Swell (26 page)

‘Oli,’ I said after an hour of hearing him complain, ‘next time someone offers you a penny for your thoughts, sell.’

We checked in to the intimate little hotel in the centre of the village that overlooked the cheerfully painted red and green fishing boats bobbing merrily in the harbour. In direct contrast to our day, the setting was beautifully idyllic and peaceful. From my white iron balcony that made me feel like a tragic Juliet waiting for her Romeo, I could just make out the moonlit left-hand wave peeling along the point outside the protective harbour wall. Mundaka was a world-class surf break and the discovery of such surf in this picturesque village had brought a new wave of tourism that kept the town alive. When the local authorities had, just a few years before, made the mistake of dredging the river that flowed into the bay at Mundaka, they had temporarily destroyed the wave that relied on the shape of the sandy bottom for its perfect formation. That year, the surfing contest had been cancelled and the top surfers had stopped travelling to Mundaka. The tourism suffered and so began a fierce campaign to put things right. The
story made me realise how much the sport had become an intrinsic part of the culture in these parts of Europe.

‘It’s amazing here isn’t it?’

Jason was also taking in the view from the adjacent balcony.

‘Stunning. That church on the cliff top is gorgeous. It looks like its keeping watch over the ocean. Shame it wasn’t around earlier.’

‘So tragic,’ Jason said in what was almost a whisper.

We paused. The sound of the rumbling surf filled the silence.

‘It’s so quiet and quaint I feel as if we’ve gone back in time.’

‘It may be quiet now but believe me, Bailey, these Basques know how to have a good time. On Sundays the generations crowd the streets, from the babies to the grandparents, the older ones drinking Sangria and eating pintxos until dark.’

‘Pintxos?’

‘The tapas.’

He raised his hands to his mouth like a mouse nibbling on a piece of cheese.

‘Tortilla, calamares, all sorts of little sandwiches, anchovies, patatas bravas. I think it’s the food that makes me win when I come here.’

‘Let’s hope so.’

Jason smiled weakly. Since trying to save the man, he had visibly shrunk in stature as if the stuffing had been knocked out of him by the experience. I sensed he felt some responsibility at not having been able to save the woman’s husband. It was an irrational guilt but I could tell it was eating Jason up inside.

I smiled supportively and rubbed my stomach. None of us had eaten for the past few hours. Other than Oli who would not let a little thing like a terrible death interrupt his eating habits.

‘My stomach does feel like a raided biscuit tin now you come to mention it.’

Jason’s face lit up for the first time in hours.

‘Give me a minute and I’ll sort us out a picnic.’

‘A picnic? But it’s too late. The shops are all shut. Look, it’s a ghost town.’

Jason tapped his finger against his nose.

‘The Señora who runs this hotel has a bit of a soft spot for me.’

‘Don’t they all, Jason,’ I laughed.

‘Meet me outside in ten and I’ll take you somewhere special. If you think that church is gorgeous wait till you see this.’

‘What about the contest tomorrow?’

He shrugged one shoulder.

‘I couldn’t sleep now if I tried.’

‘OK, I’m in. What about the others?’

‘Maybe just give Rory and Ruby a knock when you’re coming. Chuck and Oli lack a bit of culture for this adventure.’

We smiled at each other across the balconies as if we were Montagues and Capulets conspiring to elope. While Jason sneaked off to work his charm on the lady of the house, I pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a soft grey cashmere jumper that would have washed out my skin tone several months before, but which now complimented my tan. The air was heavy and warm but a wind had started to gust from the north, warning
of a potential storm. I pulled my hair into a smooth ponytail, slipped on a wool beret and a pair of seaweed green ballet pumps and tiptoed down the corridor to knock on Rory and Ruby’s door.

We drove west on narrow mountainous roads, passing the port of Bermeo and snaking on towards Bakio. Ruby, Rory and I had no idea where we were going but all of us were glad of the distraction. I knew the minute I closed my eyes in bed, my ears would ring with the sound of the woman on the beach. I would rather have stayed awake all night than hear her cries of pain and grief again.

Jason suddenly pulled the car steep right down a vertiginous slope that took us to the base of the sea cliffs. In the moonlight I could just make out an island peninsula attached to the mainland by a sinuous stone pathway. The four of us breathlessly climbed and counted over two hundred steps that took us over the water and up the steep side of the island to the lone building at its summit.

