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So I didn’t make friends with the surfers, but I wasn’t Sammy No-Mates either. I made two friends. Mike and Harry. They liked my Xbox, and stargazing through the telescope, and sometimes we kicked a football around. But the truth is, when I played Xbox with them, I was thinking about sitting around the campfire with Jade and her mates. I was thinking about another sunset at Tin-mines. But I didn’t surf and Jade never invited me down to the beach again.
The idea of surfing crossed my mind, but I couldn’t really swim well and we were too hard up to buy things like surfboards and wetsuits. And Mum wouldn’t have been keen. Not after Dad and what happened. So I pushed the idea away. But it nagged at me. Every time I went to sleep, listening to the sea.
*
I’d been there three weeks or so, when, on a sunny Sunday morning, Jade appeared at our front door with her dog, Tess, asking me to go for a walk. She wore trainers, jeans and a hoody, with the same denim jacket she always wore and no make-up. London girls tried a lot harder than that. Jade didn’t need to.
“No surf today then?” I said, standing in the doorway, trying to act like I wasn’t keen on the whole walk idea. She brushed the hair out of her face and looked away, in the direction of the sea.
“Honestly? Yeah, there is. But I stayed out late last night…”
“How late?”
“About two o’clock late. So Dad kind of grounded me. He’s locked my boards away, the twat. If I go off by myself, he’ll know I’m borrowing gear and going surfing, but if I’m with you…” She shrugged. That was why she was asking me to go for a walk. There were no other options. I could take it or leave it. I didn’t like it, but the alternative was homework.
We went to the sea on our bikes, with Tess following. Not Tin-mines this time. We hit the coast path, locked the bikes to an old railing and walked towards Whitesands.
She led me along the cliff and down a steep, rocky path, over the dunes to the deserted beach. We walked where the sand met the dune grass. White-grey granite cliffs stood at one end of the beach with a headland at the other. Inland the honey-coloured moor was spattered with soft purple heather. I’d started to love Cornwall by then, its beauty and its wildness, but I knew better than to go on about it to Jade. She took all that for granted. She didn’t know any different.
The sea was a mass of wind-smashed white peaks and dark blue troughs, with the odd shoulder-high wave trying to make a shape in all that anarchy. Jade looked at it. Hungry.
“You know, you’re mad to live here and not surf,” she said.
“I don’t like the water much.”
“What? Why?” She frowned like I’d said the most stupid thing possible. I thought we might get into it then; I thought I might tell her about Dad. But then we heard a loud cry. The scared cry of someone in trouble.
At the far end of the beach was a young girl – maybe eleven or twelve – in a wetsuit, standing knee-deep in the shore break. She was shouting and waving at the sea. A surfboard lay on the sand behind her.
“That’s Milly,” said Jade. “She’s far too young to be out by herself. Where’s her mum? What the hell is she doing?”
Jade started running. I followed.
The girl was shouting at her dog, a Jack Russell, which was caught in the surf, drifting out, really quickly, like it was being pulled on an invisible rope. Its eyes were wide with panic. Tess started barking like crazy.
“The dog’s in a rip,” said Jade.
My blood iced. “Um, we should… er…” I said. I sounded weak, feeble. I felt that way too. Jade gave me a look like a whiplash.
“I’ll take care of it,” she said, starting to strip, chucking her clothes on to the wet sand.
“No! I’ll go,” I said.
And that was it. Three simple, stupid words. I didn’t think about it; I didn’t weigh it up. I just didn’t want to look as pathetic as I felt right then. So I went. Because drowning’s better than looking weak, right?
“I’ll come too,” said Jade, undoing her laces.
“No!” I said. “It’s okay. I can do it.” I was acting like Clark Kent, ripping off his clothes to reveal his Superman costume. But there was no Superman underneath. Just my weedy, shaking body. Every inch of my skin screamed at me not to do it, but I watched myself like in some out-of-body trip, kicking off my boots, picking up Milly’s sponge surfboard, and running in.
It got deep, quickly. The cold water shocked me, its energy washing round my legs, soaking my clothes. Even the sand turned to liquid under my feet. The shore was only a few feet away, but once my feet lost touch with the sand it might as well have been a thousand miles.
