Going Down - part 2

The storm carried on unconcerned by the efforts of the four men. Victor despatched Dave to round up as many other people as he could cajole, persuade and threaten into joining the search. He threw the hotel keys at him and told him to ‘phone everyone who could get there, then to take his car and get them back to the beach as soon as possible. Dave ran off, throwing backwards glances over his shoulder, hoping that someone would suddenly call him back, or that Matt would appear strolling up the cliff towards him.

 

Maybe another ten minutes passed before they were joined by a group of older men, in their thirties – leather faced and weathered – fishermen, boat builders and the like, always the first on the scene for things like this. They never knew if they were likely to be next. One carried a torpedo buoy from a yacht, the second a handful of torches and the third another length of rope. A fourth passed out whisky from a flask as they set off in all directions, checking the coves where the flotsam of previous years washed in and out with monotonous regularity.

Jaz sat down at the edge of the cliff and shouted out Matt’s name once more, listened for the reply and sank down head in hands at the lack of a response. He kicked at the damp earth with his heels and watched flakes crumble and get carried by the wind and gravity into the blankness. Inside he was empty, unable even to keep his thoughts in order – it wasn’t possible, this shredding howling weather, this angry sea, this lack of any hope. It was only possible to believe in carrying on.

He stood; the ground he’d been kicking gave way. He didn’t even have time to yell as the grip of his boots failed him and he bumped down the slope before falling from sight.

Smack, his head hit rock. Grappling with an overhanging tree root he clung for dear life and scrabbled with his feet until they came to rest on a more solid surface. He’d dropped maybe four or five feet below the top of the cliff. Shaken but unhurt apart from a graze where his head had made contact. He was on a ledge – not wide but firm enough and wide enough for him to be safe for now. The curve of the cliff sheltered him from the worst effects of the gale and gave him time to collect his thoughts again. Getting back up was possible, but in this weather not easy. He looked around and saw that the ledge dipped slightly to one side at the end of its six foot length. Feeling around in the dim light he felt the foliage at the back give and he pushed himself further into it for more shelter. Something snapped and he tumbled backwards anticipating another fall. But he landed flat on his back, leaves and brambles wrapped around his legs, but dry earth below his outstretched hands.

He’d fallen into a fissure high up on the cliff face, where two strata of rocks collided with each other and twisted upwards – this gap had formed and then over who knew how long had been eaten away by the elements. It smelt slightly of animal, rotted vegetation and darkness. Fumbling for the torch in his pocket he gave thanks to Bill the fisherman who’d passed it to him only minutes earlier. The beam was bright and the depth of the cave  revealed itself. Beyond the small mouth it opened into a tunnel shape, maybe three or four feet tall and the same width – sloping backwards and down. Tentatively he followed it, forgetting Matt for just the moment, worried more about himself. After maybe ten feet it dropped away – a shaft leading nowhere in particular. He could hear the dull thud of the waves as they hit the cliff face below, reverberating their heavy bass through the rock and amplified by the hollow he crouched in now. He turned to go back to the entrance; surely they didn’t need to be looking for him as well. He’d flash his torch he thought. They’d come and get him.

As he reappeared he took a deep breath and with a start he realised that here was a rope hanging down in front of him. Joe’s head appeared over the top of the cliff, 

“Jaz ? Jaz ?”, the call was anxious.

“Down here mate, “ Jaz flooded with relief.

“Jesus, thank God, thank Christ !”, Joe wasn’t normally given to Christian imprecations but at times like this they fell out without thinking. Jaz would normally have had a go at him, but given the circumstances it didn’t seem right.

“Thought we’d lost you too – saw you go and when we looked there wasn’t anyone there. Jesus”

The rope swung in front of Jaz and he grabbed it tight, tying one end around himself as he had earlier. Joe called someone else out of sight and the slack on the rope was taken up. Jaz braced himself against the rock and then started to lift his feet in a sort of reverse abseil.

One step, two, then a sickening lurch and he found himself tumbling back down past the ledge, dropping like a slow motion replay until the rope suddenly snapped back to tautness, cutting him across the chest and knocking the breath out from his lungs to join the storm. He hung there.

Joe reappeared – too far away for Jaz to hear him, he checked that Jaz was still on the end of the rope and pulled a pained face then, as an afterthought, a thumbs up.

