Buch lesen: «Footprints in the Sand»
“Bryn! Bryn!”
Couldn’t he see the danger?
I ran along the shoreline, scanning the beach for Bryn. And suddenly there he was, bright and fluorescent in my dad’s old fishing jacket, waving back at me.
Yellow Dog bounded around him in crazy circles, a distant dot beside the faraway figure of the man I loved. There, I’d said it. For the first time in my life, I’d said it. I yelled it out loud, caressing the words that had taken a small miracle to finally get out.
“I love you!”
My voice was carried away on the rising wind.
Bryn threw a stick as the tide rushed around the edge of the bay. Yellow Dog leaped up into the air, and then they were gone, lost in an opaque mist.
I stopped, aware of rippling water moving relentlessly toward me.
And then it was upon me, dragging me down. The surging white wave that heralded the tide, taking all in its path.
“Bryn!”
Dear Reader,
The inspiration for this story came to me when I was walking by the sea not so very far from here, where the tide comes in quickly and silently around the outside of the bay, often cutting off those foolish enough to walk way out across the sands.
It seems so tranquil and so beautiful a place and yet, in an instant, it can become deadly–much like life, really.
I do hope you enjoy this story.
All very best wishes to you,
Eleanor
Footprints in the Sand
Eleanor Jones
ELEANOR JONES
Born and raised on a farm in northern England, Eleanor Jones has always had a passion for animals and the countryside. She has been writing almost all of her life. The poems and stories she wrote as a child, which still grace a cupboard somewhere, were mostly written in longhand. She later wrote articles for an equestrian magazine, and her first big break came when she began writing teenage pony mystery stories. These still sell successfully in seven countries throughout Europe and in America.
Married at eighteen to Peter, she had two children and then set up the Holmescales Riding Centre in Cumbria with her husband. This busy center now trains career students, takes hacks and treks and teaches at all levels from children and total novices to competition riders.
Eleanor still rides every day, schooling and training horses, and her daughter is now a partner in the business and competes at national level. Both her daughter and her son are now married and she has three wonderful grandchildren with whom she loves to spend as much time as she can.
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I would like to dedicate this book to my dear
mother, Grace, who always loved the sea.
THE SORROWING SEA
By T J Darling
A sight so wide it fills the eye, its vast horizon
meets a sky that stretches to infinity. That holds
my heart. That sets me free.
Timeless echoes in my ears; a haunting melody;
ten thousand seabirds sing their woes to a wild
and restless sea.
So many lost beneath the waves of the mighty
ocean’s rage: How much more heartache can it
writhe its anger to assuage.
But when it sparkles, shimmering sands, its
transient beauty a promised land, it sings another
song to me, of peacefulness and harmony.
A place to live: A place to die.
A place I love.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER ONE
WHERE WAS BRYN? My car keys made a heavy clunk on the pine table. The sound echoed hollowly inside my head as my eyes flickered around the tiny kitchen and out into the narrow hallway. Please don’t let me be too late, please don’t let him be gone already. All the stupid, phobic insecurities that had held me back seemed shallow and insignificant now. At last I could tell him how I felt—if it wasn’t too late. Or perhaps I’d kept him waiting for too long and finally missed my chance of happiness altogether...now, when I needed it most.
The silence brought hope. If Yellow wasn’t here, then Bryn must have taken him for a walk; they’d be on the shore. I hugged my news to myself, clinging to the joy that ached inside me, deep down where the anger used to be. I longed to see his face when I told him. I couldn’t wait for him to come back; I had to find him now.
Leaving the door open, I ran back outside, taking in the scene that had filled my life forever. A scene I couldn’t live with and couldn’t live without. Miles of sand stretched out toward the far horizon, and gulls coasted in easy circles, their haunting cries echoing with a melody that spoke only of the sea—a place of beauty and of pain that held me fiercely in its grip.
