Storms

Jake (#u144a9bc1-6c85-54b0-9e9d-e64db0dfcb9d)

THE PLAN WAS to get to the beach for a sunset surf, then sit round the fire with some other idiots and their girlfriends, talking shit and sinking beers. When he’d had his fill of it, he’d fall on his sleeping bag, drunk. After a few hours’ kip, he’d be woken by the dawn, and the crash of waves.

Surf. Party. Dawn surf. Home for Mum’s fry-up. That was the plan. Not falling for some girl.

*

He got there late. People were already arriving for the party, lugging blankets and cases of beer across the sand to the nook below the rocks. There were surfers in the water, getting some half-decent waves.

‘Bastards!’ Jake dumped his gear on the rocks, changed quickly and pelted into the water.

The surf was good. Summer-small, no more than chest high, but clean and peeling nice, giving long, smooth rides, with a fast, steep wall before they died on shore.

He surfed till he was out of juice and it was near-dark. At the back of the beach, tucked in a crescent of rock, a large bonfire was burning, with a smaller fire nearby, for cooking. Gangs of people stood around them. Fag and spliff-ends lit the dusk like fireflies. The air was filled with laughter, music, the sizzles and smells of fish and burgers cooking. It was going to be a good night.

As he walked over the sand he saw a girl. She was sitting by the smaller fire, taking mackerel out of a cool-box. Her blonde hair hung down, hiding her face.

‘All right?’ he said, as he walked past.

‘Hi,’ she said, looking up. ‘Good surf?’

‘Uh, yeah.’ In the light of the fire he saw her eyes. Oval sea-pools. He reeled, like he’d been thumped. The girl’s eyes had delivered the punch. Those eyes, and her sunshine smile.

He climbed on the rocks, in the near-dark, to find his gear, thinking, What just happened? No girl had ever done that. Not with one look, one smile.

Jake watched her from the shadows. He felt like a stalker, but he couldn’t help it. She had freckles, a tan, silky straight hair. She dressed plain. Jeans, hoody, a T-shirt, flip-flops. She had a slim, tight bod. She was gorgeous. Some girls wore prettiness like a new dress, like they knew what they had and needed to show it off. Not this one. She looked a good sort too. Kind. Could he tell that just from how she looked? Yeah, maybe.

He forced himself to stop bloody staring. Hung his suit on a rock and towelled his hair.

He should have gone over and said hi. That would be normal. But he didn’t feel normal. He felt nervous. Like he might fall over, or say something stupid. Or, worse, nothing at all.

He thought he’d best think about it a while. Get the courage up.

Or …

Set about necking beers. There was Goofy, by the fire. Exactly the guy to drink with. Goofy, with his bird-nest hair, copper tan and crazed blue eyes.

‘All right,’ said Jake.

‘All right, you daft fucker,’ said Goofy, putting an arm round Jake’s neck and squeezing him tight. It still seemed odd, to hear a gruff Welsh accent come out of Goofy’s mouth. He didn’t look Welsh (whatever Welsh looked like). He looked like a caveman.

‘Too dark to surf, eh?’ said Goofy.

‘Yeah. Got a beer?’

‘Always, man.’ Goofy let Jake go, grabbed a bottle, cracked the lid with his teeth and handed it over. Then he dived into a story: ‘Some daft tourist put pics of Eagle Point on Instagram. Place’ll get rammed now. Reckon I’ll not surf it till September, when waves are bigger and crowds thin … Oy!’ He slapped Jake round the back of the head. ‘You listening, man?’

‘Eh?’

‘What you staring at?’ Goofy scanned the crowd. ‘Oh, I see.’ Goofy winked. The blonde girl was near now, handing out food, shining that super-beam smile on everyone she talked to. Getting closer. ‘That’s Perfect Hannah. Miss Goody-Two-Shoes they call her. Rough press if you ask me. Folk are jealous cuz her family’s loaded. She’s dead nice, really.’

‘You know her?’ said Jake, thinking: You know her and you never told me.

‘You wanna meet her?’ Goofy waved at the girl.

‘No,’ Jake whispered. He elbowed Goofy in the ribs. But his mate had an evil spark in his eye.

‘Hannah!’ Goofy shouted.

Hannah turned and smiled, holding Jake’s gaze as she walked over.

‘Hi, guys. Hungry?’ she said, offering a plate of prawn skewers.

‘Love one,’ said Goofy. ‘Hannah, Jake. Jake, Hannah … Is that Rob there? Bastard owes me a tenner.’ Goofy sloped off, muffling a snigger.

‘Hi, Jake,’ said Hannah.

‘Hi,’ said Jake, grinning, nodding like an idiot and wondering what the hell to say. ‘So, er … how d’you know Goofy?’

‘He works for my dad now and then. Cottage maintenance, fixing boats.’

‘Oh, right. Who you here with?’ he said. Then mentally kicked himself. He might as well have said: You got a boyfriend, or what?

‘Some people,’ she said. ‘We’ve just finished our A’s at St Hilda’s. We’ve been locked up studying for months. It’s kind of a celebration.’

She smiled again. He noticed how close she was. So close the air was thick between them.

‘Right. Off to uni, then?’ he said.

‘A bit of fieldwork, then uni. Marine biology, specialising in cetaceans … that’s whales and dolphins.’

‘Right. Cool. I see dolphins, surfing some of the quieter spots.’

‘Really?’ Those sea-pool eyes grew wide. ‘Tell me where. I’m part of a research group. We spend our weekends on cliff tops doing surveys. Bit sad, really.’

‘No, that’s cool. I see them all the time. Do you know Eagle Point?’

Once they’d got chatting, he relaxed. She was so smiley, so damn nice. It was easy to be with her. Really easy. They talked for ages: about dolphins, about surf. It was all good. Right up to when she said:

‘So, what do you do?’

‘Um … er …’ he stammered. This girl was educated, well-off, going somewhere. Everything he wasn’t. Truth was, he’d already told her what he did. He surfed. A lot. All the work in bars, on boats: it was all to fund surfing. Or help Mum out. He didn’t really do anything else.

Silence filled the air between them.

‘Got any plans?’ she said, trying to help him.

‘I’m saving, to go travelling,’ he said. A lie. He wanted to jet off surfing, but he was broke.