Sometimes I wonder where the stories come from. I'll walk, or drive somewhere, or see a tree, or a road, or a person, and suddenly a scene will present itself - sometimes not even vaguely connected to the story that comes of it.
This one started easily enough, with the sea as they so often seem to. But the story twisted and changed and took on a darkness that I didn't expect.
Warning
- Contains references to historical violence and abuse.
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Lighthouse
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I struggled into my tee shirt, wincing as it tugged at the dry salt on my skin.
Any normal day I'd have at least been able to rinse myself clean before getting dressed, but broken glass peppered the beachfront showers and I didn't feel like risking the cuts to my feet. I'd shower when I got home and live with the salt until then, as I often had to these days.
I cursed the juvenile vandals who were responsible, spent a brief but enjoyable moment fantasizing about drowning them, and then sighed the unhealthy vitriol out onto the dying breaths of the afternoon breeze.
Frustration was pointless, they were a part of life, youth and poor parenting had made them what they were and there was nothing I or anyone else could do but cope...
I slung my kitbag over my shoulder and made for the car park. The wind had died as the sun swung downwards into the west, but thankfully the worst of the heat of the day had now dissipated.
At least, I thought, I wouldn't be drowning in my own sweat tonight.
Thank God for small mercies.
I clambered up the short, weathered wooden walkway that protected the secondary dunes and their ecologically-sensitive plant-life from foot traffic and then shuffled my way down to my car, which squatted with its dents and patina of age, embarrassing the other better examples of its species that parked around it.
I eyed a rather pretty, flustered-looking girl who was having a heated one-sided rant at her phone. She glared up fiercely at me as I passed her, and I gave her a small and hopefully disarming smile in return before looking away.
I unlocked the boot of my battered Mazda and flung my kitbag in amongst the clutter, then sighed again and stretched my arms up behind my head, taking a moment to ease my back after my extended swim.
"Hi. Sorry. Excuse me? Sorry... please, can you help me?"
I dropped my arms and turned.
It was the lovely slender phone-curser. She glanced up at me, unsure and clearly embarrassed as she shuffled her feet in the sand.
"Hi," she said again, sheepishly. "I'm really sorry to bug you, but... I've been a complete idiot - I seem to have locked my keys in my car."
"Oh hell. That's really bad luck. How can I help? Do you need a lift somewhere?"
"No. Nothing like that. Just... um... do you happen to have a piece of wire or a coat hanger or something that I can try to fish them out with?"
She stared hopefully up at me.
"It's clearly your lucky day because, strangely enough, I actually do. I've managed to drop my keys down a drain before so I keep a roll around in case."
"Oh thank God," she exhaled. "I thought I would be stuck here all evening. I was not looking forward to that at all."
"It's not a good place for that," I agreed. "It gets a bit chilly when the sun goes down."
"Yeah, it does. And it's really not fun being out here alone when it's getting murky..."
I dug out the small roll of piano wire. "Where are you parked?"
She stared at the wire, then slowly looked up at me again. She swallowed.
"Please... please tell me you don't have black bags and duct tape in your car as well..."
"What? Oh. No," I added as I realised how weird I must look. "I'm promise I'm completely harmless. Scout's honour. So... right, so your car is..."
"Um... just over there. The red one."
"Oh, good, your window's open a bit. That will make this easier..."
"Hopefully enough," she muttered. "At least then I won't have to add a broken window to my day. They're in there, I think," she added, pointing to the small bundle of clothes on the back seat.
"Right, I think I can see them. I reckon we'll be able to fish them out through the gap. It looks wide enough..."
It was, just, and after a few false starts I managed to ease her keys out and into her hands. She pranced like a little girl and gave me a wide, relieved smile.
"Oh thank God. My absolute hero. You're a godsend," she said. "Thank you so much... I'd have been in big trouble if you hadn't been here."
"I'm sure that someone else would have helped you."
"Maybe, but there's no guarantee they would have. You were the one who actually did, so thanks. Really, thank you..."
"You're welcome," I said. "OK, that's me - I'll see you around, then."
"Yeah, see you," she echoed.
I turned and loped back to my car and busied myself with packing and organising the junk yard in the boot into something less tip-like - for some reason her scrutiny had birthed a sudden strange need to at least winnow the carnage and dispose of the surprisingly large number of things that I no longer needed...
A car hooted and I straightened and turned. She was leaning partway out her window, pretty blue eyes watching me from behind the shadow of her fringe.
"I just wanted to say thanks again," she called.
"You're welcome," I called back. "Have a lovely evening!"
"I will," she responded. "You too!"
She gave me a smile and eased her car off towards the road; I watched her go, sighed, and turned and closed the hatch on the windblown detritus of my life.
Her voice stayed with me long after I'd got home that evening.
It had been a nice encounter, and I wished her well with her life.
