1. Fresh from the Sea
The seawall or sea defence, whatever you cared to call it, was ugly, a long lumbering beast hunching the shore. Local folk referred to it as the Devil’s Pier, a necessary evil guarding land from sea.
Linval Larkin braced himself, ready for the sight of it, as he approached the Crab and Lobster Public House, at the end of the narrow cobbled street he was walking along on a fine June morning. A burst of sea view and then, mere yards later, there it was. He stopped in his tracks, the early morning sunshine resting on his shoulders.
No amount of mental bracing ever prevented the surge of distaste when Lin sighted the beast. Domineering, it dragged one’s eyes away from the tiny beach and the pretty harbour nestling beneath the sheltering cliffs. He hated it, but kept telling himself he’d get used to it. One day he’d get used to it, and even learn to love it, or at least grow more kindly disposed towards it.
Every morning, time, weather and his partner David, permitting, he walked across the little beach, traversing a natural collection of rocks and boulders, before climbing the unnatural stone steps leading up and onto the seawall itself.
The metal safety rails spiked in the beast's back did nothing to instil confidence in him. He still walked its length with trembling knees because he was terrified of heights.
Reaching its head, he’d stand for a few moments, looking out across the bay, the breeze lifting his hair. It was more a cove than a bay, a sweet curved little cove, which embraced the sea as it flowed in, cradling it tenderly, until it flowed back out again taking the little fishing boats, the cobles, that went out to fish for whatever was in season. The handful of cobles bobbing in the harbour, bravely painted and named, were the last stubborn remnants of a once prosperous, but long gone fishing fleet.
The wall was necessary. Lin inwardly repeated this mantra for the millionth time, as he climbed up the steps and carefully prowled his way along it, not looking down. It was necessary because the sea wasn’t always sweetly dispositional. Bipolar, it could purr one day and snarl and rage another, sinking angry claws into the coastline, ripping away chunks of land along with whatever stood on it.
Wrapping his arms about himself, he turned his face to the wind, licking salt sea kisses from his lips, his mind busily trying to convince his emotions he would one day grow used to the huge man made structure, this mountain of rock armour and pre-cast concrete accropodes.
One day, its glaring falsity would weather down into something more natural, something that didn’t violate the childhood landscape he still held in his mind.
He ran his hands along the rails as if hoping to find some point of connection, some affinity with the bulky creature employed to safeguard Stanes from the encroaching sea. The rails were as cold and hard as the heart of a religious fundamentalist. He was no closer to forming a relationship with it than he had been at its inception.
He’d wept, raged and agonised throughout its construction. David had comforted him, or tried to. Remember Scarburn, he’d said, using his thumbs to gently wipe away the angry tears coursing down Lin’s face. Remember how heartbreaking it was to watch a building, which had stood for a hundred and fifty years, slide into the sea. You wouldn’t like it to happen here, to see the old harbour cottages and houses swept away, would you?
Lin had shaken his head. He’d hate what had happened at neighbouring Scarburn, several summers earlier, to be repeated in Stanes.
Greystones Hotel had stood majestically on Scarburn’s cliff top enjoying panoramic views of the sea for a century and a half. One day in late summer, guests enjoying morning coffee in the garden conservatory, noticed cracks opening up in the floor. Most of them sensibly opted to abandon their coffee and croissants and hastily vacate the premises.
By the end of the day, the conservatory was no longer attached to the hotel. It had plunged hundreds of feet into the sea. Inch by inch the rest of the hotel crept forward until finally, three days later, a storm drove the sea hard against the eroded land and the cliff, complete with hotel, gave itself up to a greater power.
Lin would never forget the sight or sounds as the cliff tumbled into the jaws of the sea. The rip and tear of rocks, roots and soil made it sound like the land was screaming in terror.
The event had made world headline news and brought sightseers from far and wide. It might have been a wonder to them, but it had caused ripples of fear amongst the local coastal populations. Stanes was already suffering as a result of land erosion with every new storm chewing and biting at the land. It was decided action needed to be taken sooner rather than later.
The building of the seawall began. There wasn't enough money in the municipal coffers to take aesthetics into account. The defence was built with efficiency in mind at the lowest possible cost.
Lin refused to reconcile with the project. He found change painful. He was slow to adapt, he couldn’t help it, and he’d liked Stanes the way it was. The way he remembered it from childhood before he left aged barely sixteen, to find his way in the world after the death of his mother.
He’d tried to raise a petition against the construction of the wall, stalking the beach every day to get signatures, but the locals weren't interested (gi’ ower Mr Larkin.) And even the tourists could see the sense of protecting the shoreline. He’d engaged in many heated arguments and even a scuffle or two, one of which ended in arrest, at which point David's patience had finally expired. He put the beach out of bounds until the work was complete. Lin wasn’t permitted to even walk as far as The Crab and Lobster.
Lin suddenly shivered, his skin developing a goose rash. He’d set out for his walk in bright early morning sunshine, but a mist was now creeping in from the sea, a smuggler’s mist, dense and crafty.
It muffled all sound, even the raucous cries of the seabirds that clustered the high cliff faces, safe from human interference. The gulls, redshanks, turnstones, plovers and wagtails, which made up the seabird population of Stanes, were suddenly quieted, as if they’d moved away into the far distance.
He glanced nervously around. While dwelling on his inner thoughts, the view from the end of the seawall had disappeared, merging with the mist. He became aware of a muted thudding and strained his ears trying to identify the source of the sounds, which seemed to be swelling and reverberating from the mist now encircling him.
His head spun as the urgent thumping filled his ears, disorienting him. He sank to his knees, fear turning his stomach juices to sour acid, which splashed up into his throat and mouth.
“Calm.” He said the word aloud, gulping at the cool mist. “Stay calm, you fool, calm.” The eerie muffled thuds were being generated from within. It was the beat of his own heart pumping blood around his body and sounding in his ears. He was having a panic attack, his oversensitive nerves exaggerating danger.
Hunkering low on the back of the wall, he made a determined effort to slow his breathing. The sea was still. Nothing could happen to him here.
Despite his best efforts, the sense of panic increased as the sea’s clouding breath thickened and coiled around him, obfuscating all sense of time and space. After what seemed an eternity, a voice came out of the mist.
“What are you doing here, Linval?”
Lin experienced a swell of relief, as a figure began to materialise from the grey air. A firm hand reached down, helping him to his feet, steadying him.
“George was expecting you to pick the stuff up from the harbour an hour ago. He’s got his sister’s wedding to go to at ten-o-clock. He couldn’t really spare the time to make personal deliveries. He was in a foul mood when he came to the house.”
David sounded distinctly irritable. George's mood had obviously rubbed off.
“We’re lucky he didn’t sell all his catch to one of the hoteliers from Whitersby.”
“Sorry, David.” Lin swallowed hard. “I lost track of time and then this wretched fog came down and…” he trailed off, reluctant to admit being unnerved by fog.
“You had no business coming out here.”
“It was bright sunshine when I set out.”
“That’s beside the point, and you know it.” David tucked his partner’s trembling arm under his own. “Let’s get back to Sandstones. The Prescott’s will be demanding breakfast soon.”
Read a longer excerpt at Smashwords
Postcards contains sexual references.
Copyright 2024 ~ Fabian Black