chapter one: where I join the sea

Jade...it was the colour of my mother’s eyes. Or so I have heard. Dad is always telling us stories about her life but he has never mentioned what she looked like. Not even once.

It’s a mystery to me what people feel like when someone close to them dies. People expect me to sympathise with them but I can’t. I have never known a relative to die. My mother died too early. Mother is always in my mind, a fleeting memory that only exists in Dad’s tales. I never knew the true her.

She only lives in photographs for me. She laughs in my mind only through Dad’s voice. It is like a painting of a beautiful flower, the flower may exist but you don’t know it, you only know the painting. It is a fake, an imitation of the real thing, and yet you can still love it.

Kieran was old enough to know her – she died when he was six. He doesn’t talk about her. I don’t expect him to, I don’t want to know; if I know I can mourn but I don’t want to mourn.

I’m happy with my life. Or, I was. There was always an ache within me but I never noticed it. I buried it, deep down where I can’t feel it. Deep enough that I could forget it.

Until he came and turned everything upside down...

- - - - -

“Ten down, one to go!” Dad is laughing for a change. I grin at him from where I sit at the kitchen table as he tosses another pancake into the air. Today is Saturday and that makes it Pancake Day in Dad’s books. I’m not complaining.

“Hey, anytime today would be good,” Kieran complains. He keeps glancing at the door. I look at my wristwatch and snicker.

“If you don’t watch it you’ll be late.” Kieran glares at me and reaches out to tweak my hair but I skitter back. The chair screeches across the floor and all of us wince.

“Alright, stop that, breakfast’s ready.” Both of us jump up. I get there first, naturally quicker than my brother who is too tall and too built to be as agile.

Everyone in my family towers over me even though I am average size. At 6’5 and 6’4 both my Dad and my brother dwarf over the 5’5 me. Kieran uses it to his advantage now as he reaches around me and grabs his plate of pancakes first. I hit his arm but he takes no notice.

“All brawn and no brain – there’s no way you’re going to get this new girl.” He ignores me, sitting down and eating his food as quickly as he can.

“You show her your table manners and you’ll be out the door quicker than you can say ‘food’.” He frowns but pretends he can’t hear, looking away. I grin impishly, darting over to stand behind him. “You’ll get fat you know – and then who’ll want you?”

He reaches out with his arm, trying to hit me but I dodge away and go up to Dad to grab my pancakes.

“At least all my fat doesn’t go straight to my thighs and hips,” Kieran notes as he finishes and heads over to the sink to wash up.

I scowl at his back, “I am not fat.” I look down critically but I can’t see if I’ve gained weight anywhere. Just perfect. Now I’m going to be paranoid all day. I glare harder.

He laughs, “Whatever you say.” He puts the plate away and stoops to grab his jacket, quickly donning it before heading towards the door. “Well, I’m going. See you all later!”

Dad calls ‘keys!’ after him and Kieran holds out his hand as Dad throws them to him. He opens the door and leaves with a slam. I can hear his motorcycle revving outside.

Dad is rolling his eyes, “That bike will kill him one day.”

I snort, “His head is too thick for a fall to kill him.” Dad merely looks at the door with concern and I sigh, grabbing my plate and reaching for his. He hasn’t touched his pancakes.

“He’ll be fine Dad, he is twenty-two after all.” I can see he’s still worrying and I try and distract him from it all, “I’m going down to The Sundown today, do you want to come?”

Dad quirks an eyebrow, “I hope you are adding your homework into your plans.” I give him a grin and his eyes narrow on me in response. “Jade,” he says warningly.

I wave my hand at him, “Yes, yes, I’ll do it first okay?” He nods, appeased for the moment and I give him a peck on the cheek before going to the sink to wash the dishes.

Our kitchen is the happiest room in our house. I call it ‘happy’ but what I really mean is bright. Happy just seems to suit it better. The room is all cheery yellows and bright blues. The colour is diluted with the dark wooden cupboards and antique table set in the middle of the room. Dad says it belonged to his grandmother and I’m inclined to believe him.

He’s looking at it thoughtfully now and I have to tap his shoulder to get his wandering attention, “Are you sure you don’t want to come Dad?” I ask as I dry my hands on a tea towel. All the plates are cleaned and put away – I’m free.

He shakes his head, looking at me for a moment before giving a small smile. “No, no you go have fun on your own. I think I might do a bit of reading.”

Dad is an author-cum-playwright; ‘reading’ is code for looking over his old manuscripts and documents. He wrote most of them when mother was alive. It means that he wants to be left alone.

I nod and rush out of the room up the stairs to my bedroom. My sock-covered feet barely make any noise on the landing as I run across it towards my room.

My room is at the very end of the landing, after Dad’s room, the bathroom and Kieran’s room. My door is covered with old stickers and notices, one I wrote when I was five saying ‘KeEp OuT KiRuN.’ Dad left them on there because he finds them amusing. I would have taken them off myself but most are actually glued on.