I didn't expect to see her again.
.:.
The water was colder.
I swam hard, working my way methodically stroke by stroke up to the reef, where the submerged rocks made the swell lumpy and I could almost feel the worrying loom of the barnacled ledge a few metres below me in the gloom. When the big boulder in the surf was in line with the ridge line behind it I turned and stretched out, angling across the waves as I swam "downhill" back to my entry point near the centre of what the locals called simply "The Bay".
As always the cold water salved the irritations and loneliness of the day and helped me slough off some of the tarnish I felt that I'd accumulated. I was in my customary near-trance, counting strokes, breathing to the left every fourth, salt water kissing me and buoying me as no fresh water pool ever could.
A bigger wave rolled through and lifted me closer to the sky; I grimaced as I always did when the sea toyed with me like the large, liquid feline it so often aped.
A few hundred more strokes and I made landfall.
As I climbed out of the 'surf' I peeled back the top of my thin wetsuit and let it hang down around me so that I could enjoy the late-afternoon breeze on my back. I found a spot that was mostly free from spume and seaweed and flopped myself carelessly down, then sat there, content with the sand between my toes as the waves hissed in and out before me.
I sat, and listened to the world, and watched as a slender female figure slowly approached from the middle distance, stepping daintily along the waterline, sandals dangling from one hand as the wind blew her loose dress against her long legs. Occasionally she would bend down to look at something on the shore in front of her, before she'd resume her onward pilgrimage.
She'd crossed most of the distance between us before she paused, staring in my direction. I recognised my rescue case from the previous week and I waved at her; she adjusted her course and made her way slowly between the drifts of seaweed towards me, coming to a stop with her slim shadow just touching mine.
I squinted up at her and she stared back down at me for a moment.
"Hello," I said, amused by her aloofness, then grinning as her hauteur vanished and she smiled back down at me.
"Hello," she answered. "There's no evidence of a surfboard. So either you lost it, or threw it away in a fit of rage... or you're one of those maniacs who willingly swims in this bloody freezing water. Which is it, I wonder?"
I laughed. "Guilty as charged. I'm a swimmer. I take it the balmy British seas are not your favourite."
"Oh God, no. I'm totally a Tropics kind of girl. White sand, palm trees, cocktails, hammocks, fruit and idleness for me. I guess that you come here often, then?"
"Every couple of days if the weather is good and the tides are right. It's better than a pool. No lanes. Plenty of space to breathe."
"And sharks," she added, helpfully.
I laughed. "Around here they're far too polite to nibble. I'm Ian."
"Hi... Ian. I'm Sue."
"Nice to meet you. Just ambling around today?"
"Yeah. Ambling and looking at shells, such as there are. The sound of the waves is a good background noise to stop me thinking."
"To stop you thinking?"
"Yeah," she said, wryly. "How wet's that sand?"
"Moderately moist."
"Oh well. I'll cope with a soggy bottom. It will dry quickly enough. Mind if I join you?"
"That would be quite nice, actually," I said. "Sorry about the outfit, I wasn't expecting polite company."
"It suits you," she said as she lowered herself down alongside me. She smoothed the fabric of her dress out and dug her toes into the sand with a sigh. "So are you much of a swimmer, then? You look like how I imagine one would look."
"I... used to be," I said.
"Why used to be?"
"Oh... it's a long story. I swam a lot as a child, and was allegedly very good at it... but then my parents moved me to a school that was dedicated to it and... well... it kind of killed the joy of it for me. So I stopped for a long while. Only recently took it up again."
"Mm. That's a shame. But at least you're doing it again on your terms."
"There is that. So what brings you out here?"
"I needed some space away from people."
"And then you came and sat down next to one."
"You're just one, not many," she retorted. "Person. Singular. Plus you seem nice... so far... so I'm issuing you some credit and hoping that it was a good investment."
She stared out to sea.
"Life stuff weighs on me," she sighed. "This is the only place I can escape it for a few moments."
"Life stuff is tiresome," I agreed.
"I often wish I could just... oh, I don't know, move countries and start over."
"I hear that's a mixed bag. I thought of it too - Australia or New Zealand were on my list, but several of my friends had horror stories trying it. It put me off."
"Yeah. I think it's easier if you're younger. More dreams. Less cynicism. Fewer scars," she said. She brushed her fringe away and gave me a shy smile, and for a heartbeat I nearly lost myself in her eyes.
"Hah."
I leaned back and closed my own eyes for a moment, listening to the surf, trying to regain my light nonchalance.
"So..." she said.
I turned my head, cracked an eye open a bit. "Uh huh?"
"Do you like ice cream?"
"I have been known to partake on occasion," I admitted.
"Do you feel like one? My treat. That little cafe by the car park exit is open, and I do sort of owe you a reward for rescuing me the other day..."
"Alright, that sounds nice," I agreed.
