Swell (37 page)

‘You sound worried,’ he said. ‘I have been doing this a long time you know.’

I nodded and smiled in an effort to appear carefree. Jason stepped back onto the lookout and gently touched my arm with his free hand.

‘I know,’ I shrugged, ‘but you’ve been through so much. I just want you to be careful out there.’

Jason blinked and my heart surged when I realised how much I would miss looking into the most stunning eyes I had ever seen. We stared silently at each other for a moment before Jason blinked again and shook out his already wet hair. The droplets of seawater glittered in the air around him like a halo.

‘I better go. The final waits for no man.’

I crossed my fingers. Jason leaned forwards and I offered my cheek. Before I knew what was happening, he lifted his hand to my chin and turned my lips to meet his. I succumbed to the salty kiss, which was brief but intense enough to send jolts of electricity through my body. When his lips left mine a gasp escaped from my mouth.

‘Thank you for caring,’ he breathed. ‘I will miss you.’

I felt as if we had said our final goodbye.

This was it. One more heat and my year on tour was over.

I stood on the lookout watching Jason run through the excited throng of people on the beach. They chanted his name and patted him on the back. He acknowledged their wishes of good luck but did not stop, ploughing on through the sand towards the terrifying, majestic waves of the Banzai Pipeline.

One year previously I had stood on the same lookout and watched a contest I knew nothing about. Now I knew so much about surfing: the technical terms, the science of wave formation and surfboard shaping, the judging system, the internal politics, the history of the greatest surfer of all time, his deepest secrets and the deep-rooted motivation stirring within him that had driven him to succeed from his humble beginnings. I had travelled the world. I had shared a boat with a komodo dragon, I had surfed with turtles and seen sharks in South Africa. I had watched the sunset in Indonesia and the moonrise in Spain. I had slept in a jungle hut and a tropical Tahitian dwelling. I had lived like a cowboy. I knew to shuffle my feet in the shallow waters of tropical places like Tahiti to prevent myself stepping on a deadly stonefish and I knew how to say hello
and thank you in Indonesian. I had learned how to say ‘good waves’ in French, Spanish and Portuguese.

I had suffered the shock of seeing a woman lose her husband and then felt the wrenching pain of watching our friend die just metres away. I had made friendships with Ruby and Chuck that would endure I hoped for a lifetime. I had tolerated Oli and, as I now accepted but would not admit to anyone but myself, I had fallen in love with the man who had made all of the above my reality.

I smiled to myself. I was proud of what I had achieved. If someone had told me when I flew out to meet Jon to escape my waning career and I was dragged unwillingly to the party in L.A. that my life would change to such an extent, I would have laughed. I was then a writer of moderate success who was losing direction and sliding onto the slush pile while fighting to keep a grip on my career. I was now about to write the final chapter of a book I was desperately proud of, whether it came within sniffing distance of the bestseller charts or not. I had become so engrossed in the subject, the story had taken on a life of its own and almost written itself. I had never thought that was possible. The realisation that some of that passion came from the fact that Jason had captured my heart for real was nothing to be ashamed of. I had learned to love and I could do so again. I had also fallen in love with a world I never knew existed and, even if I never felt the Hawaiian sand between my toes again, I was thankful for the life-changing experience. I would do it all again if I had the chance. As Ruby had said, it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. I had loved and I had also lived. I had not lost. It had all been worth the risk. I lifted my watery eyes towards the vivid blue sky. My father would be proud.

‘Are you coming down on the beach, B? We should watch this one with the true fans, for shizzle.’

I wiped my eyes and span around to smile at Chuck. Dressed in a yellow shirt, shorts and sunglasses with his shock of heliotrope hair, he resembled a giant matchstick.

‘For shizzle,’ I beamed and left the detached haven of the garden to cheer alongside Ben, Izel, Wyatt, Oli, Ricky and a congregation of devoted fans.

‘Here we go.’

I crossed my fingers on both hands.

‘Cross mine for me, will you?’ said Wyatt.

‘I wish I could cross my toes too,’ Izel said, laughing at her own joke.

‘Yeah I wish I could cross my eyes,’ Ben smirked.

Chuck threw back his head and howled with laughter.

‘Man are we a motley crew or what?’ He clutched his chest. ‘Hey, Ricky, how many sons you got in this final, dude? If the other two have got anything to do with you, you better come clean now.’