Jaz could hear the sound of a car being revved far above and he slowly started to rise. Slowly, they were obviously taking no chances this time. Slowly. A gust spun him round, hanging free on the rope, the rough hemp grating the skin on his hands as he tried to prevent it from crushing his ribs. Slowly.

Then.

Then a whisper.

Then an unfamiliar colour in amongst the greys and greens of the cliff face.

There.

There, over to the left.

There – unmistakeably not rock nor bracken nor earth.

There, a foot.

Jaz tugged on the rope. No response, he continued to rise.

He yelled. No response. He was almost level with the ledge now. He yelled again. No response.

He rose.

Seconds seemed stretched to breaking point. He yelled again and then he broke clear of the cliff and hands caught him around the tops of his arms and pulled him back into their embrace. Joe’s face, relief and a smile chasing each other around. The delight in his eyes evident. Others came to help, unwrapping the rope. Jaz could see Victor’s old Anglia estate with the rope still tied around its tow bar – that was how they’d pulled him up. He jumped to his feet, pushing aside one man who was trying to see if he was OK. He grabbed Joe.

“He’s there ! He’s there ! Down there !” Jaz was hysterical, “He’s fuckin’ down there. Matt. I know it’s him. I saw him.”

He pointed urgently to the cliff, pushing away the growing throng of helpers and gawpers arriving from the village.

Jo’s face  lit up, “Where ? Is he OK ? How ?” Questions gushed from him.

Jaz’s face dropped.

“He wasn’t moving….”

Joe took control, maybe for the first time in his life. He grabbed the arm of one of the locals – “Coastguard here yet ?” – the answer was still no. “Get Jack, the one with the rope. Get him here. And Victor. Now !”

 Joe ran to the men who were untying the rope from the car. “Leave it ! Going down again. Matt’s there.”

The men looked apprehensive but without a word they reattached the rope, pulling it tight and testing it with all their might. Victor arrived, out of breath and marbled with mud and rain, waterproof long since abandoned to ease the scurrying over sharp and treacherous terrain. He started to organise. One group of men with torches leant out and tried to illuminate the gloom, beams still deflected by the driving rain, Jaz tried to persuade Joe to let him go back down, but Joe told him in no uncertain terms that he was a liability and fastened the rope to himself with a strong bowline. The fisherman turned up and quickly the group by the car fixed a second rope to the car too. Victor took over in the driving seat and assertively edged the car back towards the edge.

Joe lowered himself over the drop, like he’d seen climbers do, but had never done himself. He gulped and found his mouth dry despite the surfeit of water all around. He wasn’t thinking about the drop or the raging sea below, he was wondering what he’d find. He took the spare rope in his other hand and down he went, inches at a time whilst he could hear, but not listen to, the shouted encouragements of those above him.

Down.

He reached the ledge and took the weight of the rope for a second before kicking out into the emptiness.

Over to the left he could see nothing.

He swung – kicking at the cliff – stopping himself from turning. He dropped again as the car lurched slightly backwards.

Yes.

There.

There he was.

At least part of him was there.

Joe could see feet sticking out, the rest virtually indistinguishable from the rock, covered in mud, scraped earth around his head. But no movement. Joe edged his way along, another few feet. Another partial outcrop of weathered slate meeting weathered granite. He could just stand. Matt had dug a kind of trench in the old earth, not deep, but enough to stop him rolling back down the vast face. Joe found himself caught between being impressed with Matt’s thinking and full of fear at the great chasm below. He shook his long wet hair out of his face and touched Matt gingerly. He was very cold, his feet were blue, Joe had no idea if he were alive or dead. He wrapped the rope around the lifeless waist, taking his time, ignoring the blasts of spray from the rocks below and the rain from above. The air howled with pain. Matt didn’t respond to Joe’s touch and when he finally had him roped up he pulled on it sharply, letting the men up above take the strain, letting the rope slowly, so slowly, pull taut. Matt’s limp body was dragged gently upright, Joe cradling his sunken head to stop it cracking against the rocks. Holding him like an oversized baby, comforting him and protecting him. Telling him he was going to be OK.

As Matt’s body swung around Joe caught sight of the gash on his leg, just above the foot, deep, not bleeding, not pleasant. His foot hung at the wrong angle.