I jumped on the board, dug my hands in the water and paddled. It was frenzied and clumsy, but somehow I moved forward, wobbling side to side, gasping and spluttering as I crashed through the chop, salt water catching in my throat and smacking me in the eyes. I had no idea what I was doing.
I must have been caught in the same rip as the dog, because I went a long way very quickly, but once I was out there, beyond the shore break, I couldn’t see the dog. The sea was getting smacked around by the wind and I was rocking madly, trying to stay on the board. It was chaos.
I didn’t even see the first wave – the first proper full-of-aggro wave – till it reared up in front of me. I paddled over the top and plunged downwards. A miracle. I was almost relieved, but there was another wave that had been hidden by the first one. It was bigger, but again I made it, just before it broke.
Then the third one came. A solid wall of water. As it pushed me backwards it paused, long enough to let me know what was happening. Then it tore the board from my hands and pummelled me into the sea.
There was no up, no down, no light, no dark. The world was replaced by a tornado of blue fury, and I was in the heart of it, churning over and over like a ragdoll in a washing machine.
It seemed to take forever. When it had finished, my lungs were bursting, and I was filled with sharp, high-pitched panic. A panic that had me by the heart and throat. I pushed and kicked and swam, desperate to get to the surface.
Seconds passed like years.
Eventually I surfaced, but instead of air I breathed foam, a lungful of froth that had me choking and hacking.
The next wave hit me like a truck. No spinning this time, this one just ground me downwards. Down deep, I opened my eyes. Seeing nothing but bruise-coloured dark, I panicked. Full on. My body gave in to it and I breathed water into my lungs. I heard the next wave roll over me. I swam upwards expecting another wave, half thinking there was no point because this merciless bastard force was going to keep hammering me till I gave up.
But then…
Swimming up, I saw turquoise light. The daylight world of land and air. The world that I’d been torn from was there. Just there. If I could only… get to it.
I surfaced, spasming coughs and gasps.
There was the dog, the Jack Russell, right beside me. Lucky for the dog. I would have gone back and not even have remembered it. Right then I’d have done anything to be back on land, but there the dog was, and I clung to it. I kicked my legs and thrashed with one arm and we slowly headed to the shore.
Hands and arms dragged me from the water. They had to get the dog from me. I didn’t want to let go. I tried to walk, but the sea had robbed me of strength. I felt like I was liquid. I bent over and puked.
I stayed like that a while, coughing and puking, water pouring out of my nose like a fountain.
Time slowed. I closed my eyes. I listened to the thunder in my ears. Slowly I began to breathe again.
I looked up. There were a few of them surrounding me, including Big G in his wetsuit, holding the girl’s board and grinning with delight. I’d never seen him smile before.
“Nice work,” he laughed. Skip was there, hopping about; Rag, a few others. The girl, Milly, was playing with the dog in the sand. Her mum appeared, a blonde woman, in wellies and a scarf. Posh-looking.
“I’m so sorry. I went back to the car to get a flask of tea. I was only gone a moment. Thank you so much. Biscuit owes you his life.”
A mock cheer filled the air. Everyone was smiling and laughing. Clearly what had happened was No Big Deal.
What?
I focused on standing upright and forcing a smile to my numb face, while streams of snotty water ran from my nose.
Big G and his mates picked up their boards and headed past me.
“You’re a hero,” said Skip with a nod.
“Rescue me if I get in trouble,” said Rag with a wink.
Milly and her mum walked off, making a fuss of the dog.
After they were gone, Jade clapped and whooped. When I didn’t react, she put her hand on my shoulder.
“You’re okay, right?” she asked.
“I’m fine!” I pushed her hand away and fell down on the sand. I was shaking. Numb. I was freezing too.
“Come on,” she said, “let’s get you back.”
I didn’t move at first. I didn’t even speak. I had to figure out what had just happened, had to try and put it all in some kind of order in my head. I’d nearly killed myself. Why? For the dog? No. I’d done it to impress Jade. I’d nearly drowned to make myself look good in front of a girl. The only upside was that if I hadn’t gone, I’d have been sat looking at Jade rescue the dog.
