Sea Change (6 page)

The two boys
spent the next twenty minutes shifting stones about, seizing on
likely suspects, shouting when they found something good. Sal kept
on walking the tide line, stooping every now and then to examine
something more closely, once in a while picking something up and
stowing it in a carrier bag she'd produced from her coat
pocket.

Eventually John
and Simon got bored. What had seemed at the start like something
John could do all day, all week, lost its shine after finding the
tenth fossil. They had stumbled into a few rock pools too, and
their jeans clung dank and clammy around their calves. It was time
to do something else.

"Let's go and
hassle Sal," Simon said, so they raced off across the wet stones
again, out onto the sand, following the stinking ribbon of seaweed
that marked the tide line until they reached her. She stopped and
turned to face them, laughing at their wet legs.

"You two been
paddling, then?"

"Found all
sorts, haven't we John?" Simon said. "Fossil hunting."

"Thousands,"
John said. "The bottom's falling out of all of my pockets." He
could hear himself rattling when he walked, and it reminded him of
a holiday a long time ago, endless golden Cornish beaches, green
sea, a long walk and his dad carrying him on the way back,
complaining that he was getting heavier as he got older, not
realising that John's pockets were stuffed with 'treasure' which
probably weighed about the same as he did. "What you found, Sal?"
Her carrier bag looked full. She held it open for them to look in.
Simon snorted and turned away.

"More crap!
Boring."

John looked in,
puzzled. The bag was full of rubbish. Not interesting rubbish, but
just junk. A soft drink can, half polished to a metallic shine by
the waves. A blue plastic container. A white polystyrene tray. An
orange skein of plastic netting.

"Um, great." He
didn't know what to say.

"Think it’s
boring, John?"

"Uh, well, no,
not boring, just—I think I'm missing something here."

Sal squatted
down, emptied the bag out onto the sand. She motioned beside her
and John crouched too. Simon yawned ostentatiously and walked away,
throwing stones as high and as far out to sea as he could.

"Coke can," Sal
said.

"Um, yeah."
John said.

"See where the
writing's left on it, here?" She held it out to him, and he bent
close. He could smell the shampoo on her hair, and it was fresh,
like the wind off the sea.

"Yeah, I can
see. French."

"French," she
said, as if it meant something. Next she held up the plastic
netting. "Probably from round here. Might not be though. No way of
telling. Look at this though." She held out the blue plastic
container, which looked as if it had once held oil, or bleach, or
something like that. The label had been long washed away, but there
was writing stencilled on to the plastic in raised and flowing
letters that John could not read.

"Chinese?
Dunno. Not Chinese," he said.

"Arabic," Sal
said, with the same degree of meaning.

"Stuff from all
over."

She nodded,
looking at him as if he had said something important. He felt as if
he ought to go on, say something clever. He couldn't think of
anything. "Yes, all over. Different countries and um, different
languages." She still stared. He obviously hadn't got it yet.

"The sea," she
said. "It moves in patterns, all over the world. Touching every
shore, every ship. And because of us it's full, as Simon so
beautifully puts it, of crap. Some of this stuff is just off
ships—this Arabic stuff, I reckon off a freighter or something, but
this—" she picked up the coke can again—"this was probably dropped
in some river in France, the Loire or the Seine, by some litterbug
kid, and it's floated down river, out to sea, through storms and
all sorts, and been washed up here. The whole world, connected.
Stuff like this, it affects the animals that live there, the fish
and the whales—" now she held up the plastic netting—"strangled by
what we leave. We're fighting a battle, to keep the seas alive. And
knowledge is a weapon, just like any gun. More powerful. So I walk
the beach and I learn about the sea, and how stupid we are."

"Stupid?"

"As a species,"
she smiled. "Not us in particular. Well, maybe Simon. Definitely
Simon."

"Hey, I heard
that." Simon wandered past, made a face at Sal, and walked off
again, scanning the rocks.

"I never
thought about it much," John said. "Not like you have. You know, to
me it's just always been the sea. Wherever you go. Always the
same."