Inch by inch the pair were raised back from beyond the brink, Joe holding Matt tight against him, taking the knocks and cracks against the cliff himself rather than let Matt feel any more. It seemed a lifetime. There was nothing to do now apart from hang and hope. With Matt held so close to him he fancied he could feel a heartbeat, but it was only his own, the muscle pounding enough for them both.

Jaz was the first to reach out and pull them both up the grassy slope at the top of the cliff. Simultaneously a Land Rover pulled up, headlights illuminating them in a tableau. Jaz couldn’t speak. He just held on to Joe and Matt. Victor leapt from the car and, ignoring the coastguard, crouched down beside them. Matt looked younger, he looked drained of any experience and so very empty. Joe was crying with exhaustion and relief, great sobs heaving through his frame. Dave pounded up the cliff and stood, a silent observer, just watching, no expression.

          The coastguards bustled out of the land Rover – Victor intercepted one of them and told him what he could. The other ran back, fetched blankets and wrapped them around Matt, Joe and Jaz. After a quick look they picked up Matt’s unresisting body and placed him in the back seat, Jaz tried to get in with him, but the coastguard firmly resisted and Jaz had no fight left. Seconds later they were gone. Leaving a forlorn group struggling to understand what had happened.

          Victor made the first move. He put his arms around Jaz and Joe and led them back along the path to the hotel, the others followed, fishermen to the fore. In the bar they sat down silently and Victor passed out glasses and bottles of Scotch. No-one spoke. This wasn’t a celebration. Not just yet.

Going down - part 1

Jaz, Dave, Joe and now Victor stood grimly on the headland. The light was at best indifferent; visibility waxed and waned with the curtains of rain that drifted across the whole sodden scene. They had been calling out Matt’s name for the best part of an hour now, checking along the tide-line, across the cliffs and down as far as they dared on the rocks. Nothing replied but the grim thunder and crack of the waves.

 

“Where exactly did you find it ?” asked Victor in an uncharacteristically low tone.

Jaz answered, resignation falling into his words, “Down there,” he indicated to the left hand side, where the beach fell away and the sea took over. “Just came out to have a look at the storm and there it was, half the fuckin’ board, smashed.” He lapsed into silence and scanned the sea again.

He’d immediately recognised the board and knew something was wrong. He felt guilty now that his first thoughts were to have a right go at whoever had wrecked their favourite toy, those thoughts soon turned to panic when he realised that more than likely one of his mates was out there. He’d run up and down the shoreline in a pointless attempt to see if he could spot anyone. Heart racing and head starting to whirl with a sickness. He realised that there wasn’t anything much he could do alone so he’d ran to Joe and Dave’s house, insistent and by now scared. They were out like a shot, Joe ran down the hill to rouse Matt; Jaz and Dave headed up the cliffs for a better spot. It was on the way there that they’d thought of getting Victor out, he might not be pleased but he had always looked after them and now they really needed it.

Victor was sitting in the empty bar of the hotel working through his accounts when they rushed in. He listened and then shooed them out – he’d phone the coastguard, they could go and look. Inside he fought against the sinking feeling that this wasn’t a good time to be in the water and whoever was had better have the luck and lives of a cat. The feeling demanded action and after he’d made the phone call he grabbed a waterproof and stomped across the slippery grass to catch up with Jaz and Dave. Dave looked out, saying nothing; they exchanged glances and resumed their scouring of the rocks.

“Coastguard on his way man.” Victor tried to inject some hope, but also felt he had to tell them the truth, “There’s a boat though. A boat gone down off Newporth with three fishermen somewhere on it. So no lifeboat for now, no chopper either.” He turned his face down, ”So they’re sending a crew down in the land rover, be about half an hour, forty five minutes….” He tailed off. “Come on boy, let’s hope we find someone before they get here. Maybe whoever had the board is safe at home and too bloody frightened to face me. I bloody hope so.”

Even so he turned his face into the wind and something in him hardened, turning the softened hotel owner’s features into those of someone that had seen a lot more than he wished to remember and didn’t want to see again. Determined and strong, he called the boys around so that they could search more effectively.

At this point Joe came running towards them, gasping for breath, rain streaking his face like tears.

“It’s Matt – It’s Matt !” he yelled at them. “Matt’s not there !”

“Calm down boy, slow now – slow - tell us” commanded Victor, strong and authoritarian now.

