The Wave Read online

  ‘This is all wrong.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I expected you to be at my deathbed …’

  ‘Oh.’ I wanted to be strong, but I am crying before I can stop myself.

  ‘Nikki …’ His voice cracks too. ‘I’m not ready to let you go.’

  ‘Nor me, Dad.’ I can’t bear hearing the pain in his voice. ‘You’d like it here, Dad, you’d like it. Reminds me of Devon. Do you remember?’

  ‘We searched in the rock pools and jumped over the waves.’ This is better.

  ‘You held my hand, and I felt safe … It’s just like that here. I’ve found some lovely people. And I know it sounds weird, but I’m feeling quite safe and almost happy.’

  He clears his throat. ‘Then I’m almost happy too.’ He hands me to Ifechie, who tells me a stupid joke about Trump before passing me to Ginika. She holds the phone without saying anything I realize she is crying. ‘It’s all right,’ I say, although it isn’t. ‘I’m all right. I’m having a nice time. I love you.’ She whispers, ‘I love you too,’ and gives the phone back to Mum. ‘We have to go through customs now. Call us later?’

  ‘I will. And Mum? I love you.’

  ‘I love you too.’

  They are gone. I hold the phone to my ear still, not wanting the connection to be broken, but she has hung up. I can see that the others have nearly finished with the tents. I should be getting back to them, but I find myself wanting to be alone. Now I am away from James, I have to stop and wonder whether he’ll be like all the rest of the white boys I’ve known. However well such romances have started, they’ve always ended badly. Should I step away before it spirals into disaster? He seems lovely, but so did Patrick, and I vowed I’d never have another Patrick ever again. But when I come back to the fireside and James waves to me to join him, I can’t stop myself. I sit beside him, leaning my head against his. It feels the most natural thing in the world.

  ‘Family all right?’ he whispers.

  ‘Just about.’ He squeezes my hand and I feel as safe as I could be in the circumstances.

  Oh great, I’ve arrived just as Poppy and Yan are having an argument about politics. It starts off reasonably, as most do, but soon descends into anger and fury. I don’t think I can bear it. They seemed so close when we arrived, united in a desire to make us all feel better. It really helped, which is why I can’t bear seeing them argue now. If they fall apart, I think we all will. Thankfully, Poppy acknowledges that some cuts have gone too far, which gives me a way in to suggest politicians should live by their policies, and the argument comes to an end as we all agree that if they did the world would be a better place. Which is fine, until it dawns on me that it doesn’t matter, because after tonight none of us will have a say in politics or changing the world. Suddenly I am assaulted by the feelings I held at bay when talking to my family. My body shakes as I let out a wail of terror and despair. Then it’s like everyone has been waiting for this moment, because we are all overcome with emotion, howling like small children. I suppose it is a form of group hysteria, that affects everyone except Harry and James. I’m not sure how long it goes on for, but eventually I find my tears are subsiding. As the sobs subside, Shelley suggests a group hug. I’ve always thought group hugs a bit lame, but somehow, tonight, it feels right. We may be terrified and lost in the darkness, but at least we have each other. Harry is the only one not to join in. He remains seated, scrolling through his phone. Poor Shelley, I think, as I sit back down with James, who’d want to be stuck with a man like that?

  The talk turns to God and whether there is life after death.

  ‘I’ve always thought heaven was a story to keep kids happy,’ says Poppy. Her scathing tone, is a surprise. Even when arguing with Yan she seemed respectful.

  ‘I’d like to think it’s real,’ says Shelley, ‘but I’m not sure what it looks like.’

  ‘Believe me,’ says Poppy, ‘when the dead are dead, they stay dead.’

  ‘I hope … think … believe there is something beyond this life,’ says Margaret, ‘That tomorrow, what comes after will reunite me with people I’ve lost. I could be wrong, of course.’

  I remember something I heard in church recently. I raise my head to speak. ‘My minister was preaching the other week about this. He has an idea of eternity that I quite like. He says that every moment is eternal. So that each part of us – baby, child, grown-up – exists beyond today and yesterday and in the future. I don’t know why, but I find that comforting.’