The frown lines on Ricky’s weathered face smoothed out and we all laughed our way into the start of the most important heat of the entire year with the ice broken and the sun in our hearts as well as on our skin.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

At the start of the final, Jason and Cain sat astride their boards on opposite sides of the break like east and west on a compass. The perfect set waves were approaching every five or six minutes and when the first ten-foot waves barrelled onto the reef, the crowd leapt to their feet to get a better view of the surfers. The surfer in blue from Brazil paddled for the first wave and fell on the take-off. Everybody held their breath until he re-emerged in one piece and paddled out for the next set. The surfer in white from Australia made the drop on his choice of wave and pulled into the tube but did not make it as far as the exit. Both scores were nominal. There were murmurs of confusion when Jason and Cain remained steadfastly sedentary on their surfboards. They did not even attempt to paddle.

‘What’s happening, Ma’am?’ asked Izel who looked like she might burst into tears.

I crouched beside her.

‘Don’t worry, Iz, they’re probably just taking a moment to steady themselves.’

‘As long as they don’t take too long,’ said Ben, who was relying on Izel for his commentary, ‘the final will be over in a flash.’

‘There is a huge set approaching,’ Rock announced. ‘Those of you at the water’s edge mind you don’t get too close. We don’t want to be coming in rescuing you when the final heat of the year is in the water.’

On this set, both the Brazilian and the Australian caught waves that took them to Backdoor, the right-hand wave that mirrored Pipeline. Blue scored a very respectable seven and white a six-point-two. Cain and Jason did not move.

‘I really don’t understand what is happening here,’ Rock marvelled. ‘It’s as if our two champions are waiting for the other one to start the proceedings. Let’s hope one of them bites the bullet.’

When the third set passed without Jason or Cain even attempting to paddle, Chuck began to get even more fidgety than usual.

‘What the hell is he doing, man?’

‘I don’t know,’ Oli spat, ‘but he better do fucking something or I will kick his goddamn ass.’

‘Language, Oliver,’ I scolded, tilting my head at Izel and Ben.

‘Sorry,’ he sniffed, ‘I meant butt not ass.’

I raised my eyes skywards.

Ricky thrust his hands into his pockets.

‘I’ve ruined them,’ he said under his breath, ‘I should never have told them.’

‘Told them what?’ Izel frowned.

‘Nothing, honey,’ I smiled, ‘now come on, let’s start cheering as loud as we can OK?’

Chuck started waving his arms in the air and whooped as loud as he could. Wyatt cheered, Ben joined in and Izel and I chanted loudly. Oli pouted like a petulant child and Ricky stayed impartial. The crowd around us joined in the commotion until we resembled a horde of crazed tribesman doing a rain dance under the baking hot sun.

Jason looked around and I could tell he was smiling. He glanced down at his board and ran his hand across the decking where I had written
Lucky 13
. He flicked his wrist and looked at his watch, as did I. Only ten minutes remained until the final hooter sounded. Somebody had to win.

Jason lay on his board and began to paddle but not towards the waves. He stroked his arms through the water and paddled in Cain’s direction. The Tiger Sharks hollered but Cain’s head was down. He seemed completely unaware of his surroundings and of the millions of people watching in disbelief as he sat motionless throughout the final of the Pipemasters.

Despite his threats and his steely exterior, I felt sympathy for Cain. Having seen the regret in his eyes at Rory’s memorial, I honestly believed he was not a bad person at heart. He had faced a struggle through life and he had erected a façade that had helped him survive as he had fought his way to the top. His methods were misguided but he had to be admired for his perseverance. Now Cain sat like a lost little boy. His proud, muscular body looked devoid of its usual power. Cain had lost his fighting spirit. Jason was not someone he could easily hate. He was his brother and without hatred, Cain was finding it hard to function.

Ricky clenched his jaw and stared out at the ocean.

‘I wish I was out there with them,’ he sighed.

‘I don’t,’ I said when a wave positively exploded on the coral reef. ‘In fact if you paid me one million dollars I would not paddle out there with them.’

I shivered and turned back towards the action. Blue and white were paddling around merrily as if they had been given free passes to Disneyland on a day when nobody
else was admitted. I strained my eyes to see when Jason reached Cain’s side and sat up on his board. Their broad backs faced us while they both looked towards the horizon.

‘Looks like our two champs are having a discussion,’ said Rock. ‘We can only guess what they are saying.’

Not in a million years, I thought to myself.