‘This is the monastery of San Juan de Gaztelugatxe. See this bell’ – Jason pointed to the huge bell suspended above the enormous wooden chapel door – ‘this used to warn the sailors of approaching storms.’

He pulled the rope beside the door and the surrounding cliffs resounded with the sound of the hermitage bell.

‘The sailors would bring votive offerings here as thanks for having avoided a storm. And down in the caves at the bottom of the peninsula I heard they locked up women who were suspected of being witches.’

‘Ooh careful, Jason, some of your exes might still be down there,’ I said.

Rory doubled up with laughter.

‘Ha, at least someone tells him how it is.’

Jason opened and closed his mouth before saying - ‘Come on let’s eat.’

We sat at a stone table that had been worn smooth over the centuries. I could imagine monks having dined there, eating chunky slabs of bread and cheese washed down with jugs of cider. Jason had brought along a picnic of bite-sized bread rolls filled with cured Serrano ham, thick cheese, pickled peppers and chorizo. There were also pots of olives, a vegetable pasta salad, a tub of anchovies swimming in oil as if they were still alive, and peppers stuffed with white fish and vegetables. He had even thought to bring four plastic beakers into which he poured fruity sangria from a leather flask. We held our beakers aloft.

‘Salud,’ said Jason.

‘Salud!’ we replied enthusiastically.

After eating, our funereal mood had lifted and we climbed around to the side of the monastery facing the horizon. The sky above us was bright and inset with stars like sequins on a ballroom dancing dress, but out to sea a storm front was slowly advancing. We sat on the grassy cliff top and watched the heavy clouds gathering like an angry mob. Purple forks of lightning began to split the sky, piercing the surface of the ocean that was growing more agitated by the minute.

‘The storm’s still a while away,’ said Jason.

Rory agreed. They spent many hours studying weather charts to predict wave patterns so I felt confident in their judgement.

‘We better leave enough time to get back to the car,’ said Rory. ‘I don’t want Ruby falling down those stairs.’

Ruby tutted and patted his arm reassuringly.

‘I’m fine, darl’, don’t fuss.’

I lay back on the damp grass and looked up at the stars. Sitting exposed on the rocky peninsula sandwiched between an expanse of ocean and an electrified sky I suddenly felt vividly alive. I reflected how easy it was to rush through days, barely taking in the scenery and never stopping to savour a special moment. The man who had drowned that afternoon had very likely not paused to appreciate the vast undulating beach or stopped to take in the beauty of his wife before entering the water for what would be his final swim.

‘What will happen to that man?’ I said so quietly I could barely hear myself.

Jason pulled a long grass from the soil and stuck it in the corner of his mouth, chewing on it pensively. He looked like his father, a reflective cowboy.

‘The current will have taken him to Capbreton or maybe even Spain,’ said Rory, brushing back his curls from his grave face.

‘How awful,’ Ruby sighed.

‘He’ll wash up eventually,’ said Jason so matter-of-factly I shivered. ‘At least it’s not Hawaii where body
parts
wash up after the sharks have had their fill.’

‘Oh my goodness.’

‘Yeah they say it’s bad for tourism.’

‘I’d say it’s bad for the poor bastard who becomes fish food.’

‘Right. So they like to find them before anyone else does. It’s often a surfer out for a dawn patrol who finds the body. We’re like the dog walkers of the ocean. Us and fishermen.’

‘I hope he didn’t suffer.’

‘Who knows? But at least he died somewhere idyllic and not crashed out in a chair in front of the TV with a microwave meal. When I go I want it to be in the ocean.’

‘Jason don’t.’

‘What? We’re all going to go sometime. Talking about it won’t suddenly remind God you’re here.’

‘I was thinking this afternoon,’ said Rory, tipping his head towards the sky, ‘what do you want God to say to you when you get up there?’

‘Assuming there is a God,’ I said.

‘Yeah, assuming there’s someone who gives a hoot how we lived our life, what would you want him to say at the end of yours?’

Rory looked at me and I grimaced.

