The Wave

by Virginia Moffatt

  Soon the bacon is sizzling on the pan. I turn it slowly. If I close my eyes it as if the last few hours have not happened, it is the beginning of yesterday evening and we are about to have a barbecue. Why can’t I fix time, so we return to that moment again and again like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day? Me enjoying the cooking, with the possibility of something happening with Poppy stuck in a constant time loop so the wave never comes for us at all? I open my eyes again, staring at the blue sea ahead. Poppy and Margaret are in the sea, their heads bobbing in the water. I had thought of joining thembut I couldn’t quite summon up the energy. Now the moment has passed. And I am left with the thought that the cruellest thing is I am about to be killed by the thing I love the most. And then, even that thought fades, leaving me by a campfire, cooking for my companions, breathing in the fresh sea air, feeling the warmth of the sun on my back.…

  My life is receding before me, Karo, Mum, seem as far away as the swimmers in the sea. The politics I argued so passionately about last night are remote and unimportant. Even the film I just made for Shelley feels a long time ago. The bacon spits fat, the smell wafting up my nostrils taking me to a happier place – the campsite in Devon overlooking the sea, Dad cooking, Mum reading in the deckchair, whilst Karo and I run around the tent laughing.

  The sound of Margaret and Poppy giggling brings me back to the present as they run up the beach and dive into their tents. Nikki and James have emerged from their sleeping bags and Shelley has returned from the clifftop. It is time to eat.

  ‘Mmm, bacon,’ says Shelley, as she grabs a plate. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Sent your video?’

  ‘Yup.’ She is beaming. ‘Dad said he was proud of me.’

  ‘So he should be.’

  Poppy and Margaret both reappear, with damp hair and glowing faces. Poppy disappears up the cliff for one last call, but Margaret takes her breakfast and sits down by the new fire. It is barely needed, the sun is warm and the food hot. Still there is always something encouraging in seeing orange flames flicker from last night’s ash.

  ‘Nice swim?’ I ask.

  ‘Wonderful,’ says Margaret. ‘You should have joined us.’

  ‘Somebody had to do breakfast.’

  ‘Happy to.’

  Poppy returns, I give her breakfast and sit down with mine. I find myself telling them about previous camping trips in woods, on beaches, by the base of the mountains. Poppy describes a journey she once took through the Rockies, Margaret remembers a holiday in Portugal, Shelley recalls the misery of being under canvas in a gale. The fireside mood is good-humoured and I realize that, if it is possible to miss life when you’re dead, I will miss this when I am gone. Mum would say that I am going to a better place, but I’ve never really believed that, and even it were true, in Mum’s heaven there’s no room for suicides. Why would I want to go anywhere that Karo isn’t? If I’m going to choose one version of the afterlife, I prefer James’s – my consciousness released on the universe, so I can rest here, in the warmth of the sun, feel the spray over and over again. That’s certainly an eternity that appeals. No pain, no suffering, no …

  ‘Trolling,’ says Poppy. ‘I. Margaret’s had it, now Nikki and James. You’ll probably get some too with your song, Shelley. It’s bloody horrible. I know we don’t have much time, but I think we should do something about it.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’ says James.

  ‘A statement and a joke.’

  ‘How about we do a video of “Shake it Off”?’ says Nikki.

  ‘ “Shake it Off”?’ Margaret asks.

  ‘Taylor Swift,’ says Shelley, showing Margaret on her phone.

  ‘That’s a great idea,’ I say. Someone plays the music and we pass the iPad round, videoing each other in stupid poses as we scream ‘Shake it Off’ to the sound of Taylor’s sick beat. Even Margaret joins in, gamely trying to model some of the more ridiculous moves. The song finishes and we all fall on the ground, laughing hysterically.

  ‘That was so much fun,’ says Shelley presently.

  ‘It will give Hellie a laugh,’ says Margaret.

  There is a lull in the conversation. James and Nikki grin at each other and then they say, ‘ We’ve decided to get married.’

  For a moment, no one says anything. It’s seven o’clock – there is just over an hour to go. I bite back a comment that they’re cutting it a bit fine, as the campfire erupts with question and congratulations.