The door bangs against Kieran’s next to it as I run inside. My homework books are in a clutter on my bed and I start to sort through them, deciding what can wait until later and what should be done now.

I end up beginning English now, Maths can wait until Monday and the others are all due in late next week.

In no time at all I’m finished, the books are away and I’m flying back downstairs.

Dad is already in his study; I can hear the clacking of keys through the door. I tiptoe past out into the hall. I grab my raincoat and tug on my boots before stepping out into the cool October air.

It’s hard not to enjoy life when the weak sun is shining down on you, the wind is fresh in your face and the seagulls are calling to one another above your head. Dad hates seagulls – he says they disturb his trail of thought. I love them.

It doesn’t take long to get from my house to the harbour. Barely fifteen minutes and I am past the tourist area and standing on the docks. Everything is a bustle of energy and movement down here, people coming and going this way and that. It’s hard to keep your own head on straight.

Old Gerard is lounging about in his old rocking chair as usual, looking over all the boats and cursing every sailor who steps onto the dock. “Go to ‘ell with yer, you bunch of jellylegs.” I grin, creeping up behind him, ready to shock him when he lets out a loud ‘harrumph’ and snorts.

“Yer sixteen years too late to be scaring me now yer sea-blown idiot.” I laugh, coming to stand in front of him, bending slightly so we’re eye-to-eye. His own eyes are watery and he’s squinting. I roll my eyes.

“Forgotten your glasses again?”

“Don’t need glasses,” he says stubbornly. “I can see perfectly fine! Its these damn sailors as will have no eyes, all this glaring sun business.”

I look up; the sun is currently hidden behind grey clouds. It makes me frown. There was no talk of a storm on the news this morning...

“You’ll be wearin’ ‘em too before you’re finished missy. All this sea business. Who needs it!”

I’m about to reply when someone taps me on the shoulder. I jump and turn around to face David Cornsly, the man in charge of The Sundown. I look at him hopefully but he just shakes his head at me.

“Sorry Jade, not today.”

“Not any day! You better stop putting bad thoughts into this ‘ere lass’s head.” Normally I’d laugh at the comment but I’m too busy feeling dismayed. Not go out on The Sundown?

“But...but you promised.” I say petulantly, aware that I’m acting like a child but not caring. Cornsly is rubbing the back of his head, opening his mouth to speak before thinking better and trying again.

“I know I did Jade but it’s just no good – none of the boats are going out today. They’d be insane to.” He gestures at the sky as if it will back him up. The sea behind him is silent, as calm as can be – but we both know that can be a lie.

I glare at him; “There was nothing in the news about a storm.”

He gives me a look. “If even a sixteen-year-old girl can feel the oncoming storm then it’s definitely decided.” I sigh, realising I am trying to win a battle I’ve already lost. Even I can see there is no point in arguing further.

“Tomorrow?” I ask optimistically. He nods and I feel my spirits lightening again.

“Tomorrow – if the storm has past,” he cautions. “And you’d better keep off those rocks today Jade. It’s too dangerous.” I nod, too happy at the news to take much notice of his warning. He doesn’t realise that I need the sea. It’s a pull I’m too weak to ignore.

I leave them as Gerard is getting up to go home and Cornsly is beginning to shout orders for everything to be put away before it gets wet. There’s nothing more to do except to watch – and I’m too wired up to do something as banal as watching the sailors pack up.

The cove (‘rocks’ as Cornsly referred to it) isn’t far from the dock; it’s just a small matter of walking around in an arch. Once you leave the dock you turn left and then walk for several minutes. There you meet with the track. Then all you have to do is follow it. You have to watch out for the thistles and bramble bushes that snag at you walk past once you reach a certain part.

It’s not hard but you have to be careful not to miss the turn-in. There is a huge gap in the thistles and brambles where people have trodden them down. Here you have to change direction sharply and then the track abruptly dips downwards.

Dad calls this the ‘drop-stopper’.

When you reach this spot you can see the cove and you’re almost there. All you have to do is walk slowly around the cliff-edge. There’s a small winding dirt path that’s filled with holes and sudden rocks. I’m so used to it that I no longer watch out for them; I know where they are and they can no longer trip me.

Now you’re at the bottom and you have to climb over several large dark rocks. There are eddies and rock pools here between the rocks and large piles of seaweed that become stuck to the rocks when the tide gets too high.

My boots grip onto the rocks easily and I walk across them without accident.

Then I’m on the beach.

Our beach is crescent moon shaped. It is made of flat, white sand and is, without a doubt, my favourite place in the world. Some of the sand is even in my room; I bottled it and brought it home once when I was younger. It sits in pride-of-place on my windowsill.

