Blue (10 page)

People aren't the best surfers. Dolphins surf way better than people. Some birds surf better than people. But even if people aren't the best surfers, we keep going back because the sea lures us back. Sometimes, when the surf is good and it's all coming off perfectly, it feels as if the saltwater of your body is responding to the sea; is part of it, even.

I had a text from Zeke asking me to bring my favorite shortboard to Fistral. I got suited up and left the house with my six-foot-two-inch board, as the surf report said the waves were a little blown-out and messy.

The first person I saw was Anders.

“Hey there, blue flower,” he said, in a sing-songy way, as if I wasn't the girl who was responsible for putting Zeke in the hospital.

“Hiya, what's happening? Everything OK?” I said, looking around for Zeke.

“Everything's dandy. So, are you ready?”

“Huh?” I said, still not quite awake even after two breakfast espressos.

“Didn't Zeke tell you? Today's the day.”

“What day? Zeke hasn't said anything.”

“Billabong surf trial! Wonder Boy probably didn't want you to be nervous. Anyway, you're only up against three others, so it won't take too long. What we're looking for is raw natural talent.”

I looked down to the waterline, where three girls were doing stretches. One of them had red hair, and as she turned to look at one of the lifeguards—who was nagging the bodyboarders yet again to get the hell out of the surfing area and back in between the red-and-yellow flags—I saw that the girl was Saskia.

“What's she doing here?” I said to Anders.

“Saskia?”

“I thought she was Zeke's PA?”

“Oh, she's my PA, although she helps out Zeke too. But she only took the job to get a foot in the pro-surf scene. She's a total shredhead. Her parents took her on international surfing trips from day one. Spent every vacation at some big surf break or other. She wants to be a pro-surfer and she's learning everything she can from Zeke. She worships the ground Sonny Boy walks on.”

“Have they ever gone out?” I asked casually.

“I don't know. You'd have to ask them. Doubt it though.”

“Why?”

“She isn't his type.”

And what is his type exactly?
I wanted to ask, but didn't.

Anders walked me down to the other girls. Saskia didn't look at me and I knew she could tell I was annoyed. Neither she nor
Zeke had said a word about her being a surfer. To look at her you'd think she'd never got past her big toe in the sea, what with all the make-up and glam hair.

I caught the eye of the girl next to me, who had a strong build and wavy brown hair.

“How's it going?” I said.

“A bit edgy. What about you?” She had a local accent.

“Not too bad. Where's your home break?”

“Hayle, St. Ives Bay. Fistral's way busier.”

“Just keep your head up and your eyes open and you'll be fine.”

“I'm Jenny, by the way.”

“Iris.”

Anders interrupted. “Now, girlies, I'm going to be generous and give you twenty minutes to get some decent rides. The two girls to score the highest will keep our interest. The remaining two we won't be pursuing. Is that clear?”

The girls nodded. We all knew what it meant. The next twenty minutes would be brutal competition.

Two young male surfers joined the group.

“My eyes and spies,” Anders said, in a mock-villain voice.

Anders had a pair of binoculars hanging around his neck, but that wasn't good enough apparently. His two assistants would paddle out with us, with tiny head cameras to record us. “In case there's any doubt or argument later,” Anders explained.

This was worse than any job interview. We hadn't even stepped in the water, but my heart was already racing.

Before I'd met Zeke I'd never thought of trying to be a serious surfer, making a career out of it, and suddenly I was facing the most important twenty minutes of my life.

A whistle materialized in Anders's hand and we were racing to the water's edge. One of the girls, the blond one, turned her ankle in a dip and lagged behind. Saskia was ahead, faster and stronger than I'd expected.

The waves were total zippers, coming in fast, too close together for my liking, but I didn't have any choice about when I could show off my moves, so this was it. In the impact zone we all duck-dived, pushing our boards down with straight arms and then sinking down over them to avoid the massive waves breaking on our heads.

When we came up after a particularly gnarly wave, I saw the blond girl had taken on water and was in trouble. I shouted to ask if she needed help but she shook her head and continued to paddle out. Saskia had made it through the impact zone and was approaching the line-up.

The sea had settled a little so I paddled over toward Saskia, positioning myself behind one of the best sandbars. The brunette girl, Jenny, had made up the distance and was just off my ankle. The blond girl was miles behind, having lost her nerve and her concentration apparently.

Something changed in the water and I could sense that another set was close. I don't know how. It's just one of the things you pick up with enough time in the water. Where it would hit first was anybody's guess. Saskia turned to paddle north and I turned south. She was right and caught the wave, managing a ten-second ride in which she showed off some serious muscle. I kicked myself for having chosen the wrong spot, but vowed to take the next wave. I had to do well. I wouldn't get a second chance.