  ‘On the clifftop,’ says Nikki in answer to a query. ‘We’d like to film it to our parents. Can you do that, Poppy?’

  ‘Of course,’ says Poppy.

  ‘We should find you some flowers,’ says Margaret. ‘There are some bushes by the car park.’

  ‘I could do your hair,’ says Shelley.

  ‘We were wondering if you’d be our best man?’ James says to me. Only because I’m the only man left, I think sourly, before remembering our night-time conversation, and that we do have this connection, no matter how fractious.

  ‘Honoured,’ I say.

  ‘You need a ring,’ says Margaret. ‘Here, have mine.’

  Nikki smiles as she takes it. ‘You’re all so wonderful. Thank you.’

  ‘Sorry I don’t have two.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ says Nikki as she hands the ring to me. ‘Can you take care of this?’ I nod and put it in my pocket. ‘We need to get moving,’ says Nikki, She grabs her bag from Poppy’s tent and, gathering the women with her, says, ‘I’m going to get ready. See you at the top at 7.20?’ She kisses James and the women run laughing up the beach.

  We sit in silence. I find myself playing with Margaret’s ring. That was generous of her, to immediately give up the ring she’d carried for years, the mark of her love for her husband. James needs one too. I should offer Karo’s ring, but I find myself strangely reluctant. It’s my last link with my sister and I’m not sure I’m ready to let go.

  ‘You know, I might have asked you even if these weren’t the circumstances,’ says James.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. Like I said last night, you’re beyond annoying sometimes Yan, but you’re honest, you care – and I trust you. What more do you want from a best man?’

  I don’t know what to say. I look at the ring on my finger, think of the awful, awful day when I picked it up with the rest of Karo’s stuff. Sometimes, you just have to let go of things. You just do. I take it off my finger and give it to him.

  ‘Wow, thanks,’ he says. ‘Can you keep it with Nikki’s?’

  ‘Of course.’ I check my phone. ‘Come on, it’s time we got ready.’

  ‘Get me to the church on time,’ James says and grins.

  ‘It will be my pleasure.’ I say, as we make our way up to the cliffs for the very last time.

  Margaret

  I wake for the second time to an empty tent. It is quarter to six. The sun is already strong and the tent warm. I could stay snuggled in my sleeping bag or get up to face the day. I cannot face the day. Facing the day means facing my death. I am not ready for that. I am just not ready. I dive down in my sleeping bag, like a child avoiding school. And then, just like a child avoiding school, I hear a voice in my head telling me it is time to get up. I try to ignore it, but it is loud and incessant. When I emerge from my sleeping bag I bang into my prayer book at the head of my Lilo. I pick it up. It is old and battered, my Father bought it for my Mother when they first got married. It seems a sign that I should pray, though I am far from in the mood. Out of force of habit, I open it up. This morning’s prayer of thanksgiving sticks in my throat,

  Let us give thanks to the beneficent and merciful God, the Father of our Lord, God and Saviour, Jesus Christ, for He has covered us, helped us, guarded us, accepted us unto Him, spared us, supported us, and brought us to this hour. Let us also ask Him, the Lord our God, the Almighty, to guard us in all peace this holy day and all the days of our life.

  Really God? You expect me to think that today? I plough on though, because even as I argue
with the prayer, I find the practice of it soothes. Even as I pray for a good start to the day, and for the Lord to deliver us and know it is impossible, the familiar ritual is comforting. And though I’ve been saying to everyone all night, that prayer isn’t a wish or magic, that it doesn’t always provide what we want, it doesn’t stop me praying for a miracle. I wish the Lord could deliver us with a boat, or a helicopter or something. Deep down I know that there’ll be no such rescue, or deliverance, I know we are on our own but I can’t stop praying for escape, even though Psalm 13 reminds me.

  How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?

  Yes, God, have you forgotten me? Maybe I have made mistakes with Kath, but do I deserve this? Do any of us?

  The final prayer does for me:

  As the daylight shines upon us, O Christ Our God, the true Light, let the luminous senses and the bright thoughts shine within us, and do not let the darkness of passions hover over us, that mindfully we may praise You with David, saying, ‘My eyes have awaken before the morning watch, that I might meditate on Your sayings.’ Hear our voices according to your great mercy, and deliver us, O Lord our God, through Your compassion.

