Sea Change (20 page)

John and Simon
sat down on the narrow bench that ran along the left of the
wheelhouse, each grabbing on to the windowsill to stop themselves
from falling off as the boat carried on through the rollercoaster
waves. Sal stood at the wheel, fighting it as if it were alive,
peering out into the rain. After a while, Simon couldn't control
himself any longer.

"How are you
going to know when we're there, Sal?"

"Tell you what
to watch out for," she said. "You know the line of rocks runs out
from the beach near the Hole? At the sea-end they're about a metre
higher than the beach. You know the ones I mean. I'm going to try
and get alongside the end of them, can't take the boat in any
closer. If I get it right, John might be able to jump down, use
them as stepping stones to get above the high water mark."

"And if you get
it wrong?"

"I'll rip the
bottom of the boat out on the rocks and we'll all drown. Now, you
want to keep talking to me in here, and distracting me, or do you
want to get out there and look out for the bloody rocks, or the
Hole, the beach, anything. You might get a little wet, and you
probably want to hold on tight. If you fall in I don't think I'd be
able to turn around and find you again."

Simon made a
face at John but didn't say anything else. They struggled outside,
wind plucking at their clothes, spray crashing over their faces.
They carried on talking even though they couldn't hear each other
from the moment they stepped outside, carried on shouting across to
each other even though the wind snatched their words and threw them
far away back towards the shore, because it stopped the fear that
waited to leap on them as soon as they let it, taking them over and
filling them with its poison.

John fumbled
along the narrow deck between the wheelhouse and the side of the
boat, fingers wrapping tight around anything that he could find
that might stop him from being pitched into the dark water that
surged all around him. When the boat went into the trough of a
wave, the water rose on each side until it seemed to be everywhere
at once, as if they had left the surface without knowing it, and
were descending into an endless clash and roil of water.

John found a
space just to the front of the wheelhouse and crouched down,
holding on to the thick rope that ran along the top of the side
rail with one hand, using the other to keep wiping the spray from
his eyes. He looked across at the other side of the boat, and Simon
wasn't there.

For a moment
John felt his insides turn cold, Simon could have been swept off
the side and into the water without him or Sal hearing him cry, and
even now he would be struggling in the sea metres behind them,
watching them disappear into the night as the waves pulled him
under. Then he breathed again as Simon staggered into view from the
other side of the cabin, giving John a quick thumbs up which he
promptly abandoned as the boat bucked again and Simon was forced to
grab hold.

They clung on
to the boat and peered out into the darkness, seeing nothing but
water and foam, not much to distinguish the sky from the sea. We'll
never see anything, John thought. God, how do we even know that Sal
has brought us to the right place, it's like a needle in a
haystack, she's only been out once or twice. Even if we find it,
we've got to find our way back to the land and get back into the
harbour without being smashed to pieces. He thought of the boat's
struggle through the waves, and he thought of trying to aim it back
in through the harbour walls, like launching a paper plane in a
storm and hoping it could fly through a letterbox. Then he saw
it.

A finger of
white foam, touched by the moonlight, stretching out from the
shore.

John and Simon
both looked across the boat at each other, to check to see whether
the other had seen it, to make sure that they weren't just
imagining it. Then they both looked out again. The beach was hidden
by the waves and then darkness, and for a moment John thought no,
we were both mistaken, and then the boat rose on the waves and they
saw it again. John hammered on the side of the wheelhouse,
shouting, "This way, this way, to the right." He could see the dim
shape of Sal inside through the water-streaked wheelhouse window,
but didn't know if she had heard him. He fought his way to the
door, racing before they overshot it, but Simon beat him to it,
exploding through the door and shouting, "We're near—I can see the
beach above high water mark."

"Watch for the
rocks," Sal said, "Get back out and watch for the rocks. I'm going
to take us in."