‘Me? Well, I don’t know. I don’t really like thinking about stuff like this but maybe something like, “
Bailey Brown, I’ve read all your books. Your last book was a masterpiece
.”’

‘I might have known yours would be about work,’ Jason laughed.

‘How did you know that?’

‘Because it’s how you measure yourself.’

I tilted my head in surprise at Jason’s insight.

‘What about you, Rory?’ I asked.

Rory scratched his head.

‘I think I’d like him to say – “
Aloha, Rory, great last wave, dude”.’

‘Ha, I love it,’ Jason laughed. ‘I think I’ll copy that one. I heard about a guy recently who had a heart attack in the biggest barrel of his life. Now that would be the way to go.’

‘Ruby?’

Ruby looked at me and shook her head.

‘No I can’t think about that. Not right now.’

Her eyes glistened in the moonlight.

‘Let’s go ring that bell again,’ said Rory, jumping to his feet and holding out his hand to Ruby, ‘warn the sailors about the incoming storm.’

They clambered over the low wall and wandered off towards the front of the monastery. I sat up and watched the dagger-like lightning dancing on the horizon. The gusts of wind were growing stronger. I wrapped my arms around myself and pulled my sweater tighter against my skin. Jason and I sat in companionable silence, lost in our own thoughts. It was a full five minutes before we turned and smiled at each other.

‘Thank you for this, Jason, this is very special.’

‘I knew you’d like it. I love this place, it’s so spiritual. Just what I needed after what happened today.’

‘You were very brave.’

Jason shook his head.

‘No I wasn’t brave. It was nothing.’

‘You exhausted yourself for someone you didn’t even know, Jason, and you took a risk swimming into those waves to try and find him. It was not nothing.’

‘I just did what I had to do but I failed.’

He strained his broad neck to look over the cliff at the ocean below. I shifted onto my knees and crept cautiously towards the edge of the cliff where I lay on my stomach and gazed down at the white water crashing against the peninsula.

‘The ocean looks angry,’ I said.

‘You’re right. Maybe it feels bad about what it did to that woman.’

In Jason’s world the ocean was so alive it was as if it had a soul.

‘You know, Jason, I still don’t understand how you do what you do, taking a risk every day you go to work.’

Jason joined me and dangled his arms precariously over the edge.

‘What’s wrong with risks? Risks are fun.’

‘Are they?’

‘Sure. I take a risk because I love what I do. If I didn’t risk the consequences of dangerous waves I wouldn’t be living.’

‘I remember Rory saying something like that at Teahupoo. He said life would be boring as hell if we didn’t risk it once in a while.’

‘I quite agree.’

Jason chewed on another long grass.

‘So why don’t you do risks, B? Something about your father wasn’t it?’

I swallowed the ball of emotion that burst into my throat. On a usual day I would have changed the conversation but the conversational limits seemed to have shifted after
the day’s tragic events at the beach. Slowly, I took the key hidden somewhere close to my heart and unlocked the door that kept my father’s memory neatly secured where grief couldn’t find it.

‘My father was a risk-taker, a gambler.’

I cleared my throat when my voice broke.

‘And what happened?’

‘The inevitable I suppose. He lost everything. All we had. On a stupid lame horse. I think it made it out of the gate but then it got a whiff of someone’s picnic and trotted off in the wrong direction in search of sandwiches.’ I forced a laugh to stop the tears. ‘My father was in so much debt by that point to loan sharks that he knew the game was up. God my mother was so angry with him. I remember her screaming the house down while I hid in my bedroom.’

My voice sounded so distant. The lightning flashed in front of my eyes and thunder rumbled ominously above us.

‘I remember vividly I had a Walkman with these grey ergonomically shaped headphones that I thought were so cool. They probably weren’t but then I was never what you would call a style icon.’

‘I don’t believe that for a minute.’ Jason tapped my hat.

‘My father had bought them for me with the winnings from a bet he had incredibly won the week before. A horse called Baileys and Cream won him the jackpot so he said I was his lucky charm. “For my lucky charm” he said when he gave me the Walkman, “you’ll always be lucky”.’

Tears began to drip down my face but I was too caught up in the memory to wipe them away. I ploughed on, my thoughts flashing between the past and the images of the woman on the beach earlier that day. She had grieved, she wasn’t afraid to show how much she loved someone.