Page 52 of Ride the Wave

I want to flirt with him. And he is very muchoff limits. If anything happened, I’d be really crossing a line – not only is he the subject of my interview, he’s also the son of the media corporation’s owner, a very powerful woman who has put her trust in me to treat this task with the upmost professionalism.

Desperately trying to shake this attraction out of my head, I reluctantly do as he says and get back to concentrating on his teaching: what I’ve been struggling to do all lesson.

After a few more tries, he says the words I’ve been dreading. ‘Okay, good news, London: you’re officially ready to get in the water,’ he says, applauding my recent pop up.

I shake my head. ‘I… I think I need to practise some more.’

‘Yeah, but this time, you’re going to practise in the water. We need to work on your paddling and you’re building up muscle memory so that—’

‘I’ve already forgotten everything you’ve said about the position of my feet,’ I stammer, tripping over my words as I blurt them out, the blood pounding in my ears at the thought of the ocean beckoning to me beyond. ‘We need to run through it again.’

‘Hey, trust me, you’re good,’ he says, moving in the direction of the water. ‘Natural to be nervous, but you’ll be fine. Come on, let’s get in there.’

As I bend down to pick up my board, I feel my legs turn to jelly.

Willing myself forwards, I start to follow him down the sand. He’s glancing back at me over his shoulder with an encouraging smile, waving me towards him. The rail of the board dragging through the sand behind me, I edge nearer and nearer to the water, my heart pounding so hard against my chest, I think it might burst right through.

I’ve tried to get myself in the water since the Cornwall incident happened. I’m not the sort of person who tends to just give up on things or make a fuss, and there have been times when it’s been almost unavoidable to be near the sea. Like when I was in Mallorca with a group of friends and we went to a bar that was perched on the rocks. The idea was that after lunch, we’d all stroll down to the beach next to it and go for a swim. No one knew about what had happened in Cornwall a few years back and I didn’t want to bum anyone out by talking about it, so I went along with the plan.

Until I couldn’t. As in, Iphysicallycouldn’t.

As my friends all waded out into the water, I froze at the edge of it and then my breathing grew fast and short. I felt sick with dizziness and thought I might collapse until I felt Naomi’s arms propping me up, helping me move away and then duck into a crouching position where I stayed until I had the strength to beg her to get me off the beach before I embarrassed myself completely. Falling apart in public is not my vibe. We went up to the bar to wait for everyone there. I told her what had happened in Cornwall and why I had that physical reaction to the water. When the others came back, she told them that she thought I may have eaten something funny at lunch.

I know my fear is irrational, but against all sense and all logic, it seems to be able to get the better of me. Like right now.

The sand beneath my feet is feeling damper and heavier as I get closer to the water lapping onto the beach. It’s a good day for a beginner to surf, Leo said earlier, because the waves are slow and gentle, but the sound of them breaking roars in my ears. My mouth is dry, my breath is rapid and shaky, my throat is closing. The surfboard is slipping from my grip.

‘Hey.’

Leo’s voice cuts through the panic growing in my head; his fingers brushing against my arm make me jump. The board drops, slamming on the sand.

‘You all right?’ he asks, bending down to pick it up for me. ‘Are you worried about wiping out?’

‘S-sorry?’ I stammer.

‘Falling is part of it,’ he says with an easy smile. ‘We’re not going to do anything crazy, okay? No need to look so worried. It’s your first lesson; we’re here to have fun.’

I shake my head. ‘I can’t do this,’ I whisper.

‘Iris,’ he says gently, his eyebrows pinched together. ‘It’s—’

‘No, you don’t understand… I actuallycan’t do this,’ I tell him, shutting my eyes, my heart being squeezed by the panic making my chest tight. ‘I’m scared of the ocean, Leo.’

I’m not sure what I expect him to say to that. Maybe laugh at me. Say that it’s a stupid fear. I don’t know. But I’m not expecting what he does say, which is, ‘Me too.’

My eyelids flutter open in surprise. He’s watching me, deadly serious.

‘Y-you are? How is that possible?’

‘Because it’s theocean,’ he emphasises, his expression softening. ‘It’s powerful and unpredictable. It’s natural to be afraid.’

‘How can you possibly surf like you do with that fear?’ I croak.

‘By controlling the controllables. I practise every day: my balance, the manoeuvres, reading what I can of the water. I’m always learning, often falling. That’s how surfing goes. You can’t be the best at surfing, only the best that day on that wave in that moment. You never know how it’s going to go. That’s part of the thrill.’

I tear my eyes from him to look back out at the rippling blue water.

‘Without that sense of fear, you wouldn’t get the same adrenaline when you catch a wave,’ he continues. ‘When you surf, you have to give in to the movement of the water. That’s a huge part of surfing: letting go. You can’t fight against it; you let the water carry you with it as it travels. It’s like nothing else, that feeling: a real rush. It’s addictive. Once you’ve experienced it, you won’t forget it. You want more.’

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