To my disappointment the glistening sand was smooth and bare, not a single figure in sight. I glanced uneasily at my watch, knowing the tide so well and aware that at any moment it would come rushing around the bay. Apprehension dulled my joy, but of course Bryn knew the dangers that lurked behind the serene facade of the bay, and surely he must have heard the siren that warned of the approaching tide. He must have taken the path that led across the cliff top instead. He loved to stand up there staring out to sea, for in every view he saw a picture waiting to be painted. Perhaps I should just go back to the cottage.
No! My heart beat hard against my rib cage. What if he was still down on the shore? I knew this place with an instinct that never failed and something told me I had to find him now.
The horizon was fading, at one with the rippling sea, lost in the mist that settled over the water and spread soundlessly toward the shore. Even the gulls were silent as they waited for the tide.
“Bryn! Bryn!”
My voice disappeared into the emptiness as I stepped onto the sand, feeling its familiar, comforting squelch against my feet. I started to run along the shoreline, scanning the beach for Bryn. And suddenly there he was, a bright fluorescent figure in my dad’s old fishing jacket, waving back at me.
“Bryn! Bryn!”
Couldn’t he see the danger?
Yellow Dog bounded around him in crazy circles, a distant dot beside the faraway figure of the man I loved. There, I had said it. For the first time in my life, I’d said it. I yelled it out loud, caressing the words that had taken a small miracle to finally get out.
“I love you!”
My voice was carried away on the rising wind.
“Come back!”
He threw a stick.... Threw a stick as the tide surged around the edge of the bay.
“Bryn!”
And then he was heading toward me. Relief rushed in like the tide as I set out to meet him.
One moment, I could see him, way out toward the horizon, a tiny matchstick man against the smooth expanse of sand, picking up the stick to throw again. Yellow Dog leaped up in the air and then suddenly they were gone, lost in the opaque mist that settled over the bay. I stopped, aware of rippling water moving relentlessly toward me.
And then it was upon me, dragging me down. The surging wave that heralded the tide, taking all in its pathway as it sped around the outskirts of the bay.
“Bryn!”
My screams cut through the silence, but no answer came. I tried to go on but the force of the water held me back. Emptiness filled my soul. Surely life could never be so cruel as to take my love away just when I’d finally found him.
I stared helplessly across the murky landscape. This familiar place I both loved and hated had changed its face again, just as it always did, just like the last time but with more serenity. A distant, blurred memory heightened my screams and for a moment I became once again the terrified five-year-old girl who watched the same sea wreak its terrible wrath on her father so many years ago.
I had to go back, had to get help. But where was the shore? I floundered now, knee-deep in the fierce current, my eyes searching for the headland—firm sand beneath my feet, coarse grass and the lights of the cottage calling me home.
“Bryn... Bryn...”
I couldn’t lose him now, not now, not when I’d finally awakened to the truth that had been there all along. I placed my hand on my stomach. Today I was going to tell him. Today was supposed to change our lives.
For a moment I froze, staring out into the bleak emptiness with disbelief. Surely he would appear from the clinging white vapor, dark hair curling in the damp air, speckled green eyes dancing with mirth and Yellow leaping beside him, his golden coat wet and dripping. What a mess he was going to make! I’d have to dry him well before he could come into the cottage. Now where was the old bath towel I always used...? In the back porch, that was it. I put it in the box beneath the window.
I clung desperately to that mundane thought. A hysterical cry gurgled inside me—what if I no longer had any need for Yellow’s old towel?
The sea lapped against the shore, breaking the eerie silence. The truth sank in. Bryn was lost. Somewhere out there in the treacherous bay, my love was lost. I fumbled for my cell phone with numb, shaking fingers, tapping out the emergency number.
“Help...help me.... The tide... The tide is coming in and someone’s still out there. I can’t see him.... The mist...”
A man’s voice, deep and calm, taking control, bringing back hope.
“Where are you?”
“Jenny Brown’s Bay.”
In the pause that followed, my heart clamped tightly shut.
“Don’t worry. We’ll have someone there in no time. Just hang on and keep shouting. It will help us find you and give your friend something to focus on.”
His voice was firm again, professional, but I’d heard that hesitation. I sank down onto the harsh grass, screaming Bryn’s name until my voice would no longer work, staring out into the murky emptiness, listening to the rushing tide as hope drained away.