It was a pretty messed up situation all round. Half of me was telling myself what a kook I’d been, how I’d been lucky not to drown, how I’d never, ever do anything like that ever again. Ever.
The other half of me was buzzing something stupid.
THE ONLY TIME I’d seen her hideaway above the garage was that first day, when she’d taken me to Tin-mines. I hadn’t been allowed in. But now I was. She didn’t want to have to explain anything to her dad by bringing me to the house.
I shivered as I stripped off my wet clothes. She didn’t do me the favour of looking away as I got down to my pants. Every time I leant forward, a fresh stream of snotty water poured out of my nose. I kept coughing up water and couldn’t get the salt sting out of my eyes.
There was a makeshift bed there, of rugs and blankets on old crates. Jade made me lie on it.
Apart from the bed, there was an old captain’s sea chest and a blue rug. Driftwood shelves had been clumsily nailed on to the white painted walls. She had books, and a pile of tattered surf mags. On the wall, a few torn out and stuck up mag pics of girl surfers.
“Who are they?” I asked.
“Layne Beachley, Lisa Andersen. Old school surfers who carved a space for us girls in the water.”
“You going to be like them?”
“Nuh-uh. They’re competition surfers. I’m going to be a big wave surfer. Sponsored. The first famous UK female big wave surfer.”
“The Devil’s Horns?”
“Yeah, when one of those storms come. What did you call it, equinoocibingbong?”
She’d remembered what I’d said that first day, even though it had been weeks.
“Equinox,” I said.
“Equi. Nox. Cool word. You know about that shit, huh?” She eyed me up. She wasn’t teasing.
“You get bigger storms in autumn. Ever wonder why?”
“Nah. I just want to know when the swells are coming. If I get footage of me surfing the Horns, I’ll be made. Sponsorship, free boards and travel, the works.” She looked up at the pictures with a glazed far off look in her eyes, then snapped out of it and turned back to me.
“Spliff?” she said. But I shook my head. She didn’t ask me about the vodka. She just got a flask, metal cup and a leather tobacco pouch out of the sea chest, then poured me a drink and started rolling herself a cigarette.
“Drink,” she ordered. I took it off her with a trembling hand.
“What’s wrong with me?” I said, trying to laugh.
“Bit of shock.”
“I did nearly drown,” I said. The vodka burnt my throat. I liked it.
“You got slapped about a bit, but you were close in. I was there, Big G too. I’d have got you if you’d been in trouble.”
“If? I nearly drowned,” I said again, glaring at her. But she was focusing on rolling her cigarette.
“How long do you think you were down?” she said.
I thought back, to what it had been like under there, to what had happened.
“A minute. Two?”
“No, you kook! Fifteen, twenty seconds. Then you came up, and then you were down another ten. It feels like everything, but it’s nothing. It helps if you count when you’re down.”
“Count what?”
“Count the seconds. If you know what you can do on land, you know you can do it in water. It helps keep the fear off. Ten seconds down there can seem a lot longer than it is. If you surf, you get used to hold-downs.” Jade put the roll-up in her mouth and lit it, checking my face to see if I got what she was saying. “You get to like it.”
“Like… it…?” I said slowly. I’d liked it afterwards, sure. I’d felt good. But at the time?
“It was scary, right?” she said. “But you came out the other side. Didn’t it feel good?” She was calm now, focused.
“I don’t know,” I said. It was the truth. I didn’t know what I’d felt. Scared? Freaked out? Thrilled? Battered? All those things. But mostly just really alive. And I felt good I’d had a go. If she’d had to get in and rescue that dog, Jade would have been disgusted with me. Instead, here we were, talking about my adventure. And I liked her looking at me the way she did, legs crossed, smoking her roll-up, staring coolly, like she couldn’t quite make me out.
“Next time hold your breath,” she said.
“Next time? You’re funny.”
“I practise in the bath.” She reached out, took the cup off me, drank some vodka, then gave it back. I imagined Jade in the bath. Then tried to shake the idea away before I went red. Or got a boner. “I hold my nose and count, put my head under and see how long I can do. It’s not the same, but it helps train for hold-downs. You were brave. Tell Tegan. She’ll be dead proud of you.”