  James looks at me, surprised, and I wonder if my Christianity has put him off. But he simply says, ‘I’ve never really thought much about it, to be honest. Though I did see this article by a scientist who suggested our consciousness might live on beyond us. That appealed to me. And it’s not too far from your idea, Nikki.’ He smiles at me, as if to say that my beliefs are my business. I settle back down on his shoulder, relieved.

  Margaret says, ‘And the thing is, tomorrow, we’ll know one way or another, but we won’t be able to share that knowledge.’

  Poppy laughs. ‘You mean, if heaven exists we won’t be able to say “I told you so” ?’

  Margaret says, ‘I’m not sure it will matter that much.’

  There is a lull in the conversation, then someone, I’m not sure who, stupidly mentions Brexit. I groan inwardly. These conversations never end well, and this one is no different. James and I are staunch Remainers, Shelley didn’t vote and isn’t sure what the fuss is about. Harry, predictably, is a Leaver, but I’m surprised Margaret is. She’s sick, she says, of interference from Brussels, though when James challenges her, she admits it’s mainly that she doesn’t like the Common Agricultural Policy. Poppy and Yan are on opposite sides again, but not in the way I expected.

  ‘The whole thing was a huge mistake,’ says Poppy, ‘David Cameron pandering to the Ukippers, and now Theresa May desperate to keep her right wing happy. I’m with Ken Clarke on this one.’

  ‘It’s the one thing I can agree with David Davies on,’ says Yan. ‘The EU is unwieldy, undemocratic, full of unelected officials trying to impose TTIP and a gravy train that supported UKIP.’

  Oh, how funny. She’s a Tory Remainer and he’s a Labour Leaver.

  ‘What about the Working Time Directive?’ I say.

  ‘And the Human Rights Act?’ James adds. I appreciate him working with me on this, it feels like we are together, a team.

  ‘They’re good in their way,’ says Yan, ‘but workers would be better off outside, creating their own institutions. Besides, leaving the EU will bring house prices down, making them more affordable’

  I’m about to tell him that’s bullshit, when Harry puts his phone away and stands up.

  ‘Well, this has been fun,’ he says, ‘but I think it’s time we went.’

  ‘I thought we were staying,’ Shelley says.

  ‘We’re wasting time, there’s a boat out there, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts, we’re done.’

  I think, for a moment, that she’s going to refuse to go with him, but she sighs and says, ‘I’m sorry. Thanks everyone. It’s been lovely.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sorry,’ he says. ‘One of these bastards is responsible for this mess. I’m not staying here a moment longer.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’re not your friends, Shelley. And they’re not going to help you escape. Only I can do that. Come on.’

  She looks at us, and then at him, whispers, ‘Sorry,’ again, and follows him up the beach. The rest of us gaze at each other warily.

  What on earth did he mean?

  Harry

  I can’t believe I let Shelley persuade me to stay here this long. I only stopped in the first place because we were tired and hungry. It seemed sensible to grab an opportunity to eat while we had the chance. And despite myself, despite the company, I have to admit it was pleasant to sit by the water, enjoying the calm of the evening, pretending for a little while that we didn’t
have a care in the world. I just shouldn’t have allowed myself to get this comfortable I should have insisted we leave after dinner. But I can be a stupid fucking idiot sometimes and tonight has been like the pub on a Friday. There are always annoying people and inane conversations, but once I’ve had a drink or two, I always find myself staying longer than I intend. I’ve been convincing myself it was OK, because I’m one of the few people who’ve got a good signal at this spot. So while we’ve all been doing our Famous Five bit, I’ve been able to check message boards and put out requests on Facebook. Even though I’ve got nowhere, I’ve been pretending to myself that this is more efficient then driving in the dark. But I’ve got nowhere and now I’m beginning to regret not leaving hours ago.

  I need to catch Shelley’s eye, tell her it’s time to go, but I’m beginning to sense she’s reluctant to leave, that somehow she’s been persuaded by the others there’s no point trying to get away.. I don’t understand it.

