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45
Then
Nikki stood at the top of the steps. They were precarious at the best of times, let alone in a high wind with the rain almost horizontal, driving little needles straight onto her eyelids. The television and radio had been rife with severe weather warnings all day. No one with any sense was out in it. You’d have to be mad. Maybe she was? She sometimes thought so. But she hadn’t seen him for over a week, what with one thing and another, so here she was, scrambling down, her sneakers slipping on the wet stones, the shale at the edges providing no purchase, nothing to cling on to but a few scrubby branches of gorse.
When she’d left town earlier, the waves were coming up over the harbour wall, hurling themselves over the railings in a spectacular display of petulance. The wind careened around the winding streets as if hunting someone down, relentless and unforgiving, letting out a high-pitched moan. Speedwell was battening down its hatches, shops shutting early, sandbags in doorways, cars moving away from the edge of the quay. Everyone knew the drill. No one ignored the warnings.
No doubt tomorrow, it would be as if nothing had happened. The sun would come out and the sea would be tranquil and nonchalant. The tourists would emerge, eager to make up for a day spent indoors on jigsaws and holiday paperbacks. The tills would ring merrily again: postcards and fudge and ice creams.
But for today, the storm raged on.
At the bottom, she jumped onto the sand. The sea was a murky, bruised blue, swirling and surging at random. It didn’t seem to know where it wanted to go, as dangerous and unpredictable as a drunk at throwing-out time. She put up a hand to wipe her face. It was impossible to know what was rain, what was salt spray and what was her tears. When had she started to cry again? She mustn’t. She had to hold it together, or he would take her in his arms and kiss those tears away and her resolution would crumble.
She’d made up her mind. It was the solution with the least collateral damage. He wouldn’t be able to argue with her logic. Sometimes in life you had to make a sacrifice. You had to do the noble thing.
She took in a gulp of air to try to calm herself, pressing her body against the cliff as she edged along towards the rocks that formed their hiding place. She knew the shoreline like the back of her hand, even though it changed with every turn of the tide, every phase of the moon, the sand and the rocks shifting and morphing, the colours melting into each other. She knew its smell, that hit of briny, brackish air like opening an oyster. The feel of the sand that branded the soles of your feet in the midday summer sun but would be cold and hard as iron if she stepped on it now. The noise of the waves: now a menacing boom, but on a warm night they would whisper gently as you drifted off to sleep. She tried not to think about the fact that this was the last time she would see him like this.
In secret.
On their secret beach.
She looked back at the steps to see if he was there yet. That was the price of being early. You were always the one waiting. She’d never been the kind of person to leave things to the last minute. To saunter in without a care in the world, like her sister Jess would.
Jess …
She tucked herself in behind a rock, its surface studded with rings of bright green lichen, wondering where he was, panicking that something might have happened to stop him coming.
There! There he was, standing at the top, his hood up but offering him scant protection. His hand was shielding his eyes from the rain as he scanned the beach below, looking for her. He didn’t know yet that this was the last time they’d be together. Maybe she shouldn’t tell him? Maybe she should slip away quietly into her new life? No. She needed to say goodbye. Look into his rockpool eyes. Feel herself become part of him as she put her mouth on his. Let their heartbeats mingle, dancing out of time with each other, his always slow and steady, hers out of control.
He was jumping off the last steps, light on his feet, almost balletic, bounding onto the beach and across the sand until he reached her. She felt the usual leap of joy, her face lighting up, but he was frowning.
‘We shouldn’t be here.’ He tugged at her elbow. ‘It’s dangerous. Come on.’
‘It’s fine.’ She pulled him back towards her.
‘It’s insane. No one should be out in this.’
‘Rik.’ She spoke urgently, trying to capture his attention. ‘We need to talk. I’ve made a decision.’
He looked at her, puzzled, as if life was perfectly straightforward and there was no need for any discussion. As if they didn’t spend half their time together agonising over what to do.
‘I’m leaving Speedwell.’ Three words. There was no need to say any more, really. Not when, or where. Certainly not why.
‘No.’ He shook his head.
‘We don’t have a choice.’ She was surprised how calm she sounded. ‘I’ve got a job on a cruise ship. Leaving Southampton on Tuesday.’ The thought of setting sail in less than a week was terrifying. But if she went to sea, he couldn’t follow her. She’d been amazed how easy it had been to get a job. Two phone calls. They’d been impressed with her admin skills. Offered her a post as a junior purser. In less than a week, she’d have a uniform, a cabin, a whole new life. Without him.
He slumped back against the rock, shutting his eyes. She pressed herself up against him, putting her hands on his cheeks.
‘Don’t make it harder for me than it already is.’
He nodded, without opening his eyes. He couldn’t look at her. She wiped a runaway tear from his face with her thumb, pressed her mouth onto his, warming his frozen lips with her kisses, feeling the strength of his arms as they wound around her waist, relishing the hardness of his thigh between her legs as they became entwined. She wanted to breathe him in until they were one person. Maybe that was the answer? To shape shift into another life?
Suddenly something vibrated against her hip. She jumped back as he went to grab the pager in his pocket.
‘Shit.’ He punched the rock with his fist. Then he looked at her, and pushed the pager back into his pocket. He didn’t move.
‘Rik?’
