The Wave

by Virginia Moffatt

  Of course … The car. The bloody car. I can use it to push the trailer further into the water and if I untie the chains the boat will just float off. Pleased with my ingenuity, I get back into the driver’s seat and start the motor. It works like a charm. The boat floats out, just as I’d hoped. I put the brakes on, jump out, grabbing the tow rope just in time before it drifts away and takes my only hope of escape. I tie it down to the inside handle of the front door, the water splashing my calves. I walk over to the boot to collect my suitcase. Shelley’s bags are still in there too. Seeing them, I almost relent of my decision not to go back for her, but I know deep down I’ve run out of time. I wonder whether I should take the case with me, in some vain hope that she might escape by some other means. I think of her face when we meet up again and I’ve left her best clothes behind. It is not worth the aggro, so I pick up both and throw them on board. I make one more trip back to the car to get the food and drink and my wallet. I can’t be without my wallet. I check my watch again. Six o’clock. I have time; I must leave now, but I have time. I have survived so many things in life and know I will survive this.

  I pull myself onto the boat and am about to start the engine when I spot my mistake. I roll my trousers up, jump into the sea and wade back the car to untie the rope. The boat is bobbing in the water and it is hard to hold it steady but I manage to clamber back on board, sweating and out of breath. I am wet and tired but ready to move out. I text Shelley, just in case she’s thinking I might come for her. Only just got in the water. I’m sorry. I can’t get to you in time. I am. I truly am. I wish I could save her but I can’t. Haven’t I always told her it’s a dog-eat-dog world, survival of the fittest? She is not the first person I have had to leave behind. Though I expect she’s the one I’ll regret. If she’d only believed in me, she would’ve been here with me now. If only …

  I turn the ignition. I have never driven a boat before. I’d hoped it would be like driving a car, but it is not as easy as I thought it would be. It takes a while to locate the manufacturer’s instructions of how to work the outboard motor. And then, when I do, it takes longer than I’d imagined to steady it over the waves that are stronger as I begin to move away from the slope. It takes me a full ten minutes to navigate to the end of quay, past the wall. A further twenty to get out of the bay and on to open water where I am faced with a new challenge. The waves are so high, water is splashing in. I try to remember if I have read anything about driving a motorboat. Wasn’t there something in GQ once? I stop the motor for a minute and consult my phone. Sure enough, I locate the article which advises riding at an angle. It takes a few miles before I have mastered the rhythm of the rise and fall of the waves: up, and down, up and down, each up seeming steeper than the last, each descent a lurch in body and stomach. I am conscious of the sun creeping up through the sky. I have no desire for it to rise any higher. If it rises much higher I will know that I have failed and I am sure I have time to succeed. I will win as I always do. I must stop thinking about the sun and focus on this one single thought: every mile is taking me further north to safety.

  There is no map on the boat and it’s too old for GPS. I have no idea how far I have travelled, and it is just my luck the speedometer is broken. I have no idea how fast I am going. Only that I have been in the water for an hour, the sun is rising in the sky and there is an hour to go. I have the engine at full throttle, but the waves are choppy in the middle of the sea, so I move closer to the coast. I pass villages and bays. I have a feeling that once I am around that big headland, I may be nearly in Devon and safety, but I am not sure. It is just crossing my mind that I might not be sure until eight o’clock when the wave is due, when there is a bump, a shudder, a scream of metal, and the boat comes to an abrupt halt. The engine is still running but when I try to move forward nothing happens. I turn it into reverse, and push backwards; still nothing. It is then that I spot water on the bottom of the boat, the rock pushing through the whole in the floor. Fuck. I’ve run aground. I look around for a bucket, a container, anything, but there is nothing. I try to empty the water with my bare hands, but it is no good. The sea is forcing its way through the cracks and the boat is sinking. I am a few hundred yards off land. I grab the lifebelt and throw myself into the water. Even with the lifebelt, it is a struggle to get to the shore, but I make it eventually throwing myself against the rocks. I look at my watch again. I have half an hour left. The cliffs above me are smooth – there is no way to climb up them and there is sea to the right and left. This is my final destination. I have run as far as I can, and it is not far enough. The wave is coming for me after all. I cannot escape its path. I scream and bang the stones in fury. After all my efforts, I might as well have stayed on that damned beach.