  Sod you God. That doesn’t help in the slightest. Despite the approaching dawn, I am deep in darkness, I have no confidence in your luminosity and no desire to praise you. I throw the prayer book across the tent in frustration and climb out of bed.

  I consider ringing Hellie, but if she is up she will be attending Toby’s needs; it is not worth calling her for another hour when he’ll have had breakfast and be settled watching CBeebies. I need something else to get me out of this black mood and decide a swim will do it. I put on yesterday’s shorts and T-shirt and grab a towel. As I unzip the tent, I meet Poppy who has the same idea.

  ‘Great minds think alike,’ I say. She laughs and we run down the beach. Though the tent was warm, there is still a chill in the air, and the water is so cold my skin tingles. The tide is coming in again and the strong undercurrent means every stroke is an effort, but I’m glad of it. It helps take my mind off what’s about to happen, helps to focus on what I have right now, rather than what I am about to lose. I don’t go out far. I swim a circuit in parallel to the beach, stroke, breathe, push, stroke, breathe, push, back and forth from one side of the cove to the other. The sun rises above the cliffs, lighting up the water. It helps soothe my restless mind. Stretching my limbs also relieves muscles aching after a night under canvas and helps me keep in the discipline of the here and now. I am so focussed on my path that I don’t see Poppy until I’m nearly upon her. We collide and both go under, come to the surface spluttering, and laugh at our idiocy. For a while we splash about in the water, until cold and hunger drive us back to the campsite, where Yan is frying bacon.

  I change quickly, folding damp clothes neatly through force of habit and emerge to be handed a plateful of food by Yan and a cup of tea by a smiling Shelley.

  ‘You look pleased with yourself.’

  ‘I recorded a video.’

  ‘It’s terrific.’ Yan says. ‘And a great idea. To fundraise for the clear-up operation.’

  ‘The best thing is, Dad says he’s proud.’ Shelley is beaming. ‘It doesn’t change anything, but it sort of does …’ I smile back. She is a different girl from the one who arrived yesterday, even from the one who made sandcastles in the middle of the night. My own mood lifts. The sun is shining, the food is good, this could be the start of a perfect day. Energized by the swim, I can even let myself think perhaps it won’t be so bad. Maybe the waves won’t be as high as they say. Even if they are, maybe it will be possible to survive the onslaught of water. Miracles happen sometimes.

  But I know in my heart of hearts that this is a false hope and I let it die, trying to make enjoy the conversation swirling round me. I’m touched when Poppy brings up the horrible comments on social media. A few hours ago she was angry with me, and now she is angry at them, we all are. It’s not just me, either, it’s Nikki and James, which is worse because half of theirs are horribly racist. When Shelley suggests that we do a video to a pop song, it seems the perfect riposte. Though I have to be taught the dance, and I realize I probably look ridiculous, I enjoy joining in, screaming ‘Shake it Off’ at the top of my voice. Let the haters hate indeed.

  ‘We’ve got an announcement,’ Nikki’s says after the dancing is finished. ‘We’re getting married.’ And suddenly, there is no time to think of the future, we are all just excited and happy for them. Here’s Nikki being mobbed by the women, here’s James receiving a hug from Yan. And here’s me, remembering my happy day with Richard, giving Nikki my ring. We leave the men behind so we can help the bride get ready in the clubhouse. We climb the slope giggling with excitement.

  I break away from them at the top of the car park to check my phone. I watch as they run into the changing room. I have something I can wear in the car, but first, I must see if Kath has replied. Then I must talk to Hellie.

  There is a message in my inbox:

  Dear Margaret,

  Thanks for your message. I’ve lain awake all night thinking about it. And though it is too little and way too late, I do love Hellie and she is not part of our fight. And whatever has happened between us in the past, what is happening to you now is so unfair, so horrible. I am so sorry. I’m mad that we don’t have time to sort out our differences but of course, you can send me Hellie’s details and I promise I will look out for her. It’s what grandma would have wanted after all. Family always wins.

  As for us. You should have started this conversation a long time ago. Can’t tell you how angry I am we can’t finish it properly. Which I guess is my way of saying I love and miss you.

