Read the book: «Storms», page 3

Hannah

HANNAH’S EYES FLEW open.

Why?

Something wasn’t right.

The sound of the drive gate, clinking smoothly shut. The purr of Dad’s Merc. The crunch of tyres over the gravel.

‘Shit! Jake, wake up!’ She grabbed his shoulder and shook him.

‘Wassup?’

‘They’re back.’ Hannah leapt to the window.

‘Who, what …’ His voice changed from sleepy to wide-awake in a second. ‘They’re not back till tomorrow.’

‘That’s what they said.’

‘They gonna flip?’

‘They knew you’d come round. They didn’t know you’d stay. Shit.’

Hannah searched her memories, through the haze of wine and sex and sleep.

Plates and glasses on the table. Empty bottles. The chair knocked over.

Her dress on the kitchen floor.

‘Oh no. Oh God, no.’

The front door opened, then clunked shut.

Voices. Sharp and loud.

Dad: ‘I’ve known him for fifteen years. I’ve kept that bloody bank going.’

Mum: ‘You didn’t have to make a scene. Why don’t you … Oh. My. God. Pete, come here.’

Mum was in the kitchen. There was no time to do anything.

Hannah froze at the window. Jake sat in bed. Both of them naked.

She covered herself with her hands, then pulled her dressing gown off the back of the door.

‘Stay here,’ she whispered, hurrying. If there was going to be a scene, it would be better in the kitchen, before Dad made his way upstairs. She ran down, took a breath before going in.

‘Hi,’ she said.

Dad and Mum stood by the table. Mum had the dress in her hand. Dad picked the chair off the floor and put it upright. Mum placed the dress carefully on the back of the chair.

‘Thought you were back tomorrow,’ said Hannah. They turned to her. Her gaze fell to the floor.

‘What’s been going on?’ said Dad.

‘Pete,’ said Mum. ‘It’s pretty obvious what’s been going on.’ Hannah steeled herself, but kept her eyes on the floor.

‘He is my boyfriend,’ said Hannah. Quietly, politely.

‘You said he might come round for a drink,’ said Dad.

‘Pete. Come on,’ Mum said. Hannah looked up. Mum rolled her eyes, not believing Dad’s naivety. Was she okay with this? Was she on Hannah’s side?

‘This is my house. I did not give permission for …’ Dad looked at the dress on the chair.

‘He came round for dinner, we had some wine.’ Hannah felt a teasing pain in her hands, and noticed she’d clenched her fists. Her nails were digging into her palms.

‘So I see,’ said Dad.

‘He’s my boyfriend. We can …’ She couldn’t say it.

‘Not in my house,’ said Dad.

‘You’d better get used to the idea. He’s coming to Hawaii.’ She didn’t know where these brave words came from, but now that they were out there she felt reckless. She could still feel Jake’s sweat, his warmth, the wine. It was all like armour, protecting her.

‘How the hell can you make that decision?’ Dad shouted. ‘You’ve known him, what? A week, two?’

‘Longer.’

He stepped towards her. She didn’t move, though her legs were weak as twigs. ‘And where is he? This boy who’s flying round the world with you, who we don’t even know?’

‘I’m here,’ said Jake.

He’d got dressed. He’d made himself presentable as possible. But he was barefooted, his shoes were still under the table.

‘We met briefly, Mr Lancaster. I’m Jake,’ he said, and held out his hand.

Dad looked him up and down. Dad, with his jacket and tie and slick hair. He shook Jake’s hand, limply, but pulled the sides of his mouth down and raised his eyebrows as he did it.

He’d dismissed Jake and everything he was with one look. And Hannah hated him for it.

He picked up one of the empty bottles, took his glasses out of his shirt pocket and examined it. Reading it like a book, like there was no one else there.

‘You said I could take some wine,’ said Hannah.

‘And so you did,’ said Dad, still looking at the label. ‘Do you know how much this bottle was worth?’

‘Sorry, Dad.’

‘Sorry?’ he said, softly. ‘You’re sorry.’ Jake stepped forward.