Chapter
Seventeen

Sal hauled the
wheel round and John and Simon staggered out on to the deck again,
searching the turbulent water for a glimpse of jagged black, as the
cliffs loomed above them, closer and closer. John worried that they
had gone past the rocks, and would not find them again in the dark.
Then Simon hammered on the wheelhouse window, jabbing his fingers
out into the darkness.

The rattle and
roar of the engine dropped, and the boat slowed, came round,
slowly, slowly, and then there was a thump and a terrible scraping
sound. The engine roared again, and the boat moved backwards in the
water, Sal fighting the waves that wanted to push them onto the
rocks. Simon came reeling across the shifting deck towards John,
his face shining with excitement.

"You
ready?"

"Now or
never."

John stuck his
head through the doorway into the wheelhouse. Sal didn't turn her
head.

"Thanks," he
said. "To both of you. For—for all of it."

Sal nodded.
"Come back," she said. “But be quick about it, I don’t know how
long I can hold the boat here for.”

John opened the
door and the wind pushed its way back in to the cabin.

"John." It was
Simon, leaning out of the door after him, looking as if he had
something very important to say.

John grabbed
the top of the door frame with his free hand, and bent his head so
he could hear. "What?"

"Don't fall in
now, eh."

John laughed
and slid and staggered along the deck. He had thought that this
would be a serious moment, something to be done with grim
determination, given what failure would mean. But Simon's words
made him think no, I'm laughing because we're alive, and that is
what this is all about, life against everything that the old man
stood for. He clung to the bow of the boat, stared down into the
dark water, looking for the darkness of the rocks. Then he saw the
line of them, a metre or more away from the boat, looking
impossibly small, impossibly slippery, water frothing all around
it. He looked across at the cliff, the small expanse of beach above
the water. It seemed a very long way away. But right then, so did
the boy who had walked away from the corridor in school. John held
on tight to the jet with his left hand, climbed onto the side of
the boat, balanced on the narrow rail, waiting for a wave to lift
the boat, and then without hesitation, he jumped.

His front foot
hit the rock, skidded, and he fell hard, his legs in the icy water,
his free hand desperately scrabbling for purchase on the rock as he
slid down into the sea. The impact and the cold of the water drove
the breath from his lungs, and John felt as if he had no strength
left. The waves rose up around him to take him.

Then his
fingers hooked into a crevice, and the terrible slide stopped. John
hung there for a moment, trying to breathe. He summoned up all of
his strength, dug his feet into the sides of the rock, and slowly
hauled himself up and onto the top of it. He crouched there for a
moment, panting and shivering, and then rose to his feet.

John stared
into the water, saw the next rock. He heard the engine of the boat
fade, Sal taking the boat away from the hidden rocks that could rip
a hole in the hull and send all of them into the sea. It made him
feel very alone, but there was no point her staying there, risking
the boat.

He took a deep
breath, and steadied himself. Come on John, he said to himself. If
this was on land, you'd think nothing of it. Jump a few feet and
land on a spot about a foot wide? Not a problem. So it's the same
here. It's not a problem. Why should I worry?

The sea slapped
and battered at the rocks in answer.

John grinned.
"Yes, I'm scared," he said to the sea. "But that doesn't mean
anything. Everyone
feels
scared. It's what you
do
that matters. You just watch me." And he jumped again, and landed
safely, and this time he could step from there to the next rock.
The narrow strand of the beach grew closer, as he stretched and
reached and jumped, each time getting closer. Then he stepped
again, and his foot hit a slick mass of seaweed, and he lost his
balance and slipped from the rock and into the sea, the cold water
taking him.

But only up to
just above his knees. John felt forward with his foot. Was he on
another rock? If he took another step would he slip deeper into the
water? The ground was solid under his foot. It wasn't rock, it was
sand.

He struggled
forward, the waves buffeting at him, trying to push him down onto
the water, but he kept his footing and the water dropped down, and
then he was out of the sea and on the beach, shivering and bruised
but there.