Another wave came in and the chase was on. Saskia and I saw it at the exact same moment. It was a paddle battle. Whichever one of us got there first would catch the wave, and once they had it and popped up, the other one couldn't drop in. Surf etiquette said whoever was nearest the crest of the breaking wave owned it, and everyone else had to back off. So if she got there first, she'd win again.

We were shoulder to shoulder, paddling hard, when I felt my board shift to the right. Saskia's leg had caught it and nudged it away. Accident or deliberate? I couldn't tell. She was now a good foot ahead of me and at the speed she was paddling, there was no catching her. Paddling is an art and one she had mastered. Her board skimmed perfectly over the water, her weight precisely centered.

She caught the wave and stayed on it for ages. So in five minutes Saskia had caught two rides, whereas me and the other two girls had caught none.

Saskia was so long on the wave that she had to paddle out through the whole of the impact zone again. She'd made a mistake. I'd have a good few minutes to catch the best wave I could before she elbowed her way into the line-up again. This was my chance.

Jenny and I paddled for the same wave but I got there first, and as soon as I was up I could feel that it had power. The wave was a little short and the ride bumpy and fast, so I didn't have long to show Anders and his spies what I could do. I bottom-turned, traveled up the face a little way, pulled a super-sharp cutback and then leaned my weight backward in the whitewater for a layback snap, only just managing to right myself to vertical. A few more seconds and I was done.

I hadn't gone too far toward shore and Saskia was still getting slammed in the zone, although thirty seconds more and she'd be clear of it. I was out of breath and my arms were feeling the strain of such full-on paddling, but I had to get out back before she did. Jenny was up on a wave and showing quality, and I went for the next one. This ride was even better. It was more controlled and I was able to show some of the sixties-style soul-surfer moves that I'd seen in the old films. It was good to do tricks, but people also liked to see smoothness in a ride, not just shredding a wave, but respecting and flowing with it. I hoped I'd shown some range.

The clumsy girl caught two very short rides where she didn't show anything much, and Jenny caught a right, and went frontside, cutting into the wave confidently. Saskia was trying out every move in the trick book and, apart from one wave, where she wiped out spectacularly, she was amazing, it had to be said, and I hated her for it: the girl could surf. If I was a 5, she was a 7.5, easy.

I'd just have to train harder. Go running. Do more yoga. Build up my strength and my stamina. It was worth it. If I got through this phase, and there was no guarantee that I would, I would have to cross-train to become the fittest possible version of me.

Jenny and I were about evenly matched, so I had no idea if I'd made it through.

Anders was waving his hands on the beach to tell us the time was up and we caught our last waves to shore, just for the fun of it, as anything we did now, even a perfect ride, wouldn't count. We'd done what we could, and the rest was out of our hands.

The young boys were ahead of us, already on the beach and conferring with Anders, who looked particularly indecisive.
Saskia was a given. But me or Jenny? That had to be what he was thinking about. I looked at Saskia and wondered how many hours she trained each day. Whatever she had done had worked, as Anders called her name first.

“The other surfer we'd like to pursue is . . .”

At that moment his phone rang.

“Sorry, girls, I have to take this. I won't be long. Promise!”

Saskia was the creamy-whiskered cat, beaming like she'd won Wavemasters.

Me and Jenny looked at each other nervously. The other girl was getting out of her wetsuit and straightening her bikini, beaten before she'd even heard the verdict. She overturned her board, so the fins were up, then stretched back on the sand next to it to catch some rays, looking totally relaxed now that the stress of the trial was over.

Anders was frowning on the phone. None of us could hear what he was saying, but he didn't look happy. He hung up and walked back to us. With no preamble, he said, “The second girl is Iris.”

“Sorry,” I said, turning to Jenny. “You were really good.”

Jenny looked absolutely gutted and there were tears in her eyes, but she mumbled, “No worries. Only been surfing a year. I'll keep at it.”

“Yeah, do that, and if you're ever in Newquay, Facebook me and we'll go shredding together. I'm the Iris Fox with a profile picture of a pimped-out camper van, so send me a friend request?”

“Thank you. I will.”

I was buzzing, but a bit confused. Who had been on the phone? Was it Zeke? Was he watching from somewhere?

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth is what people say, but I couldn't help but think that it wasn't supposed to be me. Had I got in because of Zeke? Was he pulling strings behind the scenes?
Did Jenny or the other girl ever really have a chance? And if not, why go through the charade of including them?

Both of Zeke's friends were in the final two. Saskia deserved to be. I didn't much like the girl, but I couldn't say she was in first place because of nepotism. She was pure class. In Saskia I'd found another surfer I could learn from. In a different universe, obviously. In this one we were competition and I couldn't stand the sight of her, let alone her grating voice and general bossiness.