  I stop shouting eventually, because, really what’s the point? There is nothing I can do. I have nothing left to do except say goodbye to the only two people I really care about. I cannot face ringing Val and, anyway, she’ll be at her cleaning job, and she’s not allowed a phone. I send her a text telling her what’s happened, that I love her. I wish I could hear her voice one more time but she won’t see this till it’s too late. It’s probably better that way.

  My second text is for Shelley. I’ve crashed. I’m in the same boat as you. Ha Ha. Love and miss you. Hx. I still think I was right to try, but part of me wishes I was back there with her. It would be a damned sight more comfortable than this clifftop. My phone beeps. It is Shelley. Shit. Sorry to hear that. I recorded a song. Download it and think of me, won’t you? Take care x. She hasn’t said she loves me, but perhaps she doesn’t anymore. It doesn’t matter now. I’ll never see her again not in person. All I have is the video. There she is, with a guitar, standing on a cliff, looking every inch a singer. And then she sings and her voice is high and clear and beautiful. The song is sad, and true. The water is too wide, I cannot get over it, nor can she. We are lost to each other, and I am lost to the world. And yet, when the song comes to an end, I want to play it again. I sit with my back to the cliff, gazing to sea, listening to her over and over again. I wish I had wings to fly, but that is impossible. The words offer no comfort, and yet the song is soothing in a way. I close my eyes, let the sun warm me, try to pretend I am safe, rescued … Miles from here.

  Shelley

  I was so caught up in making the video and seeing Dad and Alison’s reaction that I missed Harry’s text. I only noticed it when I checked my phone at breakfast. And even then I was still so happy they were proud of me and so pleased that they thought it was a good idea that I didn’t let it bother me at first. I told myself I’d blown my bridges when I decided to stay here, and made it certain with my angry text about Margaret. But when I sat down with my bacon buttie, it dawned on me that this was my last meal. The anxiety I’d been pushing aside rushed back, because after this there was nothing much else to do today but drown. What made it worse was the realisation that I could have got away if I’d done things differently. If I’d not rowed with Harry, if I’d held it together for just that little bit longer, I would be with him, wherever he was, on the open water. Much as I have grown to love my new friends in the last twelve hours, I have given up my one chance of escape for a bit of personal growth that I could have achieved when I was safely back in London.

  I try my best to join in the chat about previous camping trips we’ve taken. I even dredge up a story of a rainy trip to the Lake District with Dad and Alison. I make them laugh with my account of the mud in the campsite, how our tent nearly collapsed and how, in the end, we left at three in the morning, driving all night to get home to our warm beds. Throughout it all I can feel the panic and dismay bubbling just underneath the surface. Fear at what is about to come, and despair that I have made such a mess of my life, believing that I am dying needlessly because I chose the wrong moment to face up to leaving my boyfriend. I don’t know how the others can be so calm; perhaps it’s because they know there’s nothing they could have done about their situation, or maybe they’re just better at hidi
ng it. And though I have a secret hope that perhaps Harry was kidding or trying not to raise my expectations and is actually on his way here right now, I know this is just wishful thinking. I know he means what he says. I can picture him now, standing proud at the wheel of the boat, speeding to safety, without a care in the world, leaving me behind to die. I can imagine this becoming one of Harry’s stories of survival, how he regretted he couldn’t persuade me, but short of kidnapping me and putting me in the boot he couldn’t make me come, could he? And once he’d discovered he didn’t have time to come back to me, he had no choice, did he? He’ll make quite a tale of it, I’m sure, and my part will become more stupid and stubborn, his more heroic. He’ll pull a few women on that one, I’m sure. Meanwhile, I’m about to die.

  The terror is so overwhelming that I lose the thread of the conversation. It is only when Poppy mentions trolls that I sit up and pay attention. I knew about Margaret, but now it appears James and Nikki have been victims of it too.

