Page 125 of The Winter of Second Chances
‘Call the coastguard and an ambulance,’ he shouted, kicking off his jeans and hurling them back towards the rest of his things.
‘What the hell?’ Annie shouted. ‘You can’t go in after him. John, stop for a minute! Stop! John!’
John wasn’t listening. He began to wade out into the sea. Annie grabbed his arm but he shook her off and in another second he had thrown himself into the water and was swimming against the waves.
Annie’s boots had filled with water, but she didn’t notice. She waded back to the shore and pulled out her phone with shaking hands. Annie could hear Maeve and Gemma’s shouts as they tramped down the beach towards her, their shouts becoming exclamations of horror as they took in the scene before them.
‘I couldn’t stop him!’ Annie shouted to Maeve, as she waited to be connected to the emergency services. Annie had to put her hand over her other ear to be able to hear the phone operator over the noise of the storm.
‘Coastguard and ambulance,’ she shouted breathlessly into her phone. As she spoke, she cast a look over at Gemma who had collapsed to her knees in abject horror, her hands clasped over her mouth. Maeve stood frozen, her face a grim reflection of Annie’s own feelings. Annie looked back out over the water. John was still swimming hard, the water swallowing him one minute then spitting him back into view the next. The fear was almost paralysing; she was breathing so hard she felt dizzy.
‘He’s reached him!’ yelled Maeve.
Gemma began to stand shakily. Annie felt hope leap through her. If they could just make it back to the rocks and hang on till the coastguard arrived...She could hear snatches of Maeve’s conversation on the phone with Sally.
‘Not looking good. Wait by the pub and let the ambulance follow you down. No sign yet, weather’s bad, though.’
Out on the water the two men were tossed back and forth by the waves like they were partners in some horrifying Danse Macabre. Annie could see that John had one arm wrapped around Alfred, but it seemed impossible that he would have enough power in his free arm to swim them both to the relative safety of the rocks. And if they got too close without securing themselves, they would just as likely be dashed by the rocks as saved by them. Annie couldn’t bear to watch but she couldn’t tear her eyes away either.
‘They’re going to make it!’ cried Gemma.
The waves had taken a blessed break from crashing over their heads and John took full advantage. He surged forward towards the rocks through the roiling water. Annie could feel herself breathing for him, her limbs twitching in sympathy. She couldn’t feel the rain or the cold anymore; she was outside of herself, willing and pulsing every ounce of her energy towards John, pushing him forward, hoping beyond hope that she would get the chance to tell him how she felt about him.
‘Sweet Jesus, have mercy on them!’ came Maeve’s strangled cry.
Annie followed Maeve’s horrified gaze out past the struggling men, to where a wave was steadily and stealthily building. The air whooshed out of her lungs. There was nothing she could do. There was nothing anyone could do but watch the horror slowly unfolding before them. The wave began to pick up speed, growing still higher as it slid towards the men.
‘Swim!’ Annie screamed. ‘Swim faster!’
Gemma began to sob. Maeve’s face was frozen in angst.
John looked up as the wave towered over them, a great foaming mouth of water, and then its jaws snapped shut, swallowing them whole, and they were gone. It didn’t seem real; it couldn’t be. She was trapped in a nightmare, a horrifying, gut-wrenching nightmare, but she was awake. She felt emptied, as though the waves had dragged her insides out to sea.
The aftershocks of the wave pushed the tide in still further and all three women were drenched as the water gushed furiously past where they stood, transfixed, their breath held as they desperately clung to hope. The seconds ticked by but neither John’s nor Alfred’s head broke the dark surface of the water. Maeve began waving and pointing, and Annie was vaguely aware of the orange helm of a lifeboat bouncing across the waves from the other direction. But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the water; she swung her torch uselessly this way and that, hoping to catch sight of a hand or head. She reasoned that the wave could have sent them off course, it could even have propelled them forward towards the shore. The boat slowed as it reached the peninsula and powerful flashlights began sweeping the sea. Annie followed the streams of light on the water. But water was all they illuminated; miles and miles of water and no sign of John or Alfred.
Annie could hear someone crying quietly and it took her a moment to realise it was her. She began to shiver then; the full force of the cold came home to her. Her sodden clothes hung heavily on her; her feet, swimming in cold sea water inside her boots, didn’t feel like they belonged to her at all. Tears stung her windburned cheeks and her nose was running. She fumbled in her pocket and found a damp tissue, and blew her nose with fingers so stiff with cold they could barely obey her commands. Across the way, Gemma was sobbing uncontrollably into Maeve’s shoulder; Maeve held her tightly and though she made soothing noises, her face was grim, staring out to sea. Annie shook herself mentally. She wouldn’t believe they had drowned. She wouldn’t. Until the lifeboat found a body, there was hope.
The sound of a car engine behind her dragged her from her thoughts. She turned to see Sally leading an ambulance slowly along the shingle towards Saltwater Nook. As Annie made to climb back up the beach to tell her the news something bumped against her shin. Annie looked down to see Alfred’s rucksack had washed up beside her. For a moment, she almost lost her composure. The pressure of not letting herself give in to the grief hammered inside her head. She looked out across the water and let the freezing wind whip at her face. Annie took in a lungful of the frigid air and pushed down the panic. She picked up the wet, heavy bag, telling herself she would dry it out for him to give back to him later, and then made her way to where John’s clothes lay in a sodden heap. She picked them up, repressing the urge to hold the coat to her face and breathe in the smell of him. With her arms full of her missing friends’ belongings, Annie tramped back up the beach to where Sally sat on the promenade above, the wind buffeting her wheelchair while she watched the lifeboat as it bounced above and dipped below the waves, methodically scouring the seemingly empty ocean.
Annie threw the clothes, boots and rucksack up onto the promenade but her own clothes were so water-laden she didn’t have the strength to heave herself up. She motioned to Sally that she was going to head to the steps along the way, when one of the paramedics thrust out a hand to her; the other, a woman wrapped in a dark green waterproof coat, offered her hand too and between them they hauled first Annie then Maeve and finally a still tearful Gemma up onto the promenade.
‘Any news?’ asked Sally.
Annie shook her head. Sally looked up the beach.
‘Where’s John?’ she asked and then her gaze fell upon the clothes strewn at her feet. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Oh no. Oh God, no, he didn’t?’
‘He did,’ said Annie.
The four friends held hands and watched the lights from the lifeboat sweep jaggedly over the waves and up the steep cliff peninsular.
‘Who lives there?’ asked the male paramedic.
‘I do,’ Annie replied absently.
‘It could be a while yet and it’s not good for any of you to remain out here in wet clothes. Can I suggest we go in and wait? I’ll make us all tea if you point me in the right direction.’
‘He makes an excellent brew,’ added his partner.