I was five years old again, alone and terrified, my face pressed against the window of the cottage as I watched the storm unleash its fury across the bay....
CHAPTER TWO
WHILE ELSA RUSHED HOME, desperate to see him, Bryn strode across the sand with Yellow gamboling happily at his heels. His feet crunched a mass of tiny white shells left stranded by the tide. He paused, reaching down to pick one up, running his fingers across its pearly pink iridescence before slipping it into his pocket to give to Elsa...if he decided to stay. Doubts crept in. He’d been so sure that he was doing the right thing, setting her free to finally get on with her life. But never to see her lovely face again... And how would she manage without him to protect her? He’d been there for almost all of her life; perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps he had suffocated her, stifled her dreams. She would never know unless he set her free.
The intoxicating smell of the sea flooded his senses. He leaned forward into the buffeting wind, breathing it deep into his lungs as he quickened his stride. He could see why Elsa loved this place so much, despite the heartache it spelled for her. Today its beauty took his breath away, yet behind that calm serenity lurked an untamed wildness. Just like her, really. She had that same unpredictable quality. He’d seen it the very first time he met her, a lifetime ago, a fierce changeable beauty that he couldn’t quite touch.
Thinking of Elsa brought a heavy pain to his heart. He used to wonder how long it would be before she actually faced up to her true feelings for him, finally letting him fully into her life. Now, after everything that had happened between them, he was beginning to believe that maybe, after years of waiting, he had been wrong after all. Perhaps those feelings just weren’t there for her to face up to. Perhaps he was just a habit, a safety net.
He heard the siren, way off in the distance, heralding danger. The tide was coming in. Soon that tiny white wave they dramatically called the bore would come washing around the coastline, leaving anyone still out in the bay totally stranded—leaving him stranded if he wasn’t careful. He hesitated, listening to the haunting melody of the seagulls that seemed to echo his own emotion. A wild recklessness overtook him. They always sounded the siren with loads of time to spare, and today danger felt good. He picked up a piece of driftwood and continued to walk, looking across toward the shore as he hurled it for Yellow.
There was Elsa’s little white cottage, the last in a terraced row of three, perched on a lonely rocky outcrop. And farther along was the stall where she would soon start to sell her painstakingly collected wares, which he liked to call her romantic marine life. She was away now, in Newcastle, searching for more unusual items, anything quirky and linked to the sea.
Bryn deliberately hadn’t phoned her, giving her breathing space. All he had asked for, yet again, was that she let down her barriers and love him totally, as he loved her, and yet again she’d drawn away from him. Every time he got really close to her she retreated from him in panic, as if keeping herself at bay. Now he was beginning to believe that he’d stayed around too long, waiting for something that was never to be, his very presence holding her back and keeping her from loving someone else, someone who could fulfill her dreams.
He shook his head, taking a breath.
“Yellow! Come on, Yellow....”
The big golden dog bounded toward him, stick in mouth, and together they started to run, forgetting the high-pitched wail of the siren.
He saw her as he turned back toward the shore, a tiny figure at the edge of the sand. She was back already and he was still here. What now? He’d given her an ultimatum before she left; fear crept over him at the thought of rejection. He should have gone when he had the chance. It would’ve been easier that way.
She waved at him, arms flailing in the distance, and as always, he waved back, not noticing at first the white mist that was settling over the horizon, merging sea and sand. He saw the wave coming, and it almost filled him with joy. For Bryn Evans, risks were there for the taking; danger dulled the pain of rejection and made his blood flow faster. He picked up Yellow’s stick and hurled it at the shore, heading back reluctantly.
But the water came too quickly. It rose up to his knees as the whole world suddenly disappeared around him, lost in a thick white blanket of fog. The gulls were silent but he could still hear Elsa calling his name, screaming into the opaque, curling mist. He stumbled on toward the sound, up to his waist now, with Yellow swimming beside him.
“Go on, boy!”
His voice sounded strange and hollow. The sea churned fiercely, sucking him in.
“Home, boy.... Find Elsa!”