Anders was filling in a form on a clipboard and he didn't look up when I approached. I cleared my throat.

“Is Zeke here?”

He looked around. “Doesn't look like it, darlin'.”

“Where is he?”

Anders brought up a schedule on his phone and pointed to the screen.

“There you are. Zeke has some film-fest thing today. Managed to get him in on it at the last minute. He actually has a small part in one of the festival films. Some eco-documentary about a surf crew trying to stop the dolphin slaughter in Taiji, Japan. The event is at the, er, Lighthouse Cinema—know it?”

I nodded.

I walked across the beach, looking out for Kelly, who was supposed to be covering Fistral and Little Fistral that day. During school vacations she worked as an ice-cream seller, which was cash in the hand and good money, but in the pickle of ten thousand tourists, I couldn't make her out.

I cut through town and made a beeline for the cinema, which was a swanky building, all white walls and steel. I stashed my board in a bike rack, crossing my fingers that it would still be
there when I got out. Walking down the steps into the foyer, I could hear music.

There were hordes of people inside the cinema, all dressed in their finest. Even the mayor was swanning around with her ridiculous chain around her neck. The organizers had gone berserk decorating the room. There were posters and boards plastered everywhere for various surf films. It was apparently the first British Surf Film Festival, so they were pulling out all the stops. A long table was set with canapés and I grabbed a handful and wolfed them down while checking out a display of weird five-fin surfboards called bonzers.

I pushed my way through the foyer to the back of the building and saw Zeke signing autographs for the crowd. To the left of him, three women who looked like they'd just finished a shift at a strip club were demonstrating the Tahitian hula. Zeke looked up and smiled at the nearest one, who was edging closer and closer to him, her hips flying around like she was Shakira.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice said.

I turned to see a short, bald man glaring up at me.

“Yep?”

“You can't wear a wetsuit in here. Don't you know this is a VIP charity event? Do you even have a ticket?”

“I'm just here to see my, um, boyfriend,” I said.

There. It was out of my mouth.
Boyfriend
.

“And does he have a ticket?”

“Doubt he needs one. He's over there, signing autographs.”

A ripple of shock passed over his face, and then he looked at Zeke, looked back at me, and smirked.

“On your way, darlin',” he said. “Come back when you've got some proper clothes and twenty-three dollars for a ticket.”

A few people were starting to stare, and I really didn't want Zeke to spot me in an argument with the manager of the cinema.

Outside, I took a deep breath and tried to remember the calming yoga breathing I'd learned at Hotel Serenity. I'd have to do more yoga. Seemed like it was the only thing that could counteract the craziness of Zeke's world.

I grabbed my board and walked past the gift shops and arcades, stepping into the road a few times because the streets were so busy with tourists.

Just before the North Shore surf shop, I turned left and swung up the hill to Sainsbury's. I went straight to the newsstand.

The August issue of
Cosmo Girl
was out.

I rested my board against the newspaper stand and flicked through the copy and there was Zeke, totally naked except for a two-foot long skimboard. The photo was in black and white, but you could still see how light his eyes were, and how his hair was bleached on the ends from the sun.

Rae would go nuts for it. It was a beautiful picture that captured his chilled-out vibe, as well as his six-pack. The magazine was five dollars, but I always kept emergency change in the Velcro pocket of my board's leash, so I dug it out and then got in line at the kiosk to pay.

As the woman took my money and put the magazine in a bag, I tried to work out just how sad it would be to Blu-Tack the picture to my bedroom wall. It would be nice to see Zeke last thing at night and first thing in the morning, but then I thought about my mom's reaction and figured she'd never stop laughing.

I walked slowly back to my house, since I had nowhere else to go.

Sitting on my doorstep in the blazing sun and midday heat was Daniel.

I stopped short of him and stared. He was sitting with his arms around his knees and his head turned to one side, like he was napping. His face still had faded bruises from the fight at the Headland Hotel and his nose had a new kink in the middle—from Garrett punching and breaking it, I guessed. He hadn't put wax in his hair and it was fluffy, like a little kid's.

When he looked up at me, I could see he was upset.

“Iris,” he said, his voice cracking, my name coming out of his mouth like a plea.

“Get lost.”

“I need you. You're the only one who gets me.”

“I don't ‘get you.' I don't know you at all. The boy I knew would never have carried a knife, let alone stabbed someone with it.”

He put his face in his hands, and when he finally looked up, his face was wet with tears.

“What's wrong?” I said, knowing I should just ignore him and go inside.