‘Hey. We got carried away, drank too much. I was never even going to stay here.’

Her dad didn’t look at Jake, only at Hannah.

‘No. But you did, didn’t you? Hannah, you know which bottles not to take.’ He showed her the bottle, like she would recognise it.

Jake held his hand up. ‘It’s my bad. I went to get another bottle. Maybe I got one of the pricey ones by accident.’

Dad looked weirdly pleased by this news. Hannah shot Jake a WTF look.

‘I’ll pay you back,’ said Jake. ‘I promise.’

Dad looked at Jake now. Examining him.

‘That might take longer than you think,’ said Dad. ‘You work in a pub, don’t you?’

‘There’s no need for that, Pete,’ said Mum. ‘I mean, there’s no need for Jake to pay for it. Is there?’

Mum never stood up to Dad, but she was now. Even Beano looked at Dad, like he was going to bark. Her father was alone.

He raised his finger and pointed first at Mum, then at Hannah.

‘You’d better go,’ Hannah said to Jake before Dad could speak. She leant over, ducked under the table, grabbed his shoes, and herded him to the front door.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘About the bottle.’

‘I’m sorry too. About Dad.’

They kissed. A reminder of their night.

She watched him disappear into the dark.

Jake

THEY AVOIDED HANNAH’S house after that. And her family.

They took long walks on the cliffs. Searching. Because Hannah had heard a rumour. The sighting of orcas. Killer whales.

‘Not sure I want killer whales around, anyway.’ Jake said after they got home one day. ‘I’d freak if I saw one in the water.’

Hannah grinned. ‘Worried it’d surf better than you?’

‘Killer whales don’t surf.’

‘Yeah? I’ve seen it, Jake. I’ve filmed it.’

‘Get out!’

‘Wanna see?’

Hannah searched files on her laptop, a look of total concentration on her face. It surprised Jake when she got serious. She screwed up her eyes, sticking her tongue a little way out of the side of her mouth. It was cute. And sexy.

‘Can’t find it,’ she said. ‘I should give these files names, not just numbers. Listen to this, while I search. Sounds from a hydrophone we placed off the Scillies, last summer.’

Jake strained his ears. Bubbling, rolling currents, soft gurgles, washing white noise. Hisses and whispers.

Then:

Cik … cik … cik … Faster. Cik … cik … cik … cik … cik … cik … Ckkkkkkkkkkk …

‘Sonar,’ said Hannah.

The air filled with waves of echoes, whistles, clicks and thuds. Jake’s skin goosebumped.

‘Voices,’ he said.

‘The sounds amplify through the hulls of ships,’ said Hannah. ‘Sailors used to reckon it was mermaids. Or the cries of drowned sailors.’

‘What are they saying?’

‘Hard to know, exactly. We match sounds to observed behaviour, and work out the combinations for feeding, hunting, calling. It’s rudimentary language, which varies between communities. They have dialects, and they use sets of unique phrases for individuals.’

‘You mean … names?’

Hannah shrugged. ‘I guess so.’

‘That’s incredible.’ He slumped in his chair, open-mouthed. Hannah saw, and smiled.

‘Want to see incredible? Watch this.’ She shifted the angle of the laptop, and moved her chair up next to his. He put his arm round her and rested his hand on the curve of her hip.

The footage was of sea and islands, taken from a boat he guessed, as the camera was swaying. The water was smooth and the day was crystal-blue, but at the edge of the island were huge breakers. As if on cue, a wave rose up on the screen. The wave held up, feathering white off the top.

A dark blur emerged inside the wave. Sleek, big and fast. An orca. It waved its tail frantically as it cruised through the blue, then erupted out of the face of the wave, flying backwards. A huge fish in its mouth.

Jake shock-laughed. He almost clapped. The cheek of the thing. The skill, the grace, the power.

She stared at him, watching his reaction.

‘I’ve never seen anything like that,’ she said. ‘But I will again, one day. I’m going to study orcas.’ Her eyes misted, seeing a dream. ‘You know what’s different about them?’

‘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

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.