Yellow looked at him with worried eyes, swimming around in desperate circles. Loneliness was a heavy weight. Fear sprang to life inside him as his feet left the bottom and then he, too, started to swim. Was this it? Was the decision to be taken from him? Was Elsa destined finally to move on without him after all? Her voice was fading. His whole body ached. Maybe it was for the best.
“Home, boy...! Home!”
And then Bryn was truly alone, in mind and in body, as he fought against the surging water that dragged him down.
CHAPTER THREE
I WAS FIVE YEARS OLD when my whole world changed—and I remember it so clearly.
Alone and terrified, I had pressed my face against the cottage window, watching the storm unleash its fury on the bay. The glass felt cold, but I pressed my cheek harder against it, fighting the tears that welled up. “Be brave,” my dad had said, so I mustn’t cry.
He was brave, my dad. In fact, he was the bravest person I knew. Every day—if the tide was in—he would walk down to the jetty before dawn, no matter what the weather and no matter what the other fishermen said, to take his boat across the bay into the open sea beyond. Daffyd went with him, of course, but old Mr. Mac, our next-door neighbor, said that Daffyd was even dafter than my dad. He did have a funny look, I supposed, kind of gormless really, but I don’t think Mr. Mac can have meant it because Daffyd was his son.
My dad wasn’t gormless; my dad was handsome and smart. He could take his boat out in the wildest storm and come back safely. I think he kind of liked storms.
“Got to get those fish in, darlin’,” he would say if I woke up when he kissed me goodbye. And this morning it had been the same as always. So why was I here with my face against the window and big fat tears slowly squeezing their way out? Because I had heard old Mr. Mac shouting, that was why.
I heard my dad’s voice first, soft in my ears as my eyes opened in the half light.
“Sweet dreams, darlin’. Mrs. Mac will watch out for you.”
His lips had brushed my cheek, I heard his boots tramping loudly down the narrow wooden staircase and then the back door closed with a thud. The wind was rising; I could hear it from my bed, whipping around the house and rattling the windowpanes. I curled up tight beneath my blankets and wished it was morning and my dad was coming back.
Mr. Mac was shouting. I could hear his voice clearly even though the wind was starting to howl. The wind was always howling around Jenny Brown’s Bay.
“You might be crazy enough to go out this morning, but you’re not taking Daffyd.”
My dad laughed, just like he always did. My dad laughed at everything.
“You’re going soft in your old age, Billy Mac,” he said. “Let the lad decide. He’s old enough to make up his own mind.”
I crept out of my bed despite the cold, and raced to the window, peering out into the eerie light of the half-hidden moon to see the three of them standing on the narrow pathway that led down to the shore. Mr. Mac was waving his fist; I’d never seen him so cross. Then suddenly the moon disappeared behind a dark cloud and when it came back there was just him, standing all alone, staring out across the bay. His shoulders drooped and he looked smaller somehow. I think I knew then that something terrible was about to happen.
I wasn’t scared of being alone in our cottage. Mrs. Mac watched out for me. All I had to do was press the numbers on the phone that my dad had written out for me and she would come to tuck me back up into bed again. I didn’t want to be safe in bed, though, when my dad was out on his boat in the storm, so I just waited with my face pressed against the glass, staring out at the angry sea.
After a while, I didn’t even feel the cold because my whole body had gone numb, but still I waited. The day was slowly creeping in, throwing a pale light on the crashing sea. Furious black clouds rolled across the sky and the wind howled, but I kept my eyes firmly fixed on the horizon, watching for my dad’s boat to come home. Sometimes he would flash a light for me as he sailed into the bay, but no light came.
I don’t know how it happened but I must have closed my eyes because when I opened them again it was as if I’d moved into another world, a beautiful world where storms didn’t turn the sea into a crazy beast.
The bay was smooth and calm, autumn sunshine made the water sparkle like crystal, and the sky was a clear pale blue. Perhaps my dad’s boat had come home while my eyes were shut. But I could see Mr. Mac down on the shore and he still seemed kind of small so I knew that he was sad. He was looking out at the vast expanse of shimmering sand left by the tide.
