will get away: I will survive. I always survive. Didn’t I escape the family home, make something of myself? Unlike my loser family: Ann, Karen, even Val repeating Mum’s mistakes with men, Evan on drugs, Paulie and Stevie inside. I haven’t seen them in years. Only Val. I still have a soft spot for Val. It was Val who helped me get away from the house, bearing the brunt of Dad’s rage after I’d gone. I keep up with her because of that. Even if her Ed is a prick as big as my dad, and she’s as stupid as my mum about sticking with him. She’s my big sister and she’s always been there for me. Thinking of Val renews my hope. I may have lost Shelley, but I’ll never lose Val. Things are going to work out for me. They always do. I check my watch again. Time to get moving. I rev the engine. It starts first time and I am off.

  I am driving so fast I almost miss it. A single bungalow, appearing out of nowhere. There is a trailer in the driveway and on it … Oh. My. God. It’s a boat – a beautiful, beautiful boat. Tempted as I am to just to run in and take it, I check first to make sure the owner is gone. The lights are out but I knock several times until I am satisfied that there is no one around. The boat is all mine.

  In triumph, I send Shelley a text, Found a boat! Let her stew on that. She should have more faith. She replies straight away, Are you coming back? I will have to think about that. The road ahead leads to St Ives one way and the A30 the other. If I go back to Dowetha, we’ll have to find another launch spot and we’ll have further to travel till safety but if I go to St Ives, it will probably take longer to go round the coast to get her. If I can, I text, and then, to soften the blow, I love you. She doesn’t respond, presumably because she is put out. Well, fuck her. She should have come with me when she had the chance. In the meantime, I have work to do …

  It looks simple, but it isn’t. The first complication is figuring out how to lift the blocks so I can attach the trailer to the car. Still, it is only one o’clock. I still have six hours.

  But it takes longer than I thought I need screwdrivers, a jack and wrenches, and I have to break into the garage to get them. After an hour of sweat and hard work, I am finally done. Triumphant, I drive out of the lane, glad to be finally on my way. I have gone two miles when the car falters and shudders to a halt. I try the ignition. Nothing. I try it again. Still nothing. Has it finally given up the ghost? I glance down at the dashboard and see that I’m an idiot. A total fucking idiot. I have been so intent on my search for a boat, I haven’t checked the petrol gauge. Now I’ve run out. I hit the dashboard in frustration. How could I have been so stupid? I try my phone to see if here is a garage nearby but I’ve got no signal. There is no way out of this mess. All night I’ve not let myself feel fear, but now I’m alone in the dark it breaks over me, I curl up on the seat, shaking and sobbing … I’m back home in the cupboard under the stairs, hiding from Dad, while Val holds me … except this time there is no one to comfort me.

  I don’t know how long I am like this. I haven’t cried since I was a child. I’m simultaneously embarrassed and relieved to let the emotion out. But at last I calm down and start thinking again. My phone was working fine when I texted Shelley, I must have just got into a bad spot. I climb out of the car, walk a little way up the lane and bingo, Google returns. I search for petrol stations and find there is one on the A30 about a mile and a half away. That’s not too bad, and I should be able to get some food too, I am starving hungry.

  I take the petrol can and stride off into the dark night. The moon is high in the sky, but the trees cut out most of its light. Soon I have the feeling I am in a long, dark tunnel going nowhere. Around me there are rustles as the wind whispers through the hedges and small creatures scuttle in the darkness. I have forgotten how much I hate the countryside in the dark. Ever since I was a little kid and we were once taken on a Special Holiday for Poor Children from Estates. All the leaders thought it was exciting to take us out into the forest, an experience that we’d not get back home. My brothers and sisters loved it, but I hated every second. I spent my time longing to be back in the smelly high rises, with the noise of traffic and police sirens to send me too sleep. There were terrors there for sure, but they were known and manageable. The forest was full of fear and I longed to go home, the whole time. Night walks were terrifying. All I could think of were Evan’s horror stories of men with axes that linger on country roads to surprise their unsuspecting victims. Of vampires and ghouls that live in the forest ready to suck your soul dry. Stupid stories to frighten kids. They were awful then and, even now, I feel uneasy walking alone in the dark. I keep my eyes on the road ahead where the moonlight occasionally flashes on the path focussing on that, trying to ignore the rustles and night noises. I am relieved when I reach the end of the woods. The moon is half obscured by cloud, but there’s enough light to see me to the footpath across the fields to the A30.

  It takes about ten minutes to reach the main road, and there, thank fuck, is the garage, the pumps left unattended, the shop door left open. The staff must have just decided to leave everything and go. The road is deserted, according to the news the tail end of the jam has reached Truro, so there is nothing to stop me running across the road to the shop. I grab a plastic bag and fill it with food, stuffing down a pork pie and swigging a drink of coke. That’s better. Much better. I turn the pumps on at the till, and take the can outside to fill it up. The petrol pours in so fast it is quickly sloshing over my fingers, leaving a metallic tang. I am tempted to stop and rest a bit, but time is pressing, I cannot afford any more delays. When the can is full, I twist the lid tight, grab the bag of snacks and drinks and march back into the dark night.