The beach is quiet now. Even the gulls seem distant. There is only the gentle swish of the sea. The sea is breathing to you. The words are memories that don’t belong to me; they are mothers. Dad used to always tell me that she loved the sea – he still does when he feels up to talking about her at all. I hate it when he tells me, I feel as though I am betraying him by being like her.

But I still love coming here; the sea always quietens my thoughts. It’s peaceful, like falling down into a restful slumber, the best kind of sleep.

The cove is mine, my own special place in the world. The tourists can only have it in the summer when they bring their rubbish and their noise. I sometimes help the naturists to clean up afterwards – they understand that the cove is extraordinary.

It’s beautiful with it’s many coloured, glistening rocks and the soft sand beneath me.

I sit down, pulling off my boots, tugging off my socks and rolling up my jeans. I feel the sand under my feet, cushioning my toes. I move slightly forward and the sea is lapping at my feet, freezing water washing over me.

It’s refreshing. I can feel the lilt of the sea; it’s song of mourning and happiness. The sea can bring everlasting joy and never ending sorrow. Again the words are not my own.

I stamp down on any intruding thoughts before they can fully form.

“Nothing can hurt me here,” I say the words aloud just for the added strength. My words are covered as the sea begins to get louder. I look up and the sky has darkened, it’s angry and purple. Beware the sea for she is a bewildering temptress.

I grind my teeth, paddling further out, trying to shake off the thoughts. If Kieran were around he’d be yelling at me now for my stupidity. You should never walk out into the sea when you know a storm is coming. It is the number one rule when dealing with her daunting waters. I know this and yet I continue to walk out.

I’ve never been one for following rules.

I only stop when the water is coming up to waist. It’s cold; shivers are already working their way over my body. But it’s refreshing and I need the sea’s icy embrace so I stay there, tilting my head back and looking up at the sky.

The clouds are a deep blue now, rolling over one another as if jostling each other. It’s like watching a pair of young siblings fight. Water begins to fall, drop by drop, onto my face but I keep it tilted at the sky.

Drop, drop, drop...

The water is rushing around me faster now, the waves are getting higher, running forward and falling against me. The water is up to my chest but I can’t move. I’m mesmerised, fascinated by the sky.

It’s so freeing to stand in the sea, everything building around me but I can’t move, I can’t even lift my arms.

Drop, drop, drop...

“What the hell are you doing you idiot?!”

The words jolt me and I fall back. The sea quickly swallows me and my lips part in surprise. The sea rushes through. Water and salt enter my mouth, choking me. I try to cough but only succeed in getting more water to come.

I flail. My clothes are weighing me down. Everything is so heavy already. I try to rip my clothes off but it’s hard. The water is slowing my actions, burying my movements.

It takes me a few precious seconds but my coat is off and my arms are moving, straining upwards. I break the surface and gasp in the much-needed air.

It’s hard, the air burns my throat, the salt water stings my eyes. I take another gulp of air before another tower of water breaks and I am under again.

This time I don’t try to fight it, I merely go with the tide flow and find myself washing further out to sea. Panic begins to fill me and I’m a mess of arms and legs. I forget every survival lesson I’ve ever had, struggling back towards the beach. My body is getting more tired though and everything aches. It aches so much...It’s no good.

The sea surrounds me completely and I feel strangely at home. It’s cold and enraged but I welcome it, my arms are open and I’m just resigning myself to the feeling when I feel something tug my middle. It’s like a hook has encircled me and it’s yanking me upwards.

We break the surface and a hand is forcing my face upwards to the sky. I take a deep breath and my rescuer seems satisfied. I am being lead back to the beach before I know it and I can only try and follow, my arms working feebly with theirs. I’m seeing stars and my head is heavy, fogged up with seawater and lack of oxygen.

Then we’re on the beach and I’ve collapsed against the soft sand. My coat is gone, along with my boots and socks but I don’t care. My throat is on fire and my chest is rising and falling hard and fast.

“Calm down,” a voice commands. “Take deep, slow breaths.” A hand is on my chest, holding it as I try to remember how to breathe slowly. As I do my head gradually begins to clear and I look up through salt-encrusted eyes at the blurry figure above me.

It’s dark and I can’t see properly but I have to thank them. Need to thank them.

“You...I...tha...” My voice is a mere croak and the words are harsh. Impossible to make out.

“Shut up,” the voice orders, their hand still steady on my chest as I breathe in and out. Slower now. “Just breathe. Come on, in, out, in, out...”

The words echo in my head as I finally succumb to unconsciousness.

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So what did you all think? Please review and tell me – it’ll make me write faster if anything XD Also, I’ll love you if you can come up with a better title. I’m not entirely 100 happy with the one I have right now. And…well…we all want a happy author right? Right?

(Also: I am not abandoning moonflower, not in the least. This story just came and hit me round the head so hard I couldn’t not write it. Stupid, pushy muses...)