Storms Page 4

‘Tell me.’

  ‘Animals spend their whole existence hunting or fleeing, finding food, breeding, caring for young, keeping warm, finding shelter. That’s their life. But orcas have evolved beyond that. They have no natural predators, they hunt easily and they’re resistant to cold. So they just … play. Travel. They have large families they stay with for life. Run by the matriarchs. And pods and super-pods that meet up, once in a while. Tribes of the sea.

  ‘They look after each other. They never leave a sick family member. They’ve got life sussed. They’re free.

  ‘A lot of people are like most animals, running around, chasing their tails. If they’re lucky enough to have a roof over their head and food to eat, they stress about exams or money or how they look.

  ‘We could learn from orcas. They just like hanging around, eating, playing and surfing. They’re a bit like you,’ she said with a sly grin and a nudge to his ribs.

  ‘You should see your face light up when you talk about this stuff, Hannah.’

  Her dreamy eyes hypnotised him. The sun-smile, and freckled nose. How she was serious, but passionate too.

  He showed her surf vids. She showed him more vids of dolphins and whales.

  It was near dark when April, Hattie and Sean got home.

  ‘Get these on,’ said Mum, handing Jake frozen pies, peas and chips from her shopping bag. ‘Hannah, sorry, love. I’ll have to move you.’

  Hannah had that look about her still. The sea-eyes, misted.

  ‘That’s okay,’ said Hannah. ‘Anything you want me to do, Mama orca?’

  ‘Mama what?’

  ‘It’s a whale,’ said Jake.

  ‘It’s a compliment, April,’ said Hannah. ‘I promise.’

  PART TWO

  SEPTEMBER – THE FIRST STORM

  www.Eye-Sea-Surfcheck.com

  Forecast

  Winds: Raging westerlies, 30mph with up to 50mph gusts

  Conditions: Heaving. Massive. Dangerous.

  Waves: Big, bigger and also massive. Swell 12–15ft at 13–14 seconds wave period. Wave face 15 and up to 20ft. More.

  Whooaa!!

  Summer’s well and truly over, folks. This is a biggy.

  Once-in-a-blue-moon sheltered spots will be firing. The sea gods are giving us gifts. It’s going to be special. It’s going to be wonderful … if you know where to look.

  Jake

  THERE WASN’T MUCH to Brook Cove. A river that poured into a small harbour, a handful of fishermen’s cottages and a café selling cream teas.

  It was pretty in summer, but when autumn came the valley was dipped in shadow. The café was closed and the cottages empty.

  It was a lonely place, but it suited Goofy. He lived above the café in a studio flat, with a kitchen at one end, a sofa-bed at the other and a separate bathroom.

  Jake climbed up the steps to the flat, knocked and walked in. The place was a mess, with beer cans on the floor and pizza boxes and surf mags on the table. Three knackered surfboards leant against the wall.

  Goofy was asleep on the sofa, fully dressed but, weirdly, holding a mug of tea.

  ‘Bit late for sleeping,’ said Jake.

  Goofy opened an eye. ‘Been for a dawny surf, haven’t I? Catching up on the zeds.’ He glanced down at his mug. ‘This is cold, man. Get a fresh brew on.’

  Jake walked to the kitchen end of the flat and got busy rinsing mugs and boiling the kettle.

  ‘You come about the money?’ said Goofy.

  ‘Yeah. Need to get that Hawaii ticket sorted. Listen, mate –’ he turned to look at Goofy straight – ‘I’m sorry about this. I wouldn’t if I wasn’t desperate. I’ve had to help Mum out. More than I thought.’

  Goofy picked up a pizza crust and threw it at Jake.

  ‘Shut up, you daft twat,’ he said. ‘You helped me settle ’ere when I had nothing.’

  Goofy had arrived in Cornwall with nothing. Less.

  ‘How come you turned up here in the first place?’ said Jake. ‘You were in a bit of a state.’

  Goofy sighed. ‘Running away from shit, like always.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Never mind. I’m here now, aren’t I? And rich enough to lend you money. I’m due some dosh from Lancaster.’

  Jake shook his head as he poured boiling water into the mugs. If Hannah’s dad knew he was helping fund Jake’s trip to Hawaii …

  ‘Soon as you get work you can pay me back. Electric transfer or whathavya. Small problem, though …’ Goofy let the words hang.