  All my love, Kath xxx

  Thank God for that. I text back Hellie’s address and phone number with a final message and then it is time to ring Hellie,

  Miss you too.

  Margaret.

  ‘Morning, Mum.’ Hellie is clearly making an effort to be bright, happy, hopeful.

  ‘Morning. Did you sleep all right?’

  ‘Surprisingly, yes, I was exhausted.’ She pauses, ‘And things do feel better today.’

  ‘I told you they would.’ I try to avoid too much emotion for the moment. Tears can wait till the last call. I tell her about Shelley’s video, Nikki and James’s wedding, Kath’s offer. The last few hours have certainly been eventful. ‘So you see, I’m going out on a high.’

  ‘Oh, Mum.’

  ‘And Hellie, whatever happens, I want you to know that I’ve had a good life, a lucky life. Your dad and I didn’t have long together but we had the best time. I’ve had you and Toby – and I’m so proud of you both. I had an interesting career, good friends. If this is to my last day, I’ve spent it in good company. Life doesn’t get much better than this. Sunshine, beauty, love. Never forget that …’

  ‘I won’t.’ Hellie is working hard to keep her voice under control. ‘I almost forgot – Toby started walking this morning.’

  ‘That’s marvellous!’

  ‘He just climbed out of bed and walked into our bedroom. Now he’s careering around the house like a demented puppy.’

  ‘You’ll have your work cut out from now on. Listen, love, I’ve got to go, but I’ll call later.’

  I hang up and join the others. The surf club is full of excited chatter as the young women help each other with hair and make-up. It feels a happy place, if happiness is possible, here, in this place, at this time. The words of the prayer I read earlier come back to me, ‘let the luminous senses and the bright thoughts shine within us’. I look around at their glowing faces and think that God has not brought me a boat, or a life jacket, but he has provided me with this. And for this brief moment, I believe it is enough.

  James

  I wake with a stiff neck, dry mouth and a headache. For a second I wonder where I am and then, as I open my eyes, see the deep blue sky fading into lighter blue, the stars slowly disappearing, I remember. The dr
ead that lay dormant as I was talking to Nikki returns with the force of a tidal wave. Above me the gulls are already calling to each other, the choughs cry out in staccato. I pull myself down in sleeping bag. I do not want to wake to this day. When I went to sleep, I had my arm round Nikki but she has rolled away from me, leaving me alone with this panic and fear. What is it going to be like to drown? Will the force of the wave knock me unconscious or will I feel every moment, as water squeezes the breath out of my lungs? And after all this life, all this being, and acting, and doing, will there be anything to follow or will it just be blackness?

  The roar of the sea interrupts my thoughts, reminding me of holidays in Cornwall when I was a kid. The mornings I would rise before dawn, and make my way down to the beach alone, so I could have the ocean to myself. Sometimes I would paddle, make a sandcastle, but mainly I would sit, listening to the water crashing, the birds swooping ahead, sinking into sounds, the smell of salt air, the feel of grains of sand beneath me. Some days I would stay for a couple of hours like that, drawn into the landscape as if I was part of it. Remembering this, I feel calmer, and, as I hear a tent unzipping, I am able to raise my head, glance towards the camp to see Yan’s bulky frame wandering down the beach.

  It comes to me that I am alive now. For the first time in over a year I have a beautiful woman beside me. Someone who makes me feel safe, warm. I open my eyes and glance over to her. She is lying on her back, one arm on her stomach, the other flung to the left. I stare at her beautiful face, the finely shaped cheeks, smooth skin, and the strands of hair that have crept out from the top of the scarf. She will complain of sand and salt when she wakes. I prop myself up to appreciate her better. And then despite what is coming I know that right now, I am the luckiest man in the world. Nikki is wonderful and Lisa is a distant memory. I am torn between a desire to wake her to tell her how I feel and a wish not to disturb her peace. I decide the latter, watch her chest rise and fall, her breaths in concert with the waves. Time hangs suspended . There is no past to regret, or future to fear, it is just the two of us side by side. As the blue above me lightens, she wakes, looks straight back at me with her dark brown eyes.