He turned to
look out at the boat, which looked very small and fragile as it was
pitched up and down the restless hungry waves. He waved, but he did
not know whether they could see him. John clambered up over the
rocks to the entrance of Hob's Hole, the jet clutched tight in his
hand, so tight the metal cut into his skin. He moved in through the
mouth of the cave and into the darkness.

John took
careful, slow steps. What little moonlight had enabled him to see
on the beach could not reach into the cave. He stood still, closed
his eyes, and started to build a picture in his mind from the time
he had spent in the cave hiding from the creature that Elias had
raised, from the first time that he had come into the cave with
Simon and Sal. He stepped forward, sliding his feet slowly across
the rocky floor. Then he slid his foot forward again, and suddenly
there was nothing underneath it, and John pulled his foot back
before he lost his balance.

He crouched
down on the floor, and reached his hand forward until he found the
ragged edge of the rock. He shuffled closer to it, until he knew
that he was sitting by the edge. He could feel cool air drifting
upward.

John took the
cold slab of jet in his right hand and held it out, leaning as far
over the hole as he dared.

"Hob," he said.
"Take this. Keep it safe for me."

John thought of
all the things that had happened to him, all the things he used to
be, all the things that he could be from that point on. Then he
opened his fingers and let the stone fall. It bounced off the sides
once, twice, three times, and then it did not bounce any more. John
crouched there for a moment longer, but did not hear it hit
bottom.

Nothing
happened. No sign came. The world seemed no different, but John
knew that it had changed. That he had changed.

He sat for a
moment, doing nothing but breathe and be still alive. Then he
climbed back out of the cave, staggering down onto the beach. He
still had to make his way back out over the rocks, back on to the
boat. The stone is gone, he thought. Back with the Hob. Now keep
going, because there is one more thing left to do.

John was very
tired now, very cold, but he took those feelings and he pushed them
back down inside himself and thought about nothing other than the
feel of his foot on rock, the balance around which his body moved,
the rhythm of the waves that slapped on the rock around him. Stand.
Balance. Jump. Balance. Stand. Balance. Jump. Balance.

And then there
were no more rocks in front of him, and the boat's engine was
roaring as it fought the waves that tried to push it onto the
rocks, Sal bringing it closer, closer, as close as she dared but
still so far away. I can't do it, John thought. I can't jump up
that high, from here, not this tired, I can't do it, I'll shout at
them to go back, I'll wait on the beach, wait for the tide to turn
so I can walk back, hope that I can survive a night soaked to the
skin. Then he saw Simon's face white against the darkness, and
something came from it, growing, and the end of the rope slapped
against John's chest, the shock nearly sending him falling back
into the water, but he held on to it, and tied it around his waist
with aching, frozen fingers.

Sal brought the
boat in close, closer to John, but also closer to the rocks that
could tear the bottom from it. The boat reached the top of a wave
and then fell, slowly, slowly, and John thought, it's not going to
fall any further, and he jumped for the rail on the side.

And missed.

His fingers
scrabbled at the rail but were too numb to hold and he fell back,
the cold water seizing his legs and trying to drag him down. The
rope jerked tight around his waist and held him tight against the
side of the boat, and John reached a hand up, grabbed at the rail
again and caught it this time, and he felt a pull on the rope,
lifting him. He scrabbled a leg up onto the side of the boat and
then Simon let go of the rope and grabbed John and pulled him onto
the deck, the two of them falling down into a tangled heap, and the
engine roared and Sal steered them away from the rocks and Simon
was hugging John, banging him on the back, shouting incoherently,
and they were heading back towards the land.

John spent the
journey back huddled in a blanket, drying off, getting warm. Simon
didn't stop talking the whole way, and for once John was glad of
that, because it kept him awake, kept him from thinking about what
he had to do next. That and the way that Sal had looked at him when
Simon had led him into the wheelhouse.