  Why they are so passive in the face of the approaching danger. Why aren’t they trying to escape? I tried to throw a curve ball in earlier, suggesting we think of our worst moments, just to shake their complacency. It didn’t work. Some of them seemed discomforted, and I’m fairly sure Poppy wasn’t telling the truth, but they acted as if the question was reasonable and continued to play happy campers. It’s not as if they’re stupid. Particularly Poppy. In other circumstances I’d quite admire her drive and organisation. She’s throwing everything at making this beach party a success, why isn’t she using her energy and talent to get away? There she goes again, arguing about Brexit as if any of that matters right now. I zone out, doing one final scroll of social media in the hope of finding a boat. Still nothing, but I do discover an interesting item on a political website.

  Downing Street’s confirmation that the Natural Disaster Early Warning Unit was cancelled in the 2010 ‘Bonfire of the Quangos” failed to provide some essential details. Namely, the officials responsible. We think it’s in the public interest to know and have tracked them down. The decision was made by a team within the Department of Science and Technology: Professor David Hollidge, Andrew Gray and Margaret Anderson from the Cabinet Office. David Hollidge and Andrew Gray are still at the Department of Science and Technology and can be contacted on twitter at @ProfDHollidge and @Andrew_Gray5, if you care to let them know your thoughts. Margaret Anderson isn’t on social media and appears to have retired. Some sources suggest she now lives in Cornwall. Now wouldn’t that be ironic?

  This is perfect. Margaret hasn’t mentioned her surname but surely it’s her? She’s the right age and didn’t she say she used to work for the government? She’s just the type to do something this crappy, I knew there was a reason she wound me up. It’s not just because she speaks in self-important Theresa May tones that demand we listen to her. It’s because Shelley has latched on to her big time. She always does this with older women. It’s like she’s looking for a mother figure or something. I’m sure it’s one of the reasons she wants to stay. Well, she’ll think differently about Margaret when hears about this, when she sees what a self serving superior cow she is …

  This is it. Time to go. As I announce our departure, I decide I’ll let them know one of us did this, though I don’t say who – they can work out easily enough.. Shelley looks like she might argue with me, but when I tell her to come on, she follows me as usual. I didn’t expect her not too; she may protest a little, but she always takes my lead in the end. It is only when reach the car park, that things get weird.

  ‘Well, I’m glad that’s over,’ I say, as I open the car door. ‘What a bunch of wankers.’

  ‘I thought they were nice.’

  ‘You think everyone’s nice, Shells. Trouble is, they’re not.’

  ‘What did you mean back there? Saying it was someone’s fault?’

  ‘It was.’ I show her the website.

  ‘We don’t know that it’s her.’

  ‘She’s an ex-civil servant, living in Cornwall. Bit of a bleeding coincidence.’

  ‘Cornwall’s a big place.’

  ‘And you trust people too much. I bet it’s her. Superior cow. Serve her right if she drowns.’

  ‘Stop it!’ Shelley rarely raises her voice, so her anger catches me by surprise.

  ‘Don’t be so soft, Shells. We’re better off without them.’

  ‘Even if we don’t find a boat?’

  ‘We’ll find a boat.’

  ‘No.’ There’s a look on her face I’ve never seen before. ‘No. I don’t believe we will.’

  Normally, she’d cave in by this point but tonight something is wrong. She’s arguing with me, she’s actually arguing with me. I don’t like it. She never argues with me. This new Shells, with dishevelled hair and blazing eyes is unnerving

  ‘We’ll discuss it in the car.’

  ‘I’m not coming.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t believe you’ll find a boat.’

  ‘You can bloody well stay here and drown then.’ I climb into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Come back,’ she says.

  ‘Too late. I’m off.’

  ‘No, I mean … if you find a boat, or if you don’t, come back.’

  ‘Whatever.’ I slam the door shut. Even if she’s right, there’s no way I’m staying now. I’d rather be on my own. I put my foot down and shoot off into the darkness. It is just after ten. That bloody volcano is about to collapse and if I don’t get a move on, I’m going to be stuck along with rest of them. I drive up to the main road where I stop, take out my phone work out a route. There are several bays between here and St Ives. I’m sure to find something on the way. I just need to keep steady, focus my mind, stand firm. It’s what has got me through life so far. No one else in my family made anything of themselves. No one from my neighbourhood. No one from my school. I’m the only one. I got myself from a market stall to running my own business by the time I was Shelley’s age. Now I have a string of companies and hotels to my name, and am pulling in a healthy profit, despite the 2008 crash, austerity, even Brexit. Why? I’m clever. I think, I plan, I foresee obstacles. I know how to survive. It’s what sets me apart from everyone else, particularly that pathetic bunch on the beach. It’s why I will get through this and they won’t. Rely on yourself and only yourself. I learnt that early in life and it’s always stood me in good stead. There’s never been anyone in my corner, except for my sister Val. Even after she married that jerk of a husband, Val has always been there for me. But she can’t help me from London and now Shelley is out of the picture, I’m back where I’ve always been. Having to get through this alone. Well, I’ve survived worse. I’ll survive this, I’m sure. Just got to keep focussed on the task in hand. I put the phone away, take a sweet out of the glove compartment, and set off again.