  Jake brought the tea over and sat down. ‘Problem?’ he said.

  Goofy stared at his mug, chewing his lip. He looked embarrassed, which was a first.

  ‘I can only go three hundred. Not seven, like.’

  ‘What? Three hundred? You’re bloody kidding?’ Jake felt bad as soon as he’d said the words. He wished he could push them back in his stupid mouth. But in one second he’d seen Hawaii evaporate, like steam from his mug of tea. ‘Shit.’ He put his head in his hands.

  ‘All I can do, mate,’ said Goofy, getting off the sofa, holding his hands up. ‘I am so, so sorry, man. Lancaster owes me loads for bits and bobs, but he takes ages to pay.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jake. ‘Three hundred’s huge. Massive. I’ll find the rest. Somehow.’

  ‘Not being funny, like,’ said Goofy. ‘But you have had all summer to save, Jakey. Just saying.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ He stared at the floor, wanting to lie down, and never get up again. He could barely speak; he felt like crying. ‘I’m not … stupid, Goofy. I did have some saved. Thing is …’ He sighed heavily. ‘Like I say, I’ve had to help Mum. She’s got debts. She couldn’t make the rent. I didn’t have a choice. That’s why I needed to borrow. She’s in a bad way. I need to get her sorted before I go.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Look, chin up, mate. I’m still here for your mum – you know I am. And there’s a while yet. We’ll figure something out. Together. Yes?’

  ‘Okay,’ Jake whispered.

  ‘I said, yes?’

  Jake looked up. ‘All right. Yeah, there’s a bit of time, isn’t there?’ But there wasn’t. Not really.

  ‘Come o’er here,’ said Goofy, waving him towards the window. ‘See those clouds? There’s a storm coming.’

  They went and sat, looking out of the bay window at the sea and sky. Goofy rolled a cigarette and talked about the storm, about the wave-fest headed their way. But Jake didn’t hear.

  He was already going to be living off Hannah till he got work. How could he tell her he couldn’t even buy his ticket? He imagined her saying it was okay, saying they’d Skype every day. That they’d make it work till she got back.

  Yeah, right.

  ‘How come Lancaster won’t front you, anyway?’ said Goofy. ‘I mean, you are boning his daughter.’

  ‘Watch your mouth, cheeky bastard. Anyway, that’s exactly why.’

  ‘He could pay,’ said Goofy. ‘Seriously. Easy. Make his daughter happy.’

  ‘I wouldn’t take his money.’

  ‘Why not? The guy’s made a wad with that fleet, breaking the backs of honest fishermen. And renting out cottages to tourists. He’s got himself to a place where he can literally do what he wants. A better hotel in the Caribbean, another frock for the missus. You’re a better use of the cash if you ask me. His life? It’s all one big straitjacket.’ Goofy tapped his head. ‘How does his brain work? I’ve seen him down his boathouse. He pays people to mow his lawn, but there he is, on a Saturday, painting an already-white fence even whiter. Fucking nuts if you ask me. Done all right with his missus, though. See where Hannah gets the looks from. I would, you know. I definitely would.’

  ‘That’s my girlfriend’s mum, you sicko.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.’

  ‘I haven’t thought about it.’

  ‘You have now, though. You won’t be able to stop thinking about it, next time you’re with Hannah … ouch!’ Goofy winced from the jab in the ribs Jake gave him.
>
  ‘You are twisted,’ Jake said. He was laughing, though. He couldn’t help himself.

  ‘I’m sure her mum’ll give you the money, for a special payment.’ He winked and rocked his hips.

  ‘Shut up!’ said Jake.

  ‘See. You’re laughing. Better already. Fancy a can?’

  ‘Bit early.’

  ‘Too late for sleeping, too early for beer. You want to be careful with these rules, Jake. You’ll end up like Lancaster.’

  ‘No chance of that,’ said Jake.

  Goofy went and got a beer. Jake slurped his tea. They watched the distant wall of cloud out to sea. Jake sank into arms-folded silence.

  ‘A storm like this churns everything up,’ said Goofy, clearly trying to change the subject. ‘All sorts come out the water. I seen it back ’ome in Wales too. Old wrecks, dead dolphins. A live one once. You’d be amazed what I’ve found down coves. A crate of beer. A life jacket. A container full of top trainers, once. Offerings from the sea gods, like.’