  ‘What do you suggest?’ says James.

  ‘A statement and a joke.’

  ‘How about we all sing “Shake it Off”?’ says Nikki.

  ‘“Shake it Off”?’ Margaret asks.

  I show her the video and soon we are filming each other each other in stupid poses as we scream the words to the sound of Taylor’s sick beat. When the song finishes we laugh hysterically. It’s a welcome relief.

  Even better, Nikki and James announce they are getting married, and now we have something good and lovely to think about. Now I am up with the women at the surfer’s hut, helping Nikki with her make-up, nails and hair. Margaret has gone in search of flowers, while Poppy is filming everything for Nikki’s parents.

  ‘I’ve never helped a bride out before,’ I say as I take the comb gently through Nikki’s hair, untangling the knots, and then massaging it.

  ‘How come you know how to do this?’

  ‘Saturday job in a salon in Streatham. Good training for a white girl.’

  ‘Thanks. You’re better than my hairdresser.’ I blush. It’s nice of her to say so. I don’t think I’ve ever been with people who’ve been so nice to me outside my family. I wish I’d found people like this to hang around with sooner.

  ‘You look gorgeous,’ I say, as I finish coming out her hair. She has decided to let it be natural and it suits her.

  ‘Thanks.’ Nikki smiles. ‘I should have asked before, but will you be my bridesmaid? I have a little sister, but obviously she can’t be here in person, so …’

  That is so lovely, I almost burst into tears. ‘I’d love to. I always said I’d do it for Alison. I feel awful that I can’t. Thank you so much.’ I give her a hug. Poor Alison, if she ever gets married, she’ll have to do this alone. It doesn’t seem right.

  Margaret returns, her hands full of flowers. She puts some in side combs for Nikki and then makes the others into posies for the pair of us. All of a sudden, I am taken back to a rainy afternoon in childhood, sometime before Mum died, when Alison and I were playing ‘Here comes the bride’. We made paper bouquets and she dressed herself in her communion dress and veil. I walked behind throwing tissue paper as pretend confetti. We got into trouble later for the mess, but at the time it was so much fun. We always talked about being there for each other on our wedding days. It seems so wrong that I won’t be. I have to call her to let her know I’m thinking of her.

  ‘How are you doing?’ she says, her voice is a little teary

  ‘Getting ready for a wedding.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. Nikki and James. They met yesterday.’

  ‘A bit quick, isn’t it?’

  ‘Nothing to lose.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Listen, don’t get Dad, I’ll call you both again later. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry I won’t be here to do this for you. At your wedding.’

  ‘Oh, Shells …’

  ‘Sorry, too, that I’ve been such an awful little sister. Pretending I didn’t know you at school, refusing to do my homework, winding you and Dad up.’

  ‘Takes two, hon. Sorry I was so uptight. It was just hard moving south, after Mum died. Like I had to be the responsible one all the time. I think I overdid it, sometimes.’

  ‘You did,’ I say and laugh. ‘Sometimes … Anyway, just wanted to say, pax?’

  It is Alison’s turn to laugh, the old signal for making up a fight, ‘Pax.’

  ‘I’ll send you some photos of the wedding preparations and the service. When it’s your turn, you can photoshop me into your pictures.’

  ‘You’re a daft mare.’

  ‘I know. Speak later.’

  I hang up, take the red dress Nikki has lent me, and pull it over my head. I pull the belt tight and brush my hair. I leave it loose and flowing; like Nikki I don’t want to be hampered with a fussy hairstyle now.

  The others are ready, and we make our way out of the car park to the men standing on the cliffs. James’s face breaks into a smile as he sees Nikki coming towards him. What it must be to feel loved like that? Harry never looked at me that way. Although part of me envies the two of them for being able to get married like this, watching them together makes me sure I was right to leave him. I never loved him the way I can see Nikki does James. And he never loved me that way either. We were just two people sharing a flat who fancied each other for a while. I should have stayed with him long enough to get out of here alive, but there’s no point having regrets now. I have made my choice and right now it is good to be here.

