Lucas (14 page)

‘Jesus …' said Dad, shaking his head in admiration.

I looked at him. ‘His name's Lucas.'

‘Lucas?'

‘The fine-looking boy on the bridge … remember?'

We looked at each other for a moment. There were a hundred questions in Dad's eyes, but we both knew it wasn't the time for questions. We turned our attention back to the beach where Lucas was striding from the waves with the girl in his arms. The storm had died quite suddenly. It was still raining, but the howling wind had dropped and the air was calm. People had gathered on the ledge above the beach and were looking on with stunned expressions on their faces –
who is he? where did he come from? what's he doing?

Lucas didn't seem to notice them. He laid the girl in the sand and knelt down beside her. She looked pale and weak, but her eyes were open and I could see her head moving. The sad little black bikini she was wearing had been pulled all over the place by the waves. The top was skewed over one shoulder and the bottom was halfway down her thighs.

Perhaps if she'd been in a worse state, not breathing or badly injured, Lucas wouldn't have bothered trying to make her decent. He'd have just got her into the safe position and started artificial respiration. But she
was
breathing, and she wasn't choking or vomiting, and there were people looking on, so what harm could it do to cover her up, to make her look respectable?

What harm could it do?

Probably none – if the girl's mother hadn't appeared on the beach at the very moment he was gently rearranging her clothes.

Her voice rang out in anger.
‘What are you doing! Get away from her! GET AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!'

A
t the sound of the voice, Lucas looked up. The woman was bearing down on him across the sand, her eyes bulging, her lank hair blowing in the wind, and her face twisted with rage. She was brandishing a rolled-up regatta programme in her hand and screaming like a banshee.

‘YOU PERVERT!… GET AWAY!… GO ON!…'

Lucas was too shocked to move. Soaked to the skin, with the little girl shivering beside him and the storm raging all around, he stared at the woman with a dazed look of confused innocence on his face … what? what's happening? what have I done? what's
wrong
?

The woman was closing. ‘Get away, Kylie … you get away from him
NOW
!'

The girl was still groggy and frightened, and the sudden shriek of her mother's voice made her shrink into Lucas's arms. Lucas responded instinctively with a gentle hug and a reassuring smile – and then the woman whacked him across the head with her rolled-up programme.

‘Leave her ALONE!'
she hissed in his face.

On the ledge, someone laughed nervously.

Lucas stood up and backed away.

‘I wasn't hurting her,' he said simply.

The woman whacked him again, then yanked her daughter's bikini into shape and started dragging her up the beach, her cold eyes fixed on Lucas. ‘You – I know
what you are. You dirty little
bastard!'

Lucas was speechless. He looked around openmouthed at the people on the ledge. They looked back at him, dead-eyed, saying nothing. They didn't want to know. It was nothing to do with them.

While all this was happening I just stood there looking down, too numb to do anything. A sense of unreality had gripped me, removing me from the moment. It was as if I was watching a film or a play. It was happening, it was there, but I wasn't part of it. I couldn't participate. I was too far away. All I could do was look down in disbelief as the nightmare scene unfolded on the beach.

The woman had made her retreat and was standing her ground at the top of the beach, breathless and wild-eyed. Her daughter was standing beside her, sobbing and shaking, pulling pathetically at the straps of her bikini. The people on the ledge were beginning to murmur among themselves. There were about twenty or thirty of them now. I couldn't see Angel or Brendell or Bill, but I could see Jamie and Sara standing at the back. Jamie had put his jumper back on and seemed to have regained his poise. He was in control of himself again, talking calmly to a young couple from the village, pointing at the beach, explaining something, shaking his head with concern. Meanwhile, Sara had separated herself and was standing to one side studying the crowd. Her face was gripped with that strange emotionless passion I'd noticed earlier, like it was all just a game to her, a distant game. The game of the crowd, the dynamics of the crowd …