“Just went to get Matt.” The reply came in short gasps, “Not there. Not at home. His ‘suits gone. Guy in the garage saw him. A few hours ago. Heading to the beach.” Joe’s eyes were wide and staring, “He’s in there…”

They walked up and down, clambering down the cliff face as far as the slippery mud-stained slate would allow safely. Victor ran to the hotel and brought back binoculars, which were next to useless as the rain smeared them instantly and the salt spray gradually turned them opaque, as well as a length of rope. This was more useful; Jaz tied one end around his waist and, testing it with cold shaking hands, allowed the others to lower him further down the cliff than he would otherwise have been able. There were steps cut into a section of rock by the hotel and, roped, Jaz let the combined weight of the other three hold him as he struggled down to the point where the water started to crash over him. They had thought that he would be able to get a better look along the dark water from there but it was useless, each successive wave broke over him until clinging on for dear life became the object. He choked and spat mouthfuls of salt water. For their part the others reeled him in like some prize catch, a last wave catching him off balance and scraping him against the cliff wall before they pulled him back up to the relative calm of the top.

 

Still no sign of the coastguard. Still no sign of Matt.

“Shit, shit, shit !” Jaz exploded when he’d got his breath back. “Why did the stupid bastard do it, stupid selfish stupid bastard.” He dropped down to his knees on the soaked turf,” Stupid bastard, killing himself like this. What the fuck was he doing. What the fuck is going on ?” He yelled at the sky, an absolute wordless yell of pain and desperation.

Victor put his hand on his shoulder, gently but with some weight.

“Come on. Now’s not the time bra, let’s see what we can do. If we can’t do anything there’ll be plenty of time for this. Believe me, I know.”

“What the fuck do you know ?” Jaz rounded on him. Victor stayed calm.

“I know what it’s like to miss your mates and wonder if they’re dead, to look for them and hope like hell nothing you know is true. I also know what it’s like to find them, alive and dead. Man, you boys don’t know anything – before I came here, well, time enough for that later too. Time enough. Let’s go.”

Jaz looked up from the ground, ashamed at his outburst. “OK, let’s find the fucker.”

and that's called 'sad'....

The Beginning - part 2

The boys exchanged looks – there was no way out of this one. They were caught in the act, nowhere to run but out to sea and no excuses. They could see his outline in the horizontal sun, casting a very long shadow indeed across the beach and across their new dreams of a summer of surfing. He was shouting, but they couldn’t make out what. Dolefully they grouped together for some show of solidarity and scooped the board towards them. They could see scratches on the top from where the board had slid along the sand on one of its many journeys in alone and, although they were purely cosmetic they blanched at the changes they’d made. In the long slow wade back up to the beach they began to feel the cold once more as the water stopped being a friendly enveloping cocoon and became an unpleasant hanger on – they shivered almost simultaneously, smiling with bravado at the anticipated wrath, not wanting to show that they really were scared. Even at this age they would rather not face off the obviously incandescent Victor who was coming more clearly into view, face red and shoulders shaking as they approached.

 Just as they were back in the waist deep water another wave overtook them, snatching the board from Matt’s hands and propelling it a little way ahead of them. Instinctively Joe dived for it, caught it and , just before the second wave came through,  threw himself across it and was as amazed as anyone to feel the moving water pick him up and increase his speed up towards Victor. There was nothing to lose now, this was very possibly the last time for a very long time that he was going to get the chance – he swung his arms through the water like a dervish and amazingly picked up the front of the wave. With all the strength he could muster he pulled himself up to standing in one bound and stood, legs outstretched, knees bent and eyes gleaming as he rode the wave with almost nonchalant lack of effort. Behind him Matt, Dave and Andy started to run, ploughing through the water behind him, easily outstripped by the speed of the planing board. Joe reached the shallow beach edge water, where the sand could be seen blowing back and forth beneath the clearer water. He came within feet of Victor, who was looking at him with his mouth open, and hopped off the board just as the momentum dropped – a single graceful, almost balletic move.

Joe awaited the tirade – he could hear the others behind him, out of breath but almost by his side.

 Victor looked up – his face a mask, but red in the reflected sunset. He waited as the four forms dragged themselves much more slowly up the last few yards, Joe now joined by his brother Dave in carrying the offending board from the water.