“Dunno what I'm doing anymore,” he said. “Everything I do is messed up. No wonder everyone hates me. I hate me. You'd all be better off if I stuck a rope around my neck like my old man.”

He looked and sounded so sad, and I heard myself say, “Damn it, Daniel. All right, come in. Five minutes, that's all.”

Kelly and my mom would be upset, and yeah, I'd promised myself I'd never speak to Daniel again, but something was going
on, and whatever had happened, whatever mistakes he'd made, we'd once loved each other.

I got up and led him into the living room, which was messy with scattered magazines and newspapers. He sat down on the sofa and looked at the floor.

“I'm really sorry about the Hawaiian dude. Zach, is it?”

“Zeke. And you put him in the hospital. You know that, right?”

“I was so wasted, Iris. I didn't know what I was doing, did I?”

“Course you didn't.”

“OK, OK. So I was jealous.”

“That's no excuse.”

“I know. And now everything is just . . . shit.”

“Is it Cass? Has something happened?” I already knew that they'd been arguing. What was I fishing for? Details? Complimentary comparisons?

“No. Yeah. It's her
and
you.”

“Me? What've I done wrong?”

“Nothing.”

My mom walked into the room then, her face bright red, and she said one word: “
Out
.”

“Chill, woman,” I said.

She gave me a withering look. “You are on thin ice, Iris Fox. Wafer thin.”

“Don't worry. I'm gone,” Daniel said.

“Mom, just let him stay a bit longer.”

“After what he did to you? After very nearly killing poor Zeke?”

“He messed up. He knows that.”

Daniel had pushed past me and was in the hall making for the front door.

“People make mistakes,” I said.

“Yes, and he made one when he decided to show his face in this house. I don't want to see that lunatic here ever again, and that's final.”

Daniel didn't shut the door behind him and I saw him walking up the hill toward Pentire, collar up, head down, as if the whole world was against him.

The thing about Daniel was that he was damaged. I'd always known it. It was to do with his dad. Something had happened that was so bad that Daniel just couldn't get over it.

My dad was an artist, so obviously he had his quirks. My mom said all artists were useless and covered their desire to be lazy with pretty paints and fancy words. My dad quoted Vonnegut and said that artists were necessary to society as they were so sensitive. That they were like canaries in the mines—they would keel over before tougher types had sensed anything was wrong. My dad didn't keel over but he did walk out. He told my mom that she stifled his imagination. He kissed me on the forehead for a long time, and told me that he loved me unconditionally.

He didn't love me enough though, because he left, even when I begged him to stay. When I called for him, he carried on walking to his car and he drove away.

My mom spent the next day watching
South Pacific
and singing her own tuneless versions of “Bali Ha'i,” “Happy Talk” and “I'm Gonna Wash that Man Right Outa My Hair.” It was more disturbing than if she'd sat crying.

Daniel's dad was a different thing altogether. He was a drunk but he was also a character. When his local pub lifted the dog ban and his friends started bringing in their mongrels, he double-checked with the landlord that pets were welcome, then came back later and rode in on a beach donkey. My aunt was working the bar and said it was legendary.

But one day he left the pub in his car and drove so fast through two eleven-year-old boys on a crosswalk that they both died. He went to prison for five years, and when he got out the families of the dead boys made his life a misery. And rightly so, everyone said. Various uncles and nephews took turns knocking seven shades of shit out of him whenever they could, and one day Daniel's dad sat in his local boozer and told everyone he was going home to kill himself. He couldn't take it anymore. Living was too hard. His friends laughed it off, thinking it was just the talk of a man who'd had one drink too many. Nobody tried to stop him. Nobody called Daniel's mom to warn her.

Daniel was with his mom when she found him. Daniel was three steps behind her so she couldn't stop him from seeing his dad's motionless legs. He hanged himself from the landing light. Daniel was only twelve. You can't erase that kind of sadness. It stays. It didn't make Daniel a bad person. It just made him a person who needed second, third and fourth chances.

Nobody else could see that about Daniel, but I knew it. I wondered how Cass was dealing with Daniel's sadness. It was a burden, and it was one I'd taken seriously. I'd thought that with enough time and love I could heal him.

Daniel sensed that, which was why he'd always kept such a tight grip on my hand. I was his everything. Part of him hated me for it too.

The wind slammed the front door and made me jump. My mom sighed and went to make us a pot of tea. Tea solved everything in her world.

I stashed the
Cosmo Girl
in a stack of surf magazines and then locked myself in the bathroom and submerged myself in a hot bath. My head was throbbing with the emotion of the day and for twenty minutes I opted out of it all. Out of Daniel, Zeke, Cass, Saskia and out of the competition.

For twenty minutes it was just me in stillness.