I tried to move my hands but my fingers were achingly numb and suddenly I became aware of just how cold I was. Everything chattered, from my teeth to my toes. I think that maybe even my heart was chattering because it felt all fluttery and weird.
Where was my dad? The question rose inside me like a roar. Misery overpowered me and my whole body became one big tear as I started to scream.
* * *
“SHUSH... NOW SHUSH...”
Mrs. Mac’s voice was in my ears, her warm hands wrapping me in a blanket, lifting me, carrying me down the stairs and into her house. I cuddled against her comforting bulk, my screams softening into a bubbling mess of tears as I breathed in her familiar scent of fish and roses.
“No sign?” Her voice sounded brittle and strange. I recognized the big man who filled her tiny living room. He was called Ted and he lived in a cottage at the end of our lane. Usually he was all smiley and nice but today his round face was crumpled into a frown. He shook his dark head slowly, circling his hat around and around in his hands.
“Not yet.”
His voice was very sad and when he nodded at me I saw that his blue eyes were sad, too.
“Is the lass all right?”
Mrs. Mac sighed. “Just cold and scared,” she told him. “Have you seen Billy?”
He shrugged, frowning. “Not for a while. He and Joey went off along the coast.”
“He’s gone hasn’t he, Ted—my Daffyd?”
When her voice started to rise, I slipped down from her arms and ran to hide behind the sofa.
“That Mad Mick Malone has finally done himself in and taken my boy with him.... I hope he rots in hell.”
“Now, now, Mary.”
Ted’s voice was soft and kind, and he placed an awkward hand on Mrs. Mac’s plump arm. “We don’t know that yet. Don’t give up hope. Now why don’t I get the little lass some breakfast?”
My tummy rumbled as I crept out of my hiding place.
“You nip next door and find her some clothes,” he suggested firmly.
Mrs. Mac looked up at him, then looked at me with a funny expression in her faded eyes before ambling off to do his bidding.
I didn’t think I’d be able to eat anything at all but the bread dipped in fried egg he made me tasted so good that I ate the whole plateful. Suddenly I felt sure my dad would come back after all. He knew the sea too well to let it get him, like it sometimes got other people. Mr. Mac’s brother was drowned in the sea; I think that was why he always looked so sad. Mrs. Mac looked sad now, too. Her face had gone gray and she ignored me when I went to try to sit on her lap. Ted crouched down beside me, his big knees sticking up past his elbows.
“Just leave her be for now, lass,” he said. “Things will work out, you’ll see.”
I looked past him toward the window, my eyes wide as I tried not to cry. “Be brave,” my dad had said, but what if “things” didn’t work out? Suddenly I didn’t feel big enough to be brave.
“When will my dad come back?”
My voice sounded shaky and I gripped the sides of my chair really hard. Ted coughed, covering his mouth with his hand as he glanced at Mrs. Mac.
“We’ll just have to wait and see, lass,” he told me sadly.
Mrs. Mac’s eyes were like pieces of glass and her voice was sharp, too, as if all her softness had suddenly turned into ice.
“There’s nothing to wait for,” she said. “You know as well as I do that they’ve both gone for good.”
Ted stood up, his shoulders bowed and his head almost touching the ceiling.
“Now, Mary,” he began. “Let’s not jump to...”
I didn’t find out what we shouldn’t jump to, though, for a gust of wind rushed through the house as the front door burst open. There was Mr. Mac. His stooped figure was outlined by sunshine, his white hair was all blown up into a funny shape and his mouth was working but no sounds were coming out. Clean salty air filled the room, the cries of gulls filled my head and I felt a great big sadness deep, deep down inside me. Perhaps the gulls were crying for my dad. Oh, how I wished he would come home.
“Is my dad back?” I cried, but Mr. Mac didn’t seem to hear me, then he stooped so far down that I thought he was going to fall.
Ted rushed over to help him across the small room and into his own chair by the fireside. I could tell by his face that the answer to my question was no, and so could Mrs. Mac. She seemed to have gone completely frozen now. I thought that perhaps she should get closer to the fire, too, and then she might go soft again; I liked her better when she was soft.
“Mick’s boat has been washed up on the rocks down the coast.”
