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From Belfast writer PM.Jordan
White Rocks
The waves were breaking forty feet from shore. Conor pointed to them. He had to shout to be heard above the roar and fizz, “There’s some decent sets.”
“It’s perfect,” she said.
Linda loved to surf. She loved to surf with Conor. She looked along the white limestone rocks for somewhere to lay their towels. There were caves and arches in the walls of the limestone at different places along the length of the beach.
At the entrance to a limestone cave Linda stopped.
“It’s like a church,” she said, looking up at the limestone arch.
“Here,” said Conor. “We’ll leave the bags here.”
Linda dropped her board and bags in the sand. Conor looked beyond her to the sea. “See you in there,” he said.
He strapped his leash around his ankle, picked up his board, and walked purposefully out, into the sea. When he was waist deep he dropped on to the board and paddled out. The water was cold at first – in the next few weeks it would get a lot colder.
When he was far enough out he pointed his board to shore, and lay flat, balancing himself in the right spot on the board, ready to take the wave. Then he paddled furiously, catching the shoulder of a wave, and, all in one movement, he was up and balanced, feeling for the grab and push of the wave and riding it all the way to the shallower water.
Linda was shouting. He couldn’t hear her but he could see that she was smiling. He wiped the water from his face and gave her a thumbs-up.
He mis-timed the next wave and was caught in the tumble dryer. He put his arms up to protect his face as the board shot up out of the water. When he came to the surface he gasped for air. When the cold water of the next wave washed over his head his senses came alive. He tasted the salt water, could smell it. He could see the things that were there. The things that he’d missed before: the hills on the headland, where the vertical limestone gave way to rolling fields of grass and grazing sheep.
He was aware of Linda. She knew where to wait, where the waves would break – too far out and you missed its strength, too close in and you got less of a ride. She had picked a perfect spot. She positioned the board at an angle, ready to ride across the wave. She looked behind her, looking for a good wave. When the right one came along she paddled towards shore; stood up on the board, arms in front for balance, knees bent; front foot underneath her chest, riding the wave the way Conor had taught her. The white water picked her up and carried her into the shallows until the board shot from under her.
She had started out on the big beginner’s board – his first board – and within six months she had a board of her own. The first year she had only surfed in the summer, but then, when the bug bit her, she’d got a winter suit.
They surfed for hours, occasionally giving each other the thumbs-up when they caught a good wave. Both of them caught up in it all now. Then Conor paddled beyond the breakers and sat astride his board. He looked out at the waves bouncing off the false reef. Then he sat and watched Linda for a long time, before returning.
He paddled back towards the shore and continued to take waves for the next half hour or so, though he could never be sure of the passage of time when he surfed.
They surfed until the clouds covered the sun and the water turned darker. At first there were spits of rain, but when the main cloud came over, the rain poured from the sky in tight heavy drops. The wind picked up and the water became choppier. Conor bent his head back and opened his mouth.
The people on the beach were scrambling for cover. There were whoops and screams as the rain lashed down. The drops fired into the water. When the rain hit the water Conor stopped and looked at it and forgot about everything. As quickly as it arrived it was gone. And suddenly the sun was out. It was as if it had never happened. There was a rainbow in front of them which arched all the way to the limestone caves.
“I’ll bet the beach was packed this time last week,” said Conor.
“And now we have it all to ourselves,” said Linda.
Conor looked back to the shore to their bags.
“No one’s going to steal anything,” said Linda.
“I’m not worried about that.”
Conor looked up to the carpark. The clouds on the horizon had cleared. The orange of the evening sun glinted off the windscreens of the cars parked there.
“Will we go back?” he said.
“Ten more minutes.”
“In ten minutes it’ll be dark.”
“You go back,” she said.
Conor looked at the water in front of him; it was a blend of purple and green. He shivered and looked behind him, out to sea. The water was black. He paddled in.
He walked up the beach to their towels. The sand was soft where he laid the towel and there were fragments of burnt wood in the sand. Conor ran his fingers through the sand. It was warm on top, but cold just beneath the surface.
He sat on his towel and took in the whole scene. The tide was as high up the beach as it would get. The sun sat on the horizon. The moon would soon be up to replace it.
When Linda came out of the water Conor was already dressed in jeans and a T-Shirt. She laid her board on the sand, knelt down and kissed him. “Thank you,” she said. Her eyes were green, greener than he had ever seen them.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Unzip me, then,” she said.
He pulled the cord at the back of her wetsuit and helped pull it off her shoulders.
“Reach me my top, will you,” she said.
She peeled off the wetsuit, dried herself, and put on her top.
“Let’s stay the night,” she said.
“It’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just not, that’s all,” he said.
“I’m starving,” she said.
There was a chill in the air now. It was very still.
“What’s wrong?”
“Everything seems so screwed up.”
“Screwed up,” she said. “How?”
“I can’t explain it.”
“Try.”
She wasn’t making it any easier. He didn’t answer.
“Why do you have to be like this?” she said. “Can’t we just enjoy the sunset?”
They sat on the towel without touching each other. She sat for a minute without saying anything, before saying, “Tell me what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” he said.
“Of course you know.”
Conor was afraid to look at her. Then he looked at her. She had her back to him. Linda didn’t say anything. He hoped that she would, but she didn’t.
The sun went down, and as it did, the moon came up. She turned and looked at him.
“This isn’t easy,” he said. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then say nothing.”
She got up, hoisted her bag over her shoulder, then she bent at the knees and lifted the board in the middle, under her arm, the way he’d shown her. She didn’t look at him. She walked off the beach the way they’d come in. He wanted to say something, was about to, but he realised there was nothing to say.
In a month it would all be sorted. He would come out surfing on his own. The water would be colder by then, but he would wear his winter wetsuit. He would need his neoprene hood, gloves and boots as well. He would paddle out to the false reef. It would be better surfing conditions a month from now.
Between now and then there were things to be sorted: the house, the furniture, the car. He would play fair about it. He would keep the car; as regards everything else – half for her, half for him.
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