  Shelley

  I can’t quite believe that I have been singing in public again. After all these years, I’m surprised how easy it was. I wasn’t embarrassed, it didn’t feel lame. People appreciated it, they applauded, reminding me how good I am, how much I used to enjoy this. I feel so pleased with myself that I text Harry to see how he is doing. He doesn’t reply. I try not to read anything in to that, perhaps he is still driving.

  Nikki and James have drifted away, Yan has gone to his tent to read. But I am wide awake and so is Margaret. We are restless feeling the need to do something physical and before I know it we have decided to go down to the shore and make a sandcastle. Everyone I know would think me silly for suggesting it, but she doesn’t and pretty soon we are kneeling in the damp sand, scooping out a large trench. We don’t have a spade, and my hands are soon cold, but I don’t mind, not even when a nail breaks. Tara and Liv would laugh if they could see me now, but I’m having the most fun I’ve had in ages. I’d forgotten how much I love to make these towers and shape turrets, and windows. How when I was little I’d make up stories of princes and princesses, dragons and fairies determined to impress my parents and outshine Alison in her creativity. That all stopped when we moved to London. After Mum died, we didn’t have enough money for holidays. And by the time we did, I was fifteen, beaches were boring, sandcastles childish and my mind was full of Harry. I always thought that being a grown up meant giving up silly things like this, but, looking at the enthusiasm with which Margaret is attacking the castle, I wonder if I’ve been entirely right about that.

  A splash and a shout from the sea cause me to raise my head. James has fallen in the water and Nikki is on the sidelines, laughing at him. They look happy, in love. I’m pleased for them, but I feel a bit sick too. I’ve been with Harry four, no five years, and we’ve never laughed like that. It’s been fun being with Harry, I’ve been to great parties, met some interesting people, but it’s never been anywhere near that joyful. It has taken till tonight for me to understand that. It occurs to me that if I hadn’t gone back with Harry that first time, we probably wouldn’t have got together and my l
ife would have been very different. I wouldn’t even be here on the beach. One stupid decision five years ago, has led me here to this beach, my final destination.

  I am pondering on the unfairness of all of this when Nikki and James reach us. Thankfully her enthusiasm drives away my self pity, and I’m glad she joins us while he goes back to the tent to change. I’ve been slightly in awe of her all evening. She’s like Alison’s friends, clever, thoughtful, seems in total control. I thought she, would be like them and not have time for me. But she’s just as keen as we are to make this work and she’s great at sculpting sand, so I quickly lose my nervousness. when we’ve finished – well, it’s only a stupid sandcastle but I feel really proud of it and the three of us for building it. I glance at my watch, it is nearly half past twelve. I have been putting off the inevitable but it’s time to ring Dad. He keeps late hours and it’s Alison’s night to be with him, so I should be able to catch both of them. My phone needs charging, so I leave Margaret by the water’s edge, Nikki with James at the camp, and I climb up to the clubhouse. I plug the charger in and ring home.

  ‘Shelley, where are you? We’ve been so worried. I’ll put Alison on speakerphone.’

  ‘It’s been a bit …’ I hesitate.

  ‘What do you mean? Weren’t you getting a boat?’ Why does Alison always sound like she is scolding?

  ‘We couldn’t find one; we searched for hours, but we couldn’t find one.’ I try not to cry as I explain. Dad is sympathetic though Alison, typically, doesn’t hold back. ‘Why didn’t you wait till you were safe to leave him? Honestly, Shells—’

  ‘Because I don’t believe he’ll find a damned boat!’ I yell. ‘And I was fed up trailing round after him. It’s not that I don’t want to escape. I just don’t believe I can. And these people are nice. If I can’t leave, I might as well stay here.’

  ‘Your sister didn’t mean it,’ Dad says quickly, trying to put things right. He’s been trying to do that ever since Mum died, but he’s never had her knack for it till tonight. Tonight, for once it works. ‘Sorry, Shelley, just worried that’s all.’ There is nothing to say to that. We chat for a bit longer, all making an effort to be kind, but we are exhausted, and soon the conversation peters out and all we can say is goodnight and lots of love. I get ready for bed and return to the camp, glad that Margaret offered me a space in her tent to save me being alone in mine.

  As I reach the entrance I can hear her saying her prayers. I don’t want to disturb, so I hover by the entrance. She is reciting a Psalm I vaguely remember from primary school.

  The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

  He makes me lie down in green pastures.

  He leads me beside still waters.

  He restores my soul.

  He leads me in paths of righteousness

  for his name’s sake.

  Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

  I will fear no evil,

  for you are with me;

  your rod and your staff,

  they comfort me.

  You prepare a table before me

  in the presence of my enemies;

  you anoint my head with oil;

  my cup overflows.

  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me

  all the days of my life;

  and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

  I unzip the tent. Margaret is sitting up on her Lilo, her prayer book in her hand, a lantern beside her. I sit down on mine and begin to undress. Nikki has lent me a pair of pyjamas which are slightly too big. I pull the trousers on and climb into my sleeping bag. ‘Does it do any good, praying?’