"But it isn't
the same," Sal said. "It touches everywhere, but it changes all the
time too. And it won't be the same ever again, because of what we
do to it."

"Stuff like
this, you mean." John gestured towards a tangle of blue
plastic.

"That and more.
Pollution. Global warming and changes to sea levels. Salinity." She
grinned. "See, I'm born to it."

John looked at
her, blank.

"
Salinity
? Hello? What's my name?"

John blushed.
"Sorry. Not with it, today."

"Tell me if I'm
boring you."

"No, you're
not," John said, and he really meant it, because he'd have been
quite happy to stand there on the beach with her all day, listening
to her talk, watching her hair blowing around her face.

She stared out
at the sea, watching it slide in, out, as if she could read
something in the slow procession of the waves.

"It's like our
life," she said.

"What?" John
said, and then desperately cast around for something more
intelligent to say, something to show that he was on the same
wavelength. "The sea?"

"Yeah. It
always feels the same, like it's always going to be the same day
after day. But then a sea change comes, and nothing is ever the
same again. Not ever."

"And when it
comes, there's nothing you can do to stop it."

Sal turned and
looked at John for a moment. Then she nodded, as if she approved of
what she had seen. "You know," she said, and then she looked back
out at the sea.

"Yeah," John
said. "I know."

"She finished
the lecture yet?' Simon had got bored of looking for fossils he
hadn't found, and had walked back along the beach to join them.

"Was
interesting, actually."

"S'all right,
you can tell her what you really thought. I do."

"You're really
into this," John said to Sal, not wanting to lose the conversation
with her.

"What I'm going
to do. Get my A Levels year after next, go on and do oceanography
at uni. All I've ever wanted to do, ever since I was little."

"She's not
kidding," Simon chimed in. "She's even learning to steer a boat,
you know. Think she might have webbed feet if you look close."

"Cool," John
said. "Really? A boat?"

"Yeah," she
said. "Just Uncle Davey's fishing boat. He doesn't let me take it
out on my own or anything, but when we're out into the open sea he
lets me steer. Be useful one day, with what I want to do."

"Fancy a walk
up to Hob's Hole?" Simon said. "I won't tell it you were taking the
mick. Good idea to do it now, while we can."

"Yeah, sounds
good," John said. "Today's been brilliant." Immediately he wondered
whether it was too much, too clingy. He risked a glance at Sal, but
she was staring out at the water, giving nothing away. "What do you
mean, while we can?"

"Tide comes in,
this is all cut off. High tide, it's nearly up to the bottom of the
cliff, see, there's the high water mark. Besides, you can't get
round the headland there, tides come in fast, cuts this beach off,
it's drummed into us from when we were little kids, the water comes
in faster than you ever think. 'Course, the Hole's just a dark hole
in the cliff, with a dark hole in the ground, so there isn't much
to see, but it still beats Sal and her rubbish for interest."

They walked
away up the beach, towards the dark hollow in the cliffs. Boulders
surrounded the bottom of the gap, as if they were on guard. As they
walked John saw a figure high on the cliffs, silhouetted black
against the blue of the sky, standing completely still. He was
probably looking out to sea, but John felt as if he was staring
down at them.

"Better not be
too long," Sal said, and jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards
the sea. John and Simon stopped and looked round. Dark clouds were
rolling in, turning the water from blue to slate grey, racing the
waves to see which could reach the shore first. "Half hour or so
and it's going to be chucking it down." When they turned back to
hurry on, the figure on the cliffs had gone.

“Was out
walking,” John said. “Last night. And there was this weird old man.
Wanted to talk to me, but no way did I want to stay and talk to
him, something creepy about him. Is there anyone who hangs about
like that?”

“Few who’ll
talk to you about the old days until you think your brains going to
fall out with boredom,” Simon said. “All harmless though.”

“Could be a
tourist,” Sal said. “Some of them are a bit weird, like.”

“No, I think he
lives here,” John said. “Doesn’t matter, not a problem. Just
wondered.”