I had my reasons not to. I had my reasons not to tell Teg or Mum that I’d nearly drowned. Good ones. They’d have freaked.
“…and I didn’t know you couldn’t swim,” she added.
“I can swim!”
“Not really.” She squeezed the white cold flesh of my shoulder with her warm fingers. “See. Weak as shit. It was stupid of you to go in. But cool. Maybe you’ve got potential, even if you are a kook.”
Potential for what, I thought.
*
I went home once my clothes were dry. I made excuses about needing to do homework, and went and lay on my bed, watching clouds through the skylight.
Thinking.
My dad had drowned. And I wasn’t much of a swimmer. I had plenty reason not to get in the water.
But that kind of pissed me off. You shouldn’t always run away from things, should you? Sometimes, the things you are afraid of are the things you need to face up to.
I liked how I’d rescued the dog, and I’d liked lying in the den talking to Jade about it. But I hadn’t liked looking weak, like I’d almost needed rescuing.
Jade didn’t need to face up to anything. She had no fear of the water. She loved it. She loved surfing. She was happy to let it rule her life.
And I liked Jade. I liked her a lot.
I lay there a good hour, just thinking about what had happened.
About Jade. About surfing.
I GOT SKIP by himself, at school, by the water fountain.
“All right?” he said, wiping water off his lip, ready to bounce off somewhere.
“Can I ask you something?”
He put his bag on the floor and leant against the wall. “What’s up?”
“I want to surf.”
“Is that all? Jesus, you looked so serious. But you? Surf?” He shook his head. “You sure that’s a good idea after the other day? No offence, dude, but you were a real kook in the water.”
“Will you teach me?”
“There’s surf schools for that,” he said, laughing.
“I don’t want to wait till next summer…”
“They do stuff at weekends. You get to wear a yellow rashie, with ‘surf school’ on it. Might as well be an L-plate. You’ll stand out from the ten-year-olds.” He picked up his bag and started to walk away.
“Is that how you learnt?” I shouted after him. He turned. Suddenly it wasn’t a joke.
“No, I just did it. Got in, kept at it till I rode green waves. Straight up? It’s the only way. Even if you get a lesson or two, to start you off, then you got to go at it full on, for a long time.”
“Right, but you could help me?”
He came back, and spoke slowly, so I’d understand. “Me? Like I get enough hours in the water and I’m going to waste time teaching a kook. And anyway…”
“There’s only one teacher,” said a voice from behind me. Big G put a hand on my shoulder.
Shit, I thought, he must have heard it all.
“You. Surf. Why?” he glared at me.
“You need to ask, if you love it so much?” I said, giving him back a little of what he dished out. His eyes narrowed.
“I can guess. You won’t get anywhere. You’re wasting your time,” he said. He leant down, took a long drink from the fountain, then walked off.
“I live here. Why shouldn’t I surf?” I said to Skip.
“He was talking about Jade. That’s what he meant when he said you won’t get anywhere.”
“Oh. That’s… it’s… that’s not why,” I stammered, feeling hot in the face.
“Some have had a go, you know,” he said. He rolled his eyes when he saw my shock. “I don’t mean been there. I mean Rag tried it on with her, and G. Maybe he did more than try… She doesn’t seem that interested. Maybe she’s into girls. That’s what Rag reckons.”
I was burning up wanting to ask about that. But I didn’t.
“I just want to learn to surf,” I said, casual as I could.
“Whatever.” He picked up his bag, then hesitated. “By the way, how much?”
“What?”
“How much were you going to pay me? To teach you.”
“Nothing. I just thought…”
“Shit, you really are a kook,” he said, unable to stop himself smirking. “But thanks, you’re funny. You’ve made my day.” He smiled, winked and walked off.
*
I tried my luck with Rag. He got the same bus as Jade and me, but was always almost missing it. So I went to the lockers at the end of the day, knowing he’d be pissing about with books and bags. I wanted to get him alone, but he was talking to two girls.
“Rag. Have you got a mo?”
“Shoot.”
“It’s a bit… Can we talk… alone?”