  ‘Where was that, then?’

  ‘Oh, you know, various surf spots.’

  ‘No. Where was “back home?”’

  ‘Here. There. Moved around a bit, I did.’

  That was Goofy. Dodging the question like always. Jake knew better than to push it.

  ‘Look at that storm brewing,’ said Goofy, pointing to sea.

  Jake loved an autumn storm. The best surf all year. But he couldn’t feel hunger for it now. He was gutted, too worried about not getting on that plane.

  ‘You gonna surf it tomorrow?’ said Goofy.

  ‘Maybe.’ He doubted it. He needed to talk to Hannah. He’d arrange to meet. He’d break the news.

  Unless he could find a way to get the money.

  Jake

  IT HAD BEEN light for an hour, but it felt like night out there, with the sky caked with cloud, and the wind screaming.

  Normally he’d lie in bed with a cuppa, listening to the storm batter the window.

  Or go surfing.

  But today he needed to talk to Hannah.

  They were supposed to meet up for a walk, but what could he say?

  So far he didn’t have any ideas about how to get the money. Not even bad ones.

  Maybe a surf would help him think.

  ‘What the hell.’ He poked an arm out from under the quilt, found his phone and texted:

  Hi Gorgeous. Weather no good 4 walking. Give yrself lie in. Going qk surf. Best in ages. Meet up later, yes?

  He snoozed, waiting for a reply. When none came, he crawled out of the sack and tiptoed downstairs. He made a steaming coffee, thick as soup, and ate an energy bar. He put his wetsuit on, got a board from the shed and headed out.

  It was cold. The wind and rain had bite. They meant business. It was more like winter than the end of summer. The wind was so hard he had to hold the surfboard tight under one arm and steady the front with the other, just to stop it taking off.

  Ten minutes later he was there. It didn’t look good from the cliff. Great white horses were rising out of the sea, raging and disappearing. Huge waves, bouncing and twisting with wild energy. Impressive, but no good for surfing. Maybe he’d wasted his time. He played with the idea of heading back. But then again … he couldn’t see the cove, and the forecast website had said:

  It’s going to be special today, guys. It’s going to be wonderful … if you know the right spots.

  Wonderful. That was weird. Jake had never seen that word on a forecast before.

  If it was bad: Pony. Blown to shit. Or: Flat as road-kill.

  If it was good: Cracking. Thumping. Off the scale.

  Something like that. But wonderful?

  Wonder-ful. Full of wonders. An offering from the sea gods.

  There was a steep path, tucked into the cliffs, leading past a boulder and by a stream. No one used it apart from brave dogs and nudey sunbathers in summer.

  Jake took that path, chasing a promise. Except the path and stream were now a river. He waded and climbed, slipped and swore.

  He almost fell into the surfer coming the other way. A short, craggy-faced bloke he’d seen at Praa Sands a couple of times. The dude was climbing through the waterfall.

  ‘Wass it like?’ said Jake. He always asked surfers coming back from a break, checking their faces for glassy eyes and stupid grins. ‘Is it wonderful?’

  Crag-face headed past, without saying a word, or looking at him. Maybe he hadn’t heard Jake? Or maybe he didn’t want to let on how great it was.

  Only one way to find out. And it would give him thinking time. Surf could do that. Wash all your worries away. Clear your head. Just for a bit.

  Hannah

  HANNAH CHECKED HERSELF in the hall mirror.

  Sunset-red Henri Lloyd storm-breaker jacket, brand new. A present from Dad. Black waterproof trousers. Hunter wellies.

  ‘Sexy,’ she said. A howl of wind rattled the door, threatening to blow it open. Rain hammered on the conservatory roof like a thousand tiny drumbeats.

  ‘No such thing as bad weather,’ she said to Beano. He was scratching at the door. ‘Only a bad attitude and the wrong clothing. Right?’

  Beano whimpered, keen to get going.

  ‘Hang on, he’ll be here soon.’

  ‘Morning, Hannah.’ Dad walked down the stairs in his dressing gown. ‘Going out?’

  ‘Beano needs a walk.’

  ‘Want some company? I can be ready in five.’