The crowd …

Crowds are strange things. A crowd has a collective mind of its own, a mind that ignores the sense of its constituent parts and thrives on the lowest passions. The
crowd had seen what had happened, they'd seen Lucas diving in to save the girl, they knew the truth – but the truth to a crowd is soon forgotten. The passion of the woman's actions had set doubts in their mind. The collective mind was taking over. I could see it turning. I could see the way they were looking at Lucas, and I could imagine their thoughts –
well, he must have done
something
wrong. Why else would the kid's mother be so angry? Look at him, look at his eyes – he's scared. The boy's scared. If he didn't do anything, why's he so scared? Yeah, he must have done something wrong …

Lucas was beginning to move away, backing off towards the rocks, and that only made it worse – an admission of his guilt. The crowd seemed to sense it, gathering a voice, and this gave the girl's mother more confidence and she started yelling again. ‘Don't think you'll get away with this, you dirty little
perv
. I seen you, we all seen what you was doing – I'm getting the police on to you. Yeah – go on, that's it, run away. Not so
big
, now, are you?' She spat in the sand. ‘God, people like you make me
sick
. I'm getting the police …'

The wind had started up again. Gusts of sand and rain were swirling in the air, turning the sky grey. I looked down through the mist and saw Lucas quietly melting away into the rocks at the base of the cliff. The woman was still calling after him. The crowd was still looking on. But at least no one was going after him.

At least no one was going after him
… ?

I couldn't believe what I was thinking. He'd saved the girl's life while everyone else did nothing. He'd saved her
life
… and now I was breathing a sigh of relief because
no one was going after him
.

It was unbelievable.

‘I have to talk to him,' I said, turning to go.

Dad grabbed my arm. ‘Whoa – not so fast.'

‘I have to talk to him, Dad. You saw what happened—'

‘Hold on, Cait. Calm down.'

‘But I have to go after him—'

He looked me in the eye. ‘Just calm down a minute. Look at me …' His voice was quiet. Rain dripped from his brow. ‘Cait … look at me. You're not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on.'

‘Nothing's going on.'

‘How do you know this boy?'

‘There isn't
time
, Dad—'

‘Make time,' he said calmly.

I looked into his eyes and sighed. ‘I met him yesterday on the beach. We talked … we just talked about things. He's a good person, Dad. It's not fair—'

‘Whereabouts on the beach?'

‘Round by the bay at the Point … he was fishing for crabs.'

‘Crabs?'

‘We just talked about things … he's just like …'

‘Just like what?'

I was going to say – he's just like you. But that felt wrong, so I didn't. I said, ‘You'd like him if you met him. He's good, Dad. Honestly. You saw what he did. That little girl would have died if it wasn't for him. No one else was going to do anything. And then that stupid woman comes along—'

‘You can't blame her, Cait. She was only trying to protect her girl.'

‘But Lucas didn't do anything—'

‘I know, love.' He squeezed my hand. ‘Look, don't worry – I'll have a word with her. I'll explain what
happened. I'm sure she'll understand.'

‘Will you talk to her now?'

He thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

I looked at him. ‘I have to go after him, Dad. Before it's too late …'

‘Too late for what?'

I gazed out over the beach. The rain was coming down in billowing sheets that merged the landscape to a colourless blur. I could just make out the darkened outline of the cliffs, but everything else was a blanket of grey. No perspective, no height, no distance, no sky, no sea, no solid ground … just a shifting wall of rain.

‘Where will he go?' Dad asked.

‘I don't know,' I admitted. ‘The woods, probably.'

‘Across from the Point?'

I nodded.

He shook his head. ‘You're not going there.'

‘If I go now, I can catch him up on the beach.'

Dad looked hesitant.

‘Please,' I begged. ‘I only want to talk to him … it won't take long. I just want to make sure he's all right. Please …?'

Thinking back on it now, I realise how difficult a decision it was for Dad. Logically, he should have said no. All his instincts must have been telling him to say no. Why on earth should he let his fifteen-year-old daughter go running off after a strange young man in the middle of a storm? Why should he trust her?

Why?

Because he loved her.