  James and Nikki make their vows under a blazing sun. It is already warm, even though it only 7.30. We cheer, shower them with petals we plucked from the cliff, and raise glasses to life and happiness. Wine early in the morning is a bit rancid, but it seems important to go the full hog, and watching Nikki and James smiling, kissing, touching each other, I raise my glass with pleasure.

  My phone buzzes. It’s a message from Harry. It is not the good news I expected. I’ve crashed. I’m in the same boat as you. Ha Ha. Love and miss you. Hx. God, poor Harry. After all that effort, he deserved to get away. Fuck. I’ve made the right choice after all. While he is stuck on his own, I am, surrounded by friends celebrating. Poor Harry. All my anger disappears, No-one should die alone like that. I send him the video of my song. It’s not his kind of music, but maybe he’ll find it comforting now. Even though we have broken up, I still feel for him. I don’t want him to suffer. He’s all alone and here I am, surrounded by love. I raise a glass to him silently, hoping he’s not feeling too awful.

  Yan wanders up to me.

  ‘You know it’s tradition for the best man to get off with the bridesmaid, don’t you?’

  ‘You wish.’

  ‘You know I’m kidding, right.’

  ‘Of course.’ I smile, ‘I like that you can kid with me.’ He beams.

  There isn’t long to go now. Our lives are hanging on a thread, and yet, as I stare from face to face, seeing the way Nikki and James have let their happiness infect us, it feels good to be here. We are alive for such a short period, and my life has turned out to be shorter than most, but it hasn’t been a total waste. I wish I’d done more – travelled, studied, had a decent relationship, been kinder to my family. I wish I’d done less – wasting time with Harry, all those years trying to be more grown up than I was, worried about stupid things like how popular I was at school. But I can’t do anything about it now. I am terrified of what is about to happen. I do not want to leave this world, with all its beauty and its pain, but I know I cannot do anything about it now. And since I do have to leave before my time, I am glad that I have had this small consolation, to go out in style, in splendour and, in love.

  Instagram

  ONE HOUR AGO

  Image of a heart and two fingers in the peace sign.

  LisaLuskOfficial Hey guys. Some of you have been a little overzealous on my behalf. It’s not cool, guys. Leave James and his girlfriend alone. Things don’t always work the way you want. That’s l
ife. And they’re about to die. So respect that. Love and Peace. Always

  WonderWoman 2018 Lisa you’re so good. Always thinking of others.

  AllieSmith4 Yeah, Lisa. Love you

  Jenny5001 I wouldn’t forgive them. That’s what makes you special Lisa!

  LisaLuskOfficial Oh, you guys.

  Facebook

  Dowetha Live

  A message from us all.

  Thank you for all the kind thoughts expressed on this page tonight. We’ve appreciated the love. Sadly, we’ve had to disable comments due to the uninformed opinions of a few idiots.

  For the record. None of us blame Margaret for what happened. Nor should you.

  Nikki and James getting together is the best thing that has happened to all of us. We know most of you agree and we’re glad to announce they have just got married. We’ll post pictures below. We’re happy. They’re happy. So should you be.

  And for anyone who doesn’t love love, and anyone who’s wasted their venom on us, here’s a message for you. (link to video ‘Shake it Off’)

  Love, peace and heartfelt thanks,

  Poppy, Yan, Margaret, James, Nikki and Shelley xxx

  PS Please look out for Shelley’s video ‘The Water is Wide’ and support the campaign to raise funds for the clear up after we are gone. xxx

  Prayers for the Dead

  Poppy

  The wedding is over. The happy couple are using my iPad to talk to their parents, the others have separated, each going to speak to their loved ones for one final time. I envy them. All of them. I have spoken to my friends during the night, of course I have. But there is nobody now that is desperate for my call, and though my friends will be sorry, none of them will be as devastated as Margaret’s daughter, or Shelley’s family. It occurs to me that, right at this moment, the five people on the clifftop are the closest friends I have in the world. I don’t know whether to be sad or happy that this is the case, but as Seren would say if she was here, I only have myself to blame