Page 85 of Ride the Wave

‘It’s beautiful here and very tranquil, especially in the down season.’

‘If I want tranquil, Iris, I’ll put on my headphones and listen to a podcast.’

I grin. I hope Toni never changes. ‘The views are really something. Everyone is friendly, the beach is great, the food is delicious. And they have good coffee.’

She snorts. ‘So does London. In fact, we have all of those things you listed right here.’

‘You might scrape by with the people and food, but a great beach?’ I point out, raising my eyebrows.

‘What the fuck do you call South Bank?’

I burst out laughing. ‘I’m serious, Toni; if you ever need to get away, you should consider The Algarve.’ I gaze out at the ocean and mutter, ‘There’s something about this place: the community, the pace – it makes you feel… like you’re part of something.’

‘That’s nice. Put that in the piece,’ she instructs bluntly, her brisk tone snapping me out of my daze. ‘Right, got to go. Sam will be in touch about the flight change.’

‘Thanks, Toni.’

‘Get those paragraphs to me ASAP; I can already tell you’re a sucker for that beach so you’ll write it nice and atmospheric, and make me cheer for this guy, yes?’

‘You’ve got it.’

‘Bye, Iris. Good luck.’

She hangs up. I take another moment to soak in the view, musing how it makes me feel so still, despite not being still at all. The waves are rolling in one after another, sailboats drift by in the distance, birds are dancing across the top of the water, and the beach is playing host to a walker and their dog, a stunning collie-type. The dog is barking at his owner to throw his ball before he launches himself after it, sweeping it up from the sand before it rolls into the water.

Filling my lungs with a deep breath of air, I turn back to face the apartment and say out loud, ‘Right, let’s do this,’ before I march inside to fetch my laptop. Bringing it out to the table on the balcony, I sit down and open up all the notes I’ve made for the piece, reading them through, and starting to plot out a structure. That takes a long time, but once I’ve got a vague idea of how it’s going to go, I open a fresh new Word document. Time to make a start.

An email comes up on my phone that I’ve left out on the table – it’s from Sam, confirming my flight date and time change. Smiling smugly, I put my phone back down and do my best to shut down any thoughts of last night and this morning so I can fully concentrate on my work.

‘Okay, starting line,’ I say out loud to myself, tapping my fingernails below my keyboard. ‘I just need that first sentence and I’m good to go.’

The opening line to a feature has to be perfect. It has to grab the attention of the reader and set out the scope of the article. It always takes me a while to land on, and following that, the first paragraph is the one I find the hardest, but once I’ve got those down on the page, the rest of the feature tends to flow.

I stare at the blank page on the screen.

Nothing comes to me straight away and the pressure riding on this piece begins to feel heavy on my shoulders. I have a lot of people to please here: Michelle Martin, Toni, Leo, the Burgau locals, the World Surf League and the entire surfing community. And myself. I want to get Leo right. It’s not going to be easy capturing him on the page, but I’m going to try.

I take a deep breath and look out at the view.

Come on inspiration. Hit me.

Entranced by the water, I wait for the perfect sentence to pop up in my head.

It doesn’t.

After a long time of sitting there with nothing to say, I force myself to write a couple of sentences that I swiftly delete. I try wording it a different way but it sounds stupid, so I delete that. I then type out something so bland, I say, ‘Boring’ at the screen, heckling my laptop as though it’s not acting on my orders.

Hoping that a brief distraction might help, I call Mum to tell her about the change in flight. I brace myself for her disappointment, guilty at being away from her longer, but she doesn’t seem all that surprised.

‘I got the feeling when we spoke the other day that things were going better for you,’ she says, referring to the phone call I’d made to tell her I’d gone surfing for the first time. ‘You need to strike while the iron is hot. I’m pleased that Toni understands that.’

‘Are you okay? Everything all right at home?’

‘All well here,’ she says, having never answered that question differently.

I lean back in my chair, wrapping my hand round my waist. ‘And… the house?’

‘It’s never been tidier. The estate agent is sending out a photographer next week, so I’ve been busy clearing out a load of clutter. You don’t realise how much rubbish you acquire over the years until you force yourself to pay attention to it.’

---