‘Go on, then,' he said at last. There was a touch of sadness in his voice, and for a moment it crossed my mind not to go. It was reckless, it was unfair, it was stupid and selfish … but then Dad wiped a drop of rain from my
cheek and smiled. ‘Don't let me down, Cait. I'm putting more faith in you than I can afford to lose.'

‘Don't worry, Dad.' I kissed him. ‘Thanks.'

‘Right, well I'd better go and have a word with the mad lady. You take the dog with you. I'll see you back at the house … if you're not back by six …'

But I couldn't hear him, I was already halfway across the field.

There's something exhilarating about a storm-drenched beach, and despite all the mixed-up emotions that churned inside me I couldn't help smiling as I ran along the sand with Deefer beside me, with the waves crashing on the shore and the song of the wind howling in the rain. It was energising, it made me want to shout and fly. The beach was raw and deserted, and it wasn't hard to imagine myself the only person in the world, running on the only beach in the world, beneath the only cliffs, next to the only sea … This is how it must have been a hundred thousand years ago, I thought. No people, no cars, no brass bands, no games, no hate, no twisted hearts … just this, the seasons and the skies and the rain and wind and tides … things without grown spirit. Nothing to remember or want. Light. Darkness. A heartbeat. No words to think. No unnatural emotion. Nothing but cold and hunger to avoid. No tomorrow. No names, no history, nowhere to go. Nothing to do.

Nothing to do but run.

I ran.

Down the cliff path, through the fences and streams, along the west beach beneath the height of the cliffs, then across the sea wall and out onto the east side of the beach where the sand turned to shingle that crunched
satisfyingly beneath my feet.

Now I felt at home.

This was my world, my beach, my island.

This was my time.

I slowed to a walk, edging up to the higher ground near the saltmarshes where the going was easier. Deefer followed me. His coat had fluffed up and darkened in the rain, and as he loped across the strandline, with his tongue lolling out and his eyes wild in the wind, he looked like a primitive beast.

Halfway along the beach I paused to wipe the moisture from my face. I couldn't tell if it was rain or sweat.

The storm was easing off a little. Although it was still raining hard, the sky had lifted enough to let me see where I was going. I looked out across the beach. Tall grasses waved in the wind and the sand was shifting close to the ground. Specks of debris were tumbling around on the strandline – discarded floats, bits of plastic and cardboard, the empty husks of whelk's eggs.

There was no sign of Lucas. No visible sign, anyway.

This might sound stupid, but I could sense his presence. There was an invisible – yet perceivable – trail in the air. Like a transparent tunnel, or the wake of a fish in the sea. I could see it, and yet I couldn't see it. I could sense it. It followed the shoreline, just beyond the reach of the waves, looping and swerving here and there to avoid rocky outcrops and sandbanks, before disappearing into the gloom, heading in the direction of the Point.

I cut down to the shoreline and followed the trail. Even when I couldn't see it – and sometimes I couldn't – Deefer could. He trotted along the invisible tunnel with his head held high and his tail wagging, and I jogged along behind him.

As we passed along it, the trail folded in on itself and faded away, its purpose served.

I was rounding the Point when I heard Deefer bark. It was that strange new bark of his, the one from the clifftop, but now I knew what it meant. I looked up and saw Lucas about fifty metres ahead of us, just beginning to cross the mud flats. In the haze of rain and misted sea, it looked for a moment as if he was walking on water.

I called out, ‘Lucas! Hey, Lucas!'

He turned and peered through the rain. I waved, but he didn't wave back. It's the rain hat and cape, I thought. He doesn't recognise me.

‘It's Cait,' I shouted. ‘Cait McCann.'

He still didn't make any acknowledgement. He just stood there, a distant green statue in the rain. It was then I started thinking that perhaps I was making a huge mistake, that I was making a fool of myself. I mean, what was I
thinking
? Why on earth would he want to talk to
me
? What was I to him? I was nobody, just some stupid girl he met on the beach, another dumb islander. I was no better than the rest of them … hell, he probably didn't even remember me.