  ‘Well, it’s not like magic … It won’t change anything, but it helps me. I feel like I’m speaking to God, putting all my hopes and fears, my regrets in front of him.’

  Margaret seems so assured, so calm, I cannot imagine her having regrets. ‘Cancelling that unit?’

  ‘Obviously. Though, to be honest, I don’t think I could have done anything

  different. There was overwhelming evidence that the chances of something like this happening were incredibly rare. Faced with the choice I had at the time, there’s nothing else I could have done. No, I’m worrying about something else.’

  I lie back, glad we are camping on soft sand, not hard earth. I’d never thought of real grown-ups like Margaret having things they wished they’d done differently. I always imagined that once you got past thirty life was pretty much sorted.

  ‘It’s my cousin, Kath’ she says. ‘We haven’t spoken in years.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Family stuff. So stupid, really. We were close when we were children. But our fathers fell out one Christmas so we lost touch. It was only when I started working in the civil service and moved near Grandma, that we met again. Kath was living with her parents in nearby Chingford so I began to spend time in their house, much to my father’s annoyance. He told me Uncle Eric was untrustworthy, but I just thought he was jealous. Uncle Eric was younger then him, rich and handsome. Aunty Sue was glamorous, they had a huge house, a swimming pool, and three cars in the driveway. They were dazzling, and I was dazzled.

  ‘Even so, after a while, I couldn’t help noticing they weren’t visiting Grandma that much and when I asked why she never came to lunch at theirs, Uncle Eric shrugged and said she was more comfortable in her own home. Still when she was diagnosed with lung cancer he was quick to act, taking care of everything, so I thought he was all right. I even thought her illness might bring him and Dad back together again, but the enmity ran too deep …’

  ‘That’s sad.’‘Yes,’ Margaret sighs, ‘Grandma had been in hospital for a few weeks when she asked me to cook her some bread, on her range, using her favourite recipe. She said it was the only way to guarantee it tasted good.

  I hadn’t been to the house for ages, and I was shocked to arrive and find two men throwing wood into a large skip at the front. It turned out Uncle Eric had given them permission, and there was nothing I could do about it because he had the power of attorney. When I entered the house it was to find the kitchen was gutted, the range gone, and the recipe book thrown on a pile of rubbish. I took it home, baked the bread there, pretending to Grandma I’d cooked it on her range. By then the drugs had taken hold, so I don’t think she noticed, but I was none too keen on Uncle Eric after that.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  ‘She died soon after. Uncle Eric and Dad just about managed to keep the peace till the funeral, when Dad found Uncle Eric had inherited the house and was giving it to Kath as an engagement present He accused Uncle Eric of all sorts, and they never spoke again. I was tempted to do the same, but Kath made a point of going out of her way to make sure we stayed friends. So we did. For years. Right through marriages, babies, Richard’s death, family holidays.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘She didn’t show up to Dad’s funeral, even though I went to Uncle Eric’s. It turned out she’d promised her Dad that she wouldn’t mark his death in anyway. I pushed her and she said it was because my Dad was always looking down on hers, on them, and to be honest, she’d always felt the same. I suppose I was a bit irrational with grief because I accused Uncle Eric of being irresponsible, and exploiting Grandma, and she said a load of stuff about Dad I’m sure she didn’t mean. It ended up with her chucking me out of the house and we haven’t spoken since.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s stupid. I should have tried to sort it out. But we’re both as stubborn as our parents so here we are. I’ve emailed her tonight. I don’t hold out much hope of a reply.’

  ‘I’m sure she will.’

  ‘How about you? What do you regret?’

  I tell her everything. How life took a wrong turn after Mum’s death and no matter how hard I tried I lost my way with Alison and Dad. How Harry had seemed like the answer to a prayer but now is beginning to feel like a waste of time. And how much I regret having given up my music,not made
more of myself. She reaches out and holds my hand as I talk, is sympathetic to my tears, and I feel a sense of comfort that I’ve missed since childhood.

  ‘It’s not your fault, you know,’ she says. ‘You’re just young, you haven’t had the time I have.’

  That’s true. I haven’t. And it’s not like all my life has been terrible in my family. Alison and I may have argued all the way through our teens but she’s still my sister. When I think about it, . e we were constant companions in Yorkshire and always did everything together. We were wild and reckless back then, challenging each other to be the best at everything.. Who could swing higher, who could climb higher, who could run faster. And even years later, when she was getting all those A stars while I was bottom of the class, she did what she could to help. All these years I’ve resented her bossiness, and yet, when I think about it, isn’t that what big sisters do? Particularly a big sister who felt she had to replace her motherMaybe I’ve been looking at her through Harry’s eyes for too long. And forgotten that, deep down, we love each other very much. Maybe we’re just like Margaret’s Dad and Uncle, Alison feeling the responsible big sister, me the resentful younger one. It’s just my bad luck to have only worked it out now.