Mr. Mac’s voice was so low and kind of croaky that it didn’t really sound like him at all, but I felt a great big jolt of excitement. My dad’s boat had been found! That must be good. But Ted’s eyes narrowed and I saw his jaw clench as he glanced across at me.
“Any sign of them?” His voice was low and urgent.
Mr. Mac’s face was very sad and he shook his head slowly from side to side.
“No one could have survived that storm...not even Mad Mick himself.”
I think I became invisible then because no one seemed to see me. Ted picked up his coat and headed for the door.
“I’ll go and see what I can find out,” he said. “And try not to worry.”
“Worry?” Mr. Mac murmured as the front door banged shut again. “It’s well beyond that.”
He turned to look at his wife, his eyes all wet and sad. “We’ve lost him, love,” he told her. “Our Daffyd’s gone.”
Suddenly she seemed to melt, crumpling onto the floor. But Mr. Mac didn’t go to help her; he just sat staring into space.
“There’s nothing left for us now,” he said
* * *
I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG we waited for someone to come. Mr. Mac didn’t seem able to get out of his chair and Mrs. Mac still lay on the floor, so I found a blanket and put it around her. It was a red-and-green checked blanket, her best one. I hoped she wouldn’t mind it being on the floor. Then I went and curled up next to the fire but it was getting lower so I tried to put on a log from the big brass box on the hearth. That only seemed to make it worse, though, so I decided to go and look for Ted.
The sun was so bright across the bay that I had to shade my eyes. It sparkled on the rippling water and glittered across the smooth expanse of sand, sand with no footprints at all. I searched along the shoreline but there was no sign of Ted anywhere, so I sat down and took off my shoes and socks. Sometimes, when my dad and me went for one of our walks along the beach, he would take off his shoes, too, and we would run together, right out to the edge of the sea. Now I looked down the coast to where I thought his boat might be and a big wave of loneliness stopped my breath. What if he never came back, what if we could never ever walk on the beach together again? I shook my head to get rid of the thought. My dad always came back.
I pretended he was right beside me as I stepped determinedly across the sand, feeling my bare toes dig deliciously into its crumbly surface. Ahead of me the sea glistened, a silver strip, way, way out near the sky, and I set off toward it, stopping sometimes to tread up and down until the sand beneath my feet went all soft and squishy. Then I had to jump out quickly in case it turned into quicksand and sucked me down forever. But the wet sand squelching between my toes made me feel much better, even though it was a bit cold.
I don’t know how I lost my shoes. A cloud rolled across the sun just as my feet got really cold, so I went to put them on but they were gone. I had walked almost to the edge of the sea and when I looked back to where our row of cottages nestled beneath the cliff they seemed a long way off, so I pretended to myself that my dad was right beside me as I walked back. However hard I tried, though, there was no one there, and my feet were becoming so numb that I couldn’t feel my toes at all. Eventually, when I just couldn’t walk anymore, I sat down on the huge stretch of lonely sand and started to cry.
I heard the siren blast out across the bay; an ear-splitting sound that brought me sharply to my senses. My dad had warned me about the tide so many times—“get off the sand when you hear that sound,” he used to say, and it felt to me as though he was right there speaking to me now, so I stood up again and began trudging toward the grassy shore.
I saw the white wave rushing at me around the other side of the bay. It didn’t look so dangerous, and anyway I could always swim. I was a good swimmer. I stared at it, mesmerized, wondering if I could outrun it. Fear prickled, my legs refused to work and then firm hands plucked me from the sand, swinging me high. My tears turned into a delighted shout—my dad had come to get me. I knew he’d never let me down.
“Now whatever are you doing out here all alone, lass?” came Ted’s voice. “And where are your shoes?”
A great loneliness welled up inside me, a pain that almost split my heart wide-open, and I went numb because suddenly I knew that my dad was gone forever.
I wanted Mrs. Mac, wanted to feel her plump arms enfold me, wanted her to hold me close against her big soft chest and wanted to hear her gentle voice telling me that everything was going to be all right.
“I want to go home,” I wailed as Ted swung me up to sit on his shoulders.
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