Gender Genre Competition

The Top Ten Stories

The Wave

The man rowed further out from the sounds of the beach so that the murmur of the crowds did not reach them, not even the joyful shrieks of children tempting the snarl of the surf on the shore. Apart from a gull's warning and the happy chatter of his own children, by now accustomed to the easy rise and fall of the dinghy over the waves, all was quiet.

An eight year old boy knelt in the bows, scanning the open sea for the big waves which swelled slowly like creatures under a blanket, raised the dinghy on their back and raced by in a final rush for the yellow shoreline to get their breath in a great gasp and a sigh. In the stern the boy's younger sister trailed her hand in the water, unaware of distances. They were far from the sunny safety of the beach, far out at the entrance to the bay where currents had often snatched swimmers from sight.

Quiet but not at peace; the man could not put any water between the dinghy and the problems which churned in his mind like shingle in the breakers. His still sorrow and the knowledge of things ending did not stem the ebb and flow of anxiety. He was watching his daughter frowning in far away thought when she looked up and said,

"Daddy I'm getting cold. When are we turning back?"

"Soon, darling. Put your shirt on if you're cold."

"Daddy," she said, as she struggled into the shirt, "How many more days have we got?"

He knew that was what she had been thinking. The question brought the problem to the surface suddenly, unexpectedly, but he did not have a chance to answer her. They were both startled by an excited scream from the boy.

"Golly, Dad, there's a ginormous monster approaching.

"Don't be silly," said the man, irritated.

"No, look! Just look at that wave!" repeated the boy, banging his father urgently on the shoulder. The man saw the boy's wonder reflected in his daughter's eyes which widened in alarm.

He did not have to ask where. It was as if the horizon were suddenly closing in, as if the sea were climbing into the sky. He felt the bodies of his children, close now, at his side.

"It's all right," he said calmly, "our best chance is to row into it."

"I'll help you," said his son, gripping his arm firmly.

"Row over it, you mean," said his serious little daughter, clutching the seat tight.

The three stared at the roller of water which moved towards them as fast as a train but quite silently. It had not yet begun to break and the man said finally,

"Yes, row over it, I mean." He manoeuvred the boat so that the bows pointed towards the wave. His son helped pull on the right oar, his daughter was at his left side, but although they had their backs to the wave, they all looked round, looked up at it.

"Now!" said the man. "Start rowing."

"I wonder what's on the other side," said the little girl.

"More sea, silly," replied her brother.

"Well, I hope there are no more waves...." Her voice tailed off. Almost upon them the wave was even more immense than they had imagined. And also, although it seemed to be hanging over them, it hit them first underneath and with such violence that it knocked the oars out of the man's hands. The little dinghy was lifted and taken along with the wave. Its occupants clung together as they had clung on a roller coaster at the fairground; and now for the first time they heard the hum and deep roar of this great wave and felt the irresistible surge of tons and tons of water nearing the end of a long passage. The dinghy shuddered but rose up and vibrated to the hum and the girl said happily,

"Our boat is singing."

"This is better than the fairground," said her brother.

"What did you say?" shouted the man.

"It's better than the fairground."

"Yes," agreed his father. "And a much longer ride."

The children exchanged smiles and their father felt something which he, too, remembered from his own childhood. A freedom from care. He felt suddenly light-hearted and it did not seem terrible to watch the crowds scrambling in terror as the wave roared in on the beach; the man and his children did not even hear the victims' brief screams. In a second they soared over the little beach shop where they had bought fishing nets, postcards and a bucket, over the kiosk which sold teas and charged one pound deposit on the tray, over the car-park and up the cliff as if on a magic carpet. They saw people fleeing frantically from the village, aimless like ants disturbed in their heap, and then they were on top of them, the houses were swallowed up, only the grassy downs lay before them but still the hungry wave did not slacken or fall. The head of a cow bobbed up beside the boat, unsurprised, chewing, and disappeared again; a man holding a golf club revolved slowly just below the surface until he was drawn deeper into the vortex.

At last the smooth curve of the wave on which they were planing began to break up, the roar increased, the air was filled with soaking spray and the little boat tipped down to shoot forward ever faster, bumping and shaking so that the man had to squeeze his children tight and brace his feet firmly against the gunwales. He closed his eyes instinctively to shut out the stinging salt spray and the next thing he knew, or felt was a lull and warm sun on his wet body.

He opened his eyes and found himself in the boat which was floating tranquilly in the centre of a small pond. He was aware first of the sound of water dripping off the sides of the boat and then the birdsong from the pond side. Of the wave and its aftermath there was no sign. Neither were the children in the boat.

"Daddy," he heard a voice call across the water.

"Tea's ready," piped in another.

The man saw now a thatched cottage set in a garden. In the darkened doorway stood two children and behind them, barely perceptible a young woman with black hair. All three were looking out in his direction and although the woman's pale face was only just visible, he thought that she smiled and as she did so revealed the small gap between her front teeth. Then the boy called again,

"Come on Dad. We're starving," before the three figures receded into the cool of the house. The man leant over the side of the boat to propel it ashore with his hands. He paused once to taste the water which was sweet. As he did so he heard a third voice which could have been his voice call,

"Coming."

And he saw a man, a figure almost hidden in the dark shadows of the apple trees, ease himself out of a hammock and tucking his shirt into his trousers, walk across the brightly lit lawn into the house.