Storms

‘I’m going travelling. With the fieldwork I mentioned. Before uni.’

‘Anywhere nice?’

‘Internship, studying humpies … I mean, humpback whales, in Hawaii.’

‘Hawaii! Jesus. Can I come?’ he said. Eager. A joke. Just a joke.

Hannah weighed him up, looking quizzical, then smiled.

‘Maybe,’ she said, teasing. He grinned back at her. It was awkward, how much they were smiling at each other.

Goofy returned with a tray loaded with shot glasses and quarters of lime.

‘Fancy one?’ he said.

‘What is it?’ said Hannah.

‘You’re kidding,’ said Jake. ‘You never did a shot of tequila?’

‘Nope. Never did,’ Hannah said, with a shrug. ‘Want to show me how?’

It was sweet how innocent she was, how keen.

Jake liked this girl. It wasn’t just her looks. It was how she was.

He liked her a lot.

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

SHE WOKE SLOWLY in the grey light of just-before-dawn. Memories seeped into her head. The lovely boy, Jake. His brown eyes and mischievous grin. His scraggy beard and sun-weathered face. His strong hands.

The tequila and beer. A lot of it.

Hannah smiled, waking slowly, softly, still feeling the warmth of the boy and the night.

She sat up gently, but wished she hadn’t. Her brain sang with pain. Her mouth was sandpaper.

Happy or not, she had a monumental hangover.

She was alone, covered by a damp, open sleeping bag and blankets, lying at the foot of a dune.

Some twenty metres off, was the carnage of the night: Still-smoking fires. Bodies in sleeping bags, like landed seals. A dog licking grease off a grill.

‘Oh God,’ she said in a thick voice.

A vague memory of Bess and Phoebe begging her to leave. Her telling them she’d be fine. Sneaking to the dunes, away from fires and drunks. Making their camp of sleeping bags and blankets. His firm body, and those hands. On her. How they had explored her body. (Had they had sex? No, she’d remember that.) They’d done a lot, though. A lot. She hadn’t been able to help herself. Because he was gorgeous. And kind. And fun. And good with those hands. Really good.

What a night.

So, where was the boy now. Run away?

No, he wasn’t that kind of guy. She was sure of it.

Still. Where was he?

Hannah looked around. A bottle of water was wedged in the sand next to the bedding. She grabbed it and drank. No water had ever tasted so good.

There was a white enamel cup too and, in it, a toothbrush and toothpaste.

And next to the cup: her flip-flops and clothes, folded. Jeans. Hoody. She was wearing her T-shirt, but … Her hand reached down and found only her bare bum … Where the hell were her knickers?

She scrambled about under the sleeping bag and blankets with hands and feet. She found her pants, hooked them with her big toe, put her hands down and slipped them on.

‘Jesus.’ She cursed herself for the tequila, and maybe also for not leaving when she could have. For going too far.

What would Dad say if he found out she wasn’t at Phoebe’s?

Oh God.

But then … She smiled. After all that studying, all that stress, she’d gone off like a firework. She’d had a good time.

There seemed to be two Hannahs now. One normal, and another who was – apparently – a tequila-necking hussy.

Not-so-perfect Hannah Lancaster now.

She giggled, and realised she might still be drunk.

Knickers safely on, she got dressed. As she stood, brushing, gargling, spitting, she saw, lower down the dune, scrawled in the firm sand:

I AM HERE.

An arrow pointed to the edge of the dunes, to the sea.

Hannah picked up a blanket, wrapped it round her shoulders and walked slowly down, following the direction of the arrow. She came round the dune and saw the sea. It was high tide.

And there he was, in the shore break, surfing the waves of a silky milk-coloured sea.

He was on a wave now, spinning all over it, graceful and strong. Even at this distance, she could see his body, lithe with muscle. Like some animal.

He came off the wave and paddled out again, but not before he’d checked the shore. He waved. She waved back. Then she walked down, nearer to the sea, and sat on the sand with the blanket round her.

Her face tingled from the gentle breeze. She shivered on the cold sand. But a warm glow, a soft fire, was growing inside her. Her throbbing head didn’t matter now.

Beyond the shadow of the land, a sheet of blue approached, reaching to where Jake was surfing. The summer sun rose, slow, in the sky.

The boy carved the waves. Was he showing off? Probably. From what she remembered, he didn’t do much other than surf. Lucky he was good, then.

A surfer. She’d fallen for a surf dude. What a cliché.