‘Oh man this is gonna kick off,’ said Chuck, sucking air through his teeth.

I suspected otherwise.

After a short discussion, the two surfers turned to face each other. Jason offered Cain his hand and the crowd gasped. Cain stared at the outstretched hand. The crowd held their breath. Cain accepted the handshake and the loudest cheer I had ever heard sent shivers through my spine.

‘Holy shit,’ Chuck yelped, ‘are the Press are gonna love this one. Yeah, dude, I feel a bonus coming on.’

The handshake lasted until the surfers pulled their boards together and embraced in a hug. The rowdy Tiger Sharks fell deathly silent, a silence that was more meaningful than any word I had heard them utter. I glanced back at the Tiger Shark camp and laughed. Watching Cain hug Jason must have been like watching a shark jump through hoops for a trainer. Their leader would have some explaining to do when he returned to base.

‘The heat is on,’ I grinned.

‘About fucking time,’ Oli growled.

‘Language, Oliver.’

‘What? What the fuck did I say now?’

Jason and Cain lay down on their boards and paddled side by side into the impact zone. The other two surfers knew their free passes had been rescinded. The greatest surfer of all time and his fiercest rival and current world champion were ready to compete. The others may as well have left the water immediately.

The first wave rose up when the swell hit the reef and the surfers let it pass. The second wave was smoother than the first and built until it was four times overhead on an average human. Izel commentated every second that passed for Ben. I was in danger of biting my nails to the quick and Chuck was frantically chattering his teeth despite being on a tropical beach. Wyatt was as calm as ever, his eyes dreamy as he watched his old life played out in front of him.

Jason and Cain paddled themselves over the lip of the wave that crumbled and a crest of white topped the green wall like cream on a cake. The wave peeled in both directions and jumping effortlessly to their feet, Jason and Cain split the peak, Jason travelling left while Cain travelled right. The wave was majestic, as was their surfing and they carved along the glass-like water in perfect synchronicity. The similarities in their surfing were profoundly apparent, as were their differences. Cain still surfed with a natural aggression while Jason was more graceful and quietly self-assured. At the end of the ride, the spectators were electrified. Jason and Cain turned and paddled back out to the line-up, both being awarded nine-point-five.

‘Not a bad start,’ I winked at Chuck.

‘This is the best goddamn heat I have ever seen and you know what, I don’t think I care who wins when they’re surfing so awesome.’ He paused. ‘Actually take that back, if Jason wins I am gonna be rich. I hope he kicks Cain’s ass.’

The clock ticked by. There was only time for one more set of waves. Blue took the first, which closed out along the face. He straightened out to avoid the explosion of white water that chased him as far as the beach. White took the second wave. He rode it well but the wave did not open up to offer him the chance of a barrel. He too headed for dry land.

Jason and Cain glanced at each other. Two waves remained. Cain sat up and gestured for Jason to take the first. Jason paddled, pressed his chest into the board, placed his hands on the deck and took off. The rail of the board jammed into the face of the monstrous wall of water like a curved saw cutting into a tree. Jason dropped to the bottom, his arms raised like wings. He pressed deep into his knees and turned the board then sank his arm into the wave face and this time was enveloped by a barrel so hollow and so deep he disappeared from view for what seemed like minutes. I clasped my hands together and prayed. We all exhaled when Jason briefly emerged before seeking and finding the second tube on the wave that was even longer than the first. A ball of water burst from the end of the tube and Jason shot out at breathtaking velocity. He threw his head back, covered his face with his hands and pointed his fingers to the sky, dedicating his ride to his beloved friend, Rory, who should have been there to witness the moment.

When Jason kicked off the wave, he span around and sank into the water to watch Cain take off. Cain paddled and made the drop that was horrifyingly steep. He manoeuvred into position and stalled for the tube. Cain crouched as if to slot his lean body inside a barrel so vast it could have accommodated ten of him. He vanished and then reappeared before pulling into the second tube and then the third. He shot out, pushed down on his fins and performed the most impressive front-hand turn I had ever
seen. The nose of the board smacked the lip of the wave beyond vertical and then Cain yanked the board around to complete the perfect turn. Cain raised his arms modestly for a man who had been known for swearing and gesticulating wildly in past heats. Jason also raised his arms and as Cain surfed past his bitter rival he reached down with an outstretched hand and the two men hi-fived each other in a very public display of respect. The atmosphere in the Tiger Sharks’ house was now as sombre as a graveyard.