‘It was me.’ A voice with a faint northern twang says from amongst a crowd of heads, before the bodies part and a tall form walks through. ‘Are you okay?’
I can’t see much of his face as the only light is from two nearby fires, but it’s enough to recognise him, even though he’s about a foot taller than the last time we saw each other. I take in the familiar scar, the sharp cheekbones, heavy eyebrows, and thick black hair. ‘Jake.’ I gulp. He looks like a stranger but also familiar at the same time. ‘Why the hell did you do that?’ He’s not a short skinny teenager any more. He’s much taller than I remember and with him in swimming shorts, I can also see a lot of muscles. I force myself to focus on his face and pray my fair skin won’t betray me. ‘What were you thinking?’
‘I thought he was hurting you, Jones. I heard him call you a cow, and he was trying to grab you.’
Something about the way he uses my surname grates on me, just like it did when I was fourteen. ‘He’s my friend. We were messing around. We always do.’ He flinches and opens his mouth, but I get there first. ‘You can’t just shove people around!’ I point my finger at him, uncaring of the crowd watching our little drama. ‘You could have seriously hurt him. What’s wrong with you?’
‘Quite a lot, it seems.’ His lips curl back over his teeth. ‘Including sticking up for spoilt little girls.’ He holds his arms out to his sides, ‘So the next time I see someone who needs help, I won’t bother—’
‘Spoilt?’ I screech, staring at him. ‘Well, I didn’t need help, and I definitely don’t need yours. You have no right to just come charging in.’ My volume climbs, my face getting hotter.
‘Jeez, when did you turn into such a feminist?’
I gape at him, expecting better from him than that, before realising the look in his eyes isn’t anger. It’s pain.
‘After all,’ he continues, ‘you were happy enough to accept my help last time.’
He’s got me, and it puts me on the defensive. ‘W-well, I didn’t ask for it then,’ I shoot back, ‘and I’m not asking for it now.’ I put my hands on my hips. ‘Anyway, since when did you adopt a “violence solves everything” ethos? Don’t be like your dad and go—’
‘What?’ His mouth drops open, wounded, before rallying. ‘I was just trying to protect you. We’re friends.’
That stings. ‘No, Jake. We were friends once. And barely that. Then you left.’
His jaw tenses, a pulse beating. ‘If that’s how you feel, fine.’ Spinning around, he marches off through a gap in the crowd, churning up shingle along the ground as he goes.
Eloise and Chloe appear next to me. ‘Bloody hell, Leila,’ Eloise says, eyes wide. ‘I know you’re loyal to your friends and he hurt Shaun, but you sort of lost it with him.’
Chloe nods in agreement, ‘It’s not like you at all. You okay?’
‘Yeah, of course,’ I say with a nod. As I turn to them, the anger drains away, leaving me shaking. Embarrassment fills me for losing control, especially so publicly. They’ve never seen this side of me. Dad would be so disappointed. We thought I’d left my temper behind when we moved back to the south coast.
I simmer with resentment at Jake for bringing back memories of emotions past. Yet he didn’t deserve what I said, and I really shouldn’t have made that comment about his dad. I cringe. Then I burst into tears.
***
Nearly two hours later I’m propped against Chloe, my head resting on her shoulder as we listen to ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger’ by Oasis. She’s smiling as she watches Simon and Jonny pretend to strum guitars in front of the fire, miming the way Liam Gallagher sings with his mouth practically kissing the microphone.
I’ve calmed down and the atmosphere is muted now, not many of us left at the beauty spot. I hate ugly scenes, and it’s soured the evening. I wanted to go home straight afterwards, but Eloise couldn’t get any signal to call Max, and I could see my friends enjoying themselves, so I wiped the tears away and pretended I was fine. And I am – or at least I will be. I can’t understand why Jake behaved like that, or why my reaction was so strong. I overheard Eloise muttering to Chloe that in a way it was sweet he was trying to protect me, but I disagree. I’m not his to protect. Still, I wonder if he’s okay after our disagreement, and regret causes my stomach to churn.
My attention turns towards the water, and the stone arch of the Door. There’s a dark figure on top of the high rocky outcrop. It disappears and then I hear a splash. Scouring the sea for a swimmer in the fading light, I see nothing. For a moment I turn away as Eloise waves at me, holding out a can of beer, but I shake my head. Michelle glances at me from beside Shaun and mouths okay? so I nod and give her a double thumbs up.
I turn back to the sea, scanning it again for a swimmer, and then the shoreline for someone getting out. Nothing. Maybe I imagined it. But I feel uneasy. I uncurl my legs, pushing myself off the ground and moving away from the fire. It goes unnoticed as someone turns the volume to maximum and everyone stands up to sing together, voices raised as they throw their arms around each other’s waists and shoulders, shouting out about how Sally can wait, and that she knows it’s too late.
Striding with effort over the multi-coloured pebbles to the water’s edge, I can’t get rid of the feeling that someone was— There! Squinting in the half-light, I spot a small dot in the sea at the bottom of the arch, and moments later, a pair of flailing arms. They look like they’re clawing at the sky. Whoever it is, they’re in trouble. Casting a look over my shoulder, I see everyone’s occupied, noisily singing, their heads thrown back. They don’t realise that a drama is unfolding only a dozen feet away, silent and unseen.
‘Hey!’ I shout, turning to the crowd and trying to get someone’s attention. ‘Hey, there’s someone in trouble!’ But they can’t hear. As I hesitate, I notice the arms sink beneath the glassy surface of the sea and realise I haven’t got time. I’ve wasted too much already.
If nothing else, I’m a good swimmer – one of the few skills Mum instilled in me before she disappeared. My instincts take over. Taking deep breaths, I wade into the water, ignoring the slight chill. The sea hasn’t had the whole summer to warm up yet. As soon as it’s deep enough, I dive in, my arms arching over and alternating in firm, precise strokes. Hang on, I think hazily, just wait for me.
It takes for ever but at the same time feels like only an instant, and then my left hand’s connecting with a struggling body, and I’m grabbing an arm and heaving them to the surface, both of us gasping for breath. Their fight for survival is making it hard for me to get a grip.
‘Stop it!’ I order, briny water filling my mouth. Turning my head, I spit it out. Salty water is splashing in my face and stinging my eyes. I can hardly see. I try hooking my right arm around their chest so I can get them to lie on their back and tow them in, but they – he, I realise from the width of his shoulders and shape of his skull – is dipping down below the water again. He can’t kick properly for some reason. There’s a current beneath us trying to pull us out to dangerous depths, but I resist it. Not today, I think fiercely, and not like this.
Yanking him back up to the surface, I calm myself down, inhaling deeply to make sure I have enough air in my lungs to keep us both afloat. ‘Stop moving. Relax!’ I bellow in his ear through a mop of dark hair, trying to get through to him. ‘It’s okay. I’ve got you.’
Thankfully he quietens, and I hook my arm around under his armpit across to his opposite shoulder so he’s floating in front of me, both of us on our backs. I draw him closer, noticing his right leg is dead straight, toes curled over tight. His