The water smashed like a massive punch in the back, throwing me forward. I gripped the rock I was thrown against and felt my chin sting as it glanced the sharp shards of the rock face. Mary was swept away, her arms flapping like orange flags, carried back to the sea by the now receding water. As it retreated, the water lost its strength. I tried running after her, but the wind blew straight into me and with the water still above my knee I was unable to make any real progress. Helplessly I watched as the water gently plopped Mary on the last outcrop before the sea. Like a monkey she gripped the rocks with all four limbs. A secondary wave swept over her body, but it didn’t have the strength to loosen her grip. I battled on toward her, finally reaching the first rocks at the road edge and splashing through the pools left by the retreating water.
Mary was on her knees when I reached her and I crouched down over her body like a mother protecting its young. I gulped for air, my strength close to consumed. I gripped Mary’s wrist, pulled her arms free of the rocks and held her hands. Mary tried to respond, but her energy was gone, so I adjusted my stance, grasping more tightly. We wouldn’t have time to get back to the road before the next wave came upon us so we had no choice but to ride out the onslaught where we knelt. I could hear it breaking in the distance and I braced myself.
The wave thundered into the rocks. The angle of the wave’s impact and the rocks to our right protected us from the break; it was the water receding our way that threatened our safety. The now familiar wall of water rushed across the road and back to where we waited. I braced for the impact, crouching over Mary, holding her as tightly as possible without squeezing the air from her lungs and crushing ribs. We survived the initial hit, but the relentless weight of water forced me to take a step and my balance was gone. I knocked Mary and, like a parachute jumper, she instantly disappeared from sight as the water sucked her from the rock. I saw her bobbing in the water like a piece of driftwood, gulping for air just ten metres from the rocks.
I fell to my stomach and hugged the rocks, which tore the sleeves of my oilskin and jumper almost to the skin. The remnants of the wave washed over me and with nothing of similar size following I relaxed my grip. Up I crawled onto all fours, wiping salt water from stinging eyes. I’d lost sight of Mary and for what seemed like long panicky seconds I scoured the sea for the familiar orange of her coat. Gulping in great lungfuls of air, I bellowed her name at the grey water. It was useless but I kept shouting so loudly that I imagined my throat exploding. I couldn’t let her go, I couldn’t lose her.
Suddenly there she was, just metres away, her head popping out of the water like a cork, her mouth gulping air like a beached fish. When she saw me she thrashed her arms, but that only turned her in a fruitless circle. Her head slipped under the water and I watched helplessly until she reappeared, closer this time as a fortunate swell pushed her toward the rocks I grimly inhabited. The sea was building for another drive. I held out my hand and watched her close in on me so slowly it reminded me of one of those grainy old black and white films of an Apollo spaceship docking. Another swell lifted her toward me and I grabbed her hair, yanking her head so I could catch hold of her jacket collar. She was weak and lifeless with hardly the strength to move her arms. Hand over hand, centimetre by centimetre, I hauled her onto my rock. In the distance I heard the smack of a new wave and knew it would be just seconds before another wall of water was upon us. Mary was almost out of the water—just her legs dangled in the sea—but there was no more time, so I pushed her flat and lay across her body, holding the rocks on either side. Thankfully the wave lacked the ferocity of some of its predecessors and water washed over us with a power I was easily able to withstand.
Quickly I was on my feet and pulling Mary clear of the water. She stood, but there was no strength in her legs and she buckled under her own weight. Half carrying, half stumbling, I managed to get her across the rocks, over the road and to the shelter of the cliff where we leant against its solid face, panting for breath. The waves were calmer, but I knew it was just a matter of seconds before bigger ones would come again. I hauled Mary over my shoulder, dropped my head and ran as fast as I could. Another wave crashed over the rocks and swept down the road, but I kept my balance and pushed on regardless. Finally, with no further monster waves, I came to the end of the road and felt the welcome softness of sand. Clumsily I lowered Mary and sank to my knees, panting. Mary was awake but silent, her body convulsed with shivers. Her cheeks were white and her lips blue. The hollow look in her eyes frightened me and I knew there was a new threat now. Although far from rested I stood and hitched her back onto my shoulders.
Fatigue attacked as I was halfway back to the bach. Wind and rain still tore at me, but their discomforts were nothing compared with the screaming complaints of my body. Shoulders, legs, back and arms were all stretched to breaking point. I imagined muscle and tendons breaking strand by strand with almost audible pings.
I couldn’t climb the bank from the beach to the bach with Mary on my shoulders so I ended up dragging her. I’d crawl, then turn and start hauling her dead weight up the slope, the sand giving way and slipping us back, but never to the starting point: each time there was a gain. Several times Mary groaned and feebly pushed out a leg, but her efforts were hopeless. Once we were on the grass at the summit of the bank I could only pull her to the bach as though she were a dead body ready for burial. The last act was to drag her inside and slam the door shut on the storm.
I didn’t even contemplate the stairs but got Mary into the downstairs bedroom where I’d last seen Caroline alive. She lay on the floor, murmuring as her body shook with cold. Upstairs I found some old trackpants and a sweatshirt. Mary was now close to unconsciousness, her eyes rolling in their sockets. I fought with her sopping clothes, yanking at trousers, jumper and shirt. She wore no bra. The sudden revelation took my breath away. Her breasts were as I remembered, pale and strong, the dark nipples erect from the cold. Slow with guilt I bent and laid the lightest of kisses on each nipple.
Appalled, I quickly struggled with the sweatshirt, then lifted her into the bed and tucked the blankets under her chin. I made up two hot water bottles and put them on either side of her.
For once I deserved a drink. I drank tequila and listened to the wind and sea as they slowly calmed. Suddenly I felt colder than I could ever remember and I shivered uncontrollably. Finally I allowed myself the luxury of savouring my achievement. I had saved Mary. I had prevented her loss and I felt the joy of triumph. The drink washed over my tired and aching body and disturbed my stomach. I drank through the remnants of the storm and fell asleep on the sofa as the wind abated and the rain died to the occasional drizzle.
The sky was clear in the morning and the air electric clean as always after a storm. Gulls squawked with delight as they paraded on the beach, poking and prodding an array of gourmet treats washed up the night before. Waves gently rolled on shore without the power to trouble a toddler. There was a half glass of tequila left in the bottle, which I finished with one gulp. With some caution I went to Mary’s room. I’d never considered that she might die in the night, but now, in the cold light of day, it struck me as a distinct possibility. I opened the door and with great relief saw her move.