“Oh, right, yeah,” he said, nodding, like he already knew what we were going to talk about. “’Scuse us, ladies.” He put his beanie over his mop of curly locks, put his arm round my shoulder and walked me out of the building. He looked over his shoulder a couple of times before he whispered in my ear.
“I don’t know who told you about me, but they’re fucking dead! I can’t get expelled. I want names, you hear? Then G will have a word with the loose-tongued bastards. Anyhow, seeing as you’re here… Mind-fuck or Mellow Summer’s Day?”
“What?” I said. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“The Mellow’s better in my humble, but most dudes go for the bang-you-into-a-coma gear. God knows why. Its proper name is Cheese or something, but I call it Mind-fuck, so no one says I didn’t warn them.”
Then I twigged. He was talking about weed. Rag dealt drugs.
“I don’t want any weed.” I said.
“Then why are we talking?”
“I want to surf. I was thinking you could help me.”
“I ain’t got the time, man.” He took his arm off me. “Sure you don’t want any weed?”
I shook my head. “I know you won’t teach me but… some tips?”
He scratched his stubbly chin.
“Sure. Don’t do it. It’s bastard hard, and distracts you from other stuff you should do. Like live your life.” He raised an eyebrow, looking serious, like he was thinking about some deep subject. “On the other hand, it’s the best thing you can ever do. Better than girls and spliff and… other stuff I can’t think of right now. That’s just my opinion. But it’s also a fact. Any surfer will tell you the same, or they’re lying. I haven’t even got it that bad, but every idiot I know who stuck at it has. Does that help, Sam? How much were you thinking of paying me anyway?”
I tried not to look too hacked off.
“Okay, forget I asked,” he said.
“How am I supposed to learn?”
“There’s only one teacher.”
“What does that even mean, Rag?”
“You’ll see. Need a board?”
“Yeah.”
“Come round Saturday morning. My bro’s got some stuff too shagged to sell to the shops. He’ll give it you cheap.” He gave me the address, and said I’d find it easy.
I WAS DEAD PLEASED Rag was going to help me. But even if he hadn’t, I’d have found a way.
I had a lot to prove. To myself. But to Jade too. Even though I had no idea how she’d react. Would she be pleased? Or would she just piss herself laughing? There was no point worrying about it. I’d decided.
Rag lived on a council estate on the moor side of a small village called Lanust. All the houses were dull and granite and square. Rag’s house stuck out because of the choice artwork above the garage door. It was a graffiti-style spray job, about four feet high, showing a grown-up, sexy Red Riding Hood. She had a basket full of spray cans instead of apples, and with one in her hand had scrawled a message next to her, in spiky red letters, two feet high:
A thumping rap tune was blasting out of the window. It took a lot of knocking before the door was answered.
Rag took me to the garage to meet his brother, who was exactly like Rag only older, about eighteen, and perfecting the stoner look even more than Rag, with scraggy, thatched hair, a wispy beard and glazed, bloodshot eyes. There was no sign of any kind of Responsible Adult.
If Aladdin had been a surfer, his cave would have looked something like Rag’s brother’s garage. At one end was a workshop with a bench, with a half-finished board on it, and a shelf with masks and sanders. The floor was covered with a snowfall of ground white foam. Next to the bench was a line of clean, white, new boards in a rail. In the middle of the garage there were more rails, with more boards. New, old, long, short, wide, thin, white and stainless, yellow with age, smooth and pristine, dinged and knackered. Boards with single fins, boards with three fins, boards with pointed noses and pinpoint tails, longboards with blunt noses, boards with ends shaped like fish tails. At the back there were no rails. It was just a messed up mountain of boards and suits.
All round, Aladdin’s surf cave.
Seeing all this made the whole ‘me surfing’ thing very real, and not just about Jade. I thought riding one of those things might feel good. And going out in the sea and not almost-drowning might feel pretty good too.
“Ned buys and sells, fixes and shapes,” Rag explained. “Good to make a crust doing what you love, right?”
“What do you like to ride?” said Rag’s brother. “If I don’t have it, I can get it.”
I reckoned that, dopey as they looked, Rag and his “bro” might just be canny little business heads, and would probably buy or sell anything. If the price was right. And especially if what you were buying or selling was exotic herbs or surf kit.