  ‘No. You’re okay. I’m supposed to be meeting Jake.’

  ‘Supposed to be?’

  ‘He hasn’t turned up … yet.’

  ‘Ah.’ Her dad smiled, raised his eyebrows and walked to the kitchen. As if just that one look said everything about Jake. Just that look. He did it all the time. It annoyed her.

  She looked at her phone. Seven thirty. There was a message. He was going surfing.

  Hannah smiled. Maybe it was a good thing if she went by herself. She needed to think.

  Without saying goodbye to Dad, Hannah headed out along the path down to the village, through the streets and past the houses. When she came round the corner and started on the road to the beach, she got the force of what Jake called the full Atlantic blast. A shock of wind and stinging rain.

  ‘Jesus,’ she said, and sank her head deep into her jacket as she headed down to the sand.

  It was only weeks before she was due to get on that plane. It didn’t seem real. How could she be walking on a howling Cornish beach one day, and not so many later be photographing whales in crystal lagoons?

  And with Jake? He wanted Hawaii as much as her. More than anything. Not just for her, but because it was Hawaii, the best surf on earth.

  It was his dream too. It was just a different one.

  How would it go when they got there? Her working long hours, him surfing. And he hadn’t bought a ticket yet. He kept saying he’d sort it, but he hadn’t. She had money, but if she bought his ticket and had to pay for them both when she got there she’d be stony broke, pretty quick.

  She reached the sand and started walking.

  What if he couldn’t get the ticket? What if he didn’t come?

  It would be months. And she’d miss him, the same as she’d miss the Cornish storms. The kiss of needle rain on her face, and Jake’s kiss when he put a smacker on her cheek. How she’d wipe away the itch of his stubble.

  ‘Ugh. It’s like being kissed by a badger’s bum,’ she’d say. Complaining, but not complaining. Then he’d kiss her on the lips and it’d almost knock her out. Like the shots of tequila the night they’d met.

  ‘That’s disgusting,’ she’d said, reeling from the salt, the bitter shot and the sting of lime.

  ‘You’ll get to enjoy it,’ he’d said, handing her another.

  She had too. Hannah smiled at the memory.

  How could she go without him? How could she even think it? But …

  He’ll drag you down.

  She heard the words like they were said out loud. She heard
them every day. From Phoebe, Bess, Mum. Dad. He said it every chance he got.

  ‘Well, sod you, Dad,’ she said into the wind and rain. ‘He’s coming!’

  Then she saw something, through the sheets of rain, at high tide, on the sea’s edge.

  At first she thought they were rocks. Six or more. Huge, smooth, black boulders. Big as upturned yachts. Bigger.

  They were rocks. They had to be. The storm must have stripped the sand off them. But, at the same time, she knew they weren’t. They were too dark, too rounded, too perfect in their shape.

  So what were they? Beano ran straight to them, barking.

  Only when she got close did Hannah see the white patches like giant eyes, the dorsal fins like great black knives on the creatures’ backs. The tail flukes lying useless and still on the sand.

  Orcas. Killer whales.

  She ran to the first one, the largest. It wasn’t moving. Its blowhole was closed and its mouth was open, showing a row of perfect, shining teeth. Its oddly human tongue hung out of the side of its mouth, limp and dead. Its eye was human-like too. But there was no light in it. It stared, unseeing, at the grey sky.

  She checked the next one. It was half hidden in orange fishing net and seaweed. It was smaller, with a short fin. A female. Also dead.

  The third one had fresh scars on it. They were pink and gaping: the telltale cuts of a whale tearing its flesh to escape netting.

  This was what a loose net could do. She imagined the whales, trapped, holding their breath till they suffocated. Struggling uselessly against the nylon nets.

  Three hundred thousand whales and dolphins died this way, every year. One every two minutes.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ she said. Warm tears, mixed with rain, fell down her cheeks.

  She stood, useless and tiny, next to these great, dead whales.

  She’d always wanted to see orcas. Now she had.

  ‘Fuck!’

  Beano was standing fast by one of the smaller whales, barking at it, then running away, coming back, front paws and head down, pointing and barking.

  ‘Beano, leave it alone,’ she shouted. But the dog ignored her, growling and barking ever louder. ‘I said, leave it alone!’