The pebbles on
the beach turned to rocks, and then the rocks turned into boulders,
a massive downpour of stone from where the cliffs parted.

"Here it is,"
Simon said. "Best not mention you've been here, mind. We're not
supposed to go in."

John turned to
him, amazed. "You don't mean—I mean, do your mum and dad really
think?"

"Just Mum,"
Simon said, "Dad's out there," and he pointed out towards the sea.
"And what do you mean? Think what?"

"That you
shouldn't go in. Because of, I dunno. Because of the Hob."

Simon and Sal
laughed, but it seemed strained, and John wondered what he was
missing, what it was he had said that had changed the atmosphere so
much.

"It's not
because of the Hob," Sal said. "It's because there's a bloody great
hole in the floor of the cave, drop a stone in it and you can
hardly hear it touch bottom. No-one wants their kids dropping down
and not being found for ever and ever. Even when that kid is
Simon."

Simon stuck his
tongue out at his sister. John felt stupid for having
misunderstood, and tried to change the subject.

"When you said
your dad's out at sea," he said, "is he in the navy? Or working on
the rigs? My cousin Jeff's dad—"

"No, he's not,"
Simon said, in a flat voice that didn't sound like him at all.
"He's just out there. He was a fisherman, Dad. Boat went over four
years back. Him and two others. Lifeboat went out but the weather
was terrible, time they reached the boat there was nothing but sea
and an empty boat, upside down."

"Oh Simon, Sal,
I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said..."

"All right. You
weren't to know. Anyway, you want to see Hob's Hole, let's get on
with it before the rain comes in." Simon began climbing up over the
boulders and into the cave. John looked across at Sal, but again
she was just standing staring out at the sea and the gathering
clouds. John cursed himself for having spoken at all, cursed
himself for destroying the mood, and followed Simon into the mouth
of the cave. It was smaller than John had expected, and very dark
inside. The air smelt of cold and damp.

"Hard without a
torch," Simon said. "Never thought to bring one along. Like I say,
we're not supposed to go in. Come on though, I'll show you. Stick
by me. Once you get in we'll wait a moment, your eyes'll get used
to the dark, there should be enough light coming in, just about.
There’s floor to the cave for about nine or ten steps, then the
Hole itself, at the back of the cave. You don’t want to fall into
that. The Hole doesn’t go right to the back, there’s a ledge round
it, you can actually walk all the way round. If you’re careful,
like.”

They ducked and
clambered into the cave. John lifted a hand above his head,
trailing the cold rock, not wanting to embarrass himself even more
by cracking his skull open. But a pace or two into the cave and
there was nothing above his fingers, and he straightened up. Simon
put his hand on John's arm.

"Wait
here."

John felt Sal
squeeze through behind him. They stood in silence for a moment.
Somewhere in the darkness of the cave John could hear a slow drip,
drip, drip, and right at the limit of hearing he thought that he
could hear a distant roaring. It must be the sea, he thought, the
sound coming into the cave from somewhere deep below, salt water
surging under the earth. Gradually his eyes adjusted, and he could
see more of the cave. It wasn't very deep, it just arched above his
head and then a couple of metres further forward sloped down
again.

At the far side
was an inky blackness, that seemed to move in the half-light,
contracting like the pupil of an eye. Simon held his arm and they
shuffled across the floor of the cave. They stopped a couple of
steps away from the edge of the hole. The excitement of the
adventure had worn off by now, and the cold of the rock reminded
John of the chill in the old man's voice. He had intended to drop a
stone down into the hole, listening to it bounce and clatter off
the walls, but then he thought of Lord of the Rings and he thought
of waking things that should be left asleep, and he did not stoop
to pick up a stone. Stupid, he thought to himself. Stupid. But
still he did not pick up a stone.

"Imagine
bringing your kid in here," Simon said, "thinking that there's
something living down there, bottom of the hole, having to walk
round there, holding your kiddie, trying not to fall in, and asking
for the Hob to save the child's life. Imagine that." He held up his
mobile, pressed a key, and the cold white light of its screen light
shone out over the back of the cave.