 Victor waited until they were within touching distance, all looking down at the ground. He spoke softly, his heavily accented voice carrying power without the need for any volume.

“Who the hell told you that you could use the board ?”

Silence as they all looked at each other. Matt looked up, shrugged his shoulders.

“So, Matt – your idea or what ?” Victor looked him square in the face. Matt clenched his hands into fists, fists of shame rather than aggression.

“Guess it was, I just thought…well, I just wanted to try it…”

“So why the bloody hell didn’t you ask ? “ Victor raised his voice a tiny amount, but enough to make Matt shrink back. “See Matt, where I come from, where we come from – Africa – it seems to be only bloody polite. Over here, no bloody manners.”

Still silence from the assembled group. Matt mumbled something that sounded like sorry but didn’t manage to make it out of his mouth as a fully formed word.

 “Look, you boys” Victor continued, “When I looked out of the window and saw some kids messing about with a board in the water what was I to think ? The bloody board is mine. I was bloody angry I can tell you.”

“Sorry – we didn’t...” Dave was cut off by Victor.

“See, the thing is I know you aren’t pains in the arse like some of the bloody kids who come here on holiday. So being asked is all I really wanted. Do you think that I mind about the board ? Well ? Have you ever seen me use it ? Look man I’m too bloody old for that sort of thing – it’s going up on the wall in the bar or maybe I’ll hire it out to the guests.” He reached forward and ran a finger down the scratch on the varnished surface. “Well, I was going to.”

He stared at them intently. One by one they wished that the sand would open up and swallow them whole. The shadows spread longer and deeper across the beach, the air was heavy with colour and no-one spoke.

“Do you know how long I’ve been watching you four ?” – they shook their heads pitifully –   "For about an hour and a half now. Like I said, I was bloody angry when I realised you’d got my board, but oh man, after watching you play the four stooges on that board for that long – well I asked myself, how can you get so angry with this bunch of doffs ?” His face broke into an unexpected grin. “Man, you were so bloody funny falling of all over the place that I couldn’t get angry any more. Man it’s just a lump of wood I told myself. You bloody stupid kids are giving me more fun watching than the bloody thing ever would have if I tried to use it.” He grinned again.

At first none of the four boys cracked a smile – they were exhausted not by the sea but by the anticipation of what was going to come next, part of them still wasn’t sure if this was a trap that Victor was setting before he lammed into them with the full force of his anger. No-one quite knew how to behave around Victor. Then Joe smiled, diffidently at first, laughing in relief a moment later.

“Hey !” shouted Victor, quelling the laughter and raising his voice for the first time, “I didn’t say it was good what you did.” He relaxed again, “But yeah, it was bloody bloody funny. You want to use the board again ?” 

They could hardly believe the words; they tripped over themselves trying to say that they did.

“Well, there’s strings attached – you can have the board but I need two waiters, that’ll be four shifts a week each for two of you, five ‘til ten – you decide if you want to do it. Friday nights too, until you go back to school or whatever you do in this place. “

They looked at each other again, shoulders shrugged, not a word spoken but it was agreed that somehow they’d do it.

“Interested then ?”

“Yeah,” said Dave, “we need to work out who does what but, yeah. And we can use the board again ?”

“OK bra, but don’t take long – I want the first night’s work tomorrow – don’t dick me around and I won’t mess you around. Pay’s not great but you can use the board whenever you’re not working, maybe you’ll be a tourist attraction – the amazing surf clowns or something. First night’s work for each of you is on account – you pay for using the board without asking today – don’t even think about arguing the point or the board goes back in the cellar with a lock.”

Victor turned around and walked back towards the cliff path. “Don’t wait too long to make up your minds – someone here by five tomorrow, right ? Put the board back in the hotel before you go. Bloody lucky you lot I tell you”

And with that he was gone, stomping back up the path with an agility that belied his figure. Down on the beach no-one spoke for a good two minutes, they lay the board on the sand, sat down beside it, drier and not shivering now and tried to believe their luck.

The sun sank further down, its movement almost perceptible now as it slunk away to the other side of the Atlantic. The blue deepened, the reds spread out along the cliff edges and then with a flash it fell from view. The boys grinned, picked up the board and made the journey back up to the clifftop different creatures to the ones who had come down a few hours before.

A song for Victor - who knows ?