  The hedges are high and the moon is low on the horizon. I turn the car lights up to full brightness so I can see as far ahead as possible. The road is full of sharp bends and sudden turns, so I drive carefully. I’ve had a couple of glasses more than I intended and the last thing I need is an accident. I reach the next bay twenty minutes later. It is smaller than Dowetha, without a proper car park, but I stop just in case. I climb out of the car, walk over to the cliff edge where I find a tiny path down to the beach. I can see already there is nothing there. Just sand and stones and the sea surging and retreating below. It would be pleasant to stop here for a while. In other circumstances, Shelley and I might have had a bit of fun here, skinny dipping and sex afterwards. I’ve always liked that she’s been up for that sort of thing. Oh Shelley, I think, why couldn’t you come too? Why did you let yourself be taken in by that lot? Why choose despair rather than hope? Why stay with a bunch of strangers rather than me? It’s not fair. After all I’ve done for you. I find that I am shouting my questions in the dark. Stupid idiot! As if that is going to help. Focus Harry, focus.

  I glance at my phone, thinking perhaps she might have sent a message, but there’s nothing. I wonder if I should pho
ne Val, let her know what’s happening. She’s probably sitting at home with Ed, right now, watching repeats of Love Island. She loves all that reality TV stuff. She’d probably enjoy hearing about our beach gathering. It might be fun to talk to her about all the personalities. She could help me guessing what clever Poppy might be hiding, mock Yan for his leftie earnestness, place bets on Nikki and James getting it on tonight, be outraged at Margaret’s actions. It would be good to get her take on it. Though I have to admit that I wouldn’t want to tell her about Shelley, that even if she had decided to come I think she may have broken up with me. I’m not ready for that conversation yet. Besides Val doesn’t even know I’m here. Is it fair to freak her out with this, just when the news will be full of the imminent volcano collapse? I think not.

  I’ve stopped too long. It’s time to get moving again. I have to face the fact that Shelley is my past now. It’s just me, the open road and the boat that will get me away from here. I get back in the car and turn the music on. ‘The Wind Between My Wings’. Shit, it’s on one of Shelley’s slushy compilations. I can’t stand that song, but she always insists on playing it – says it reminds her of her dad. Well, I never liked her dad, and her dad never liked me. And I’m done with Shelley, so I’m done with her stupid music too. I switch tracks to Steppenwolf: ‘Born to Be Wild’. That’s much more my style. I put my foot on the accelerator and, throwing caution to the wind, I race off into the night.

  Shelley

  I thought he said we could stay. Right after we got here. Harry said that maybe I was right for once. Maybe there was no boat to be found. I said we might as well stay here, eat, drink, enjoy just being together, and tomorrow would, well, be tomorrow and he nodded. I thought that meant we were staying. I should have known that he meant just for tea. When has Harry ever properly agreed with me? I should have known that he was always planning to leave. Particularly when he was so sneery about after supper, when all they were doing was being friendly and kind. Maybe I just wanted to believe it to quell the doubts that have been growing, not just today, but for the last two months. The fear that I’ve made a huge mistake being with him all this time. Maybe I wanted to think that I was wrong, that our relationship was worth holding on to. When he helped with the tents, I genuinely believed that he had decided to stay, so it’s a shock when he suddenly says it’s time to leave. And even more of one when he accuses one of the group of having caused this crisis. Of course, I don’t object As always, I trot after him – old habits die hard, and Harry is a very old habit; difficult to shake off. I’ve been with him so long, I’ve forgotten I have the ability to choose, that I don’t have to follow him all the time.