Read Online After You'd Gone by Maggie O'Farrell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maggie O'Farrell
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Beth.
She jumps to her feet and helps me unzip the back of my dress. We begin struggling out of our clothes and flinging them into an untidy heap - we have our bathing costumes on underneath. Mine is black and hers is white with blue stripes. I readjust the straps, pinging the elastic into place against my skin. I see my mother looking at the bruises on my legs, her face collapsed in confusion. I turn round. 'Race you to the sea.'
We run together towards the sea, leaving Mario with my
parents. The hard ridges of the sand push up painfully into
66
the soft parts of my feet. Behind me, Beth shouts at me to slow down.
I stop short at the sea edge, stunned, panting: it is full of
jellyfish, their viscous bodies palpitating like breathing hearts, their fringed tendrils ready to hook and sting. There is not a square foot of the water that does not contain a shivering mass of clammy glue, and it seems malevolent, as if these creatures have spontaneously generated from its elements.
'I'm not going in with them in there,' Beth says, and pokes at one with a stick. It convulses in shock, draws in its threads and shoots itself away with surprising speed. I clutch her and pretend to push her in. She screams and wriggles, laughing, and I am momentarily blinded by her hair, which streams into my face in the wind.
We lie on our stomachs in a shallow pool, our feet cutting swathes in the sand. I rest my chin on my knuckles. Final swirls of fog roll slowly up the beach. Beth twirls her hair and whistles. I am conscious of something pressing on me that I want to say to her, but when I open my mouth to speak I realise that I don't know what it is. A dog passes, red-rag tongue lolling from his mouth. He eyeballs us briefly, but lollops on, too busy to stop.
'Y00000-hooooooo.'
Our mother's voice reaches us through the cries of the birds. I turn my neck and look under the crook of my arm to see her running in the way only women of her age can - awkwardly modest, with her knees together, as if she'd rather be walking. She is brandishing a camera. Beth and I smile dutifully into the sun as the shutter clicks. I will keep that photo on my wall at college until my final year, when I have a party where it disappears, either trodden underfoot with cigarette butts or stolen by someone who likes the look of us.
My father joins us hastily, not wishing to be left alone with
Mario. Mario trails behind. He has taken off his shirt. His chest is tanned. He flexes his arm muscles. If I keep him out of the edges of my vision, I could almost pretend he isn't here. At the top of the beach my mother's newspaper wheels across the sand.
'Are you going swimming or not?' He looks at me hard.
I stand up. My costume is damp, cold and crusted with sand.
'There are too many jellyfish, ' Beth tells him.
Mario closes his hand around my wrist and runs towards the sea, dragging me behind him, my wrist bones cracking and bending under the pressure. Spumes of water spray up under my flailing legs, the jellyfish are swirled about in the agitated water and I hear a screaming that isn't the seagulls. He stops dead, the icy water lapping at my ribcage and placing his hands on my shoulders, he forces me down. My knees buckle and water closes over my head. I twist and thrash under his grasp, lashing out at him, swallowing great gulps of bitter water. My skin is prickling, alert with the panic of sensing the stinging brush of jellyfish trails. Through his fingers I can feel the shudder of his laughter. Suddenly I am released. My head soars and breaks the surface and sunlight rushes in on me. The sound of the beach roars in my ears and I gasp for air, gagging and coughing. I wipe the water from my eyes with shaking hands and we stare at each other for a split second before I am pushed down again into the silence of the sea. This time I keep my mouth closed. The water is swinging with light. His fingers are pressing small circular bruises into my shoulders. The jellyfish hang in
She jumps to her feet and helps me unzip the back of my dress. We begin struggling out of our clothes and flinging them into an untidy heap - we have our bathing costumes on underneath. Mine is black and hers is white with blue stripes. I readjust the straps, pinging the elastic into place against my skin. I see my mother looking at the bruises on my legs, her face collapsed in confusion. I turn round. 'Race you to the sea.'
We run together towards the sea, leaving Mario with my
parents. The hard ridges of the sand push up painfully into
66
the soft parts of my feet. Behind me, Beth shouts at me to slow down.
I stop short at the sea edge, stunned, panting: it is full of
jellyfish, their viscous bodies palpitating like breathing hearts, their fringed tendrils ready to hook and sting. There is not a square foot of the water that does not contain a shivering mass of clammy glue, and it seems malevolent, as if these creatures have spontaneously generated from its elements.
'I'm not going in with them in there,' Beth says, and pokes at one with a stick. It convulses in shock, draws in its threads and shoots itself away with surprising speed. I clutch her and pretend to push her in. She screams and wriggles, laughing, and I am momentarily blinded by her hair, which streams into my face in the wind.
We lie on our stomachs in a shallow pool, our feet cutting swathes in the sand. I rest my chin on my knuckles. Final swirls of fog roll slowly up the beach. Beth twirls her hair and whistles. I am conscious of something pressing on me that I want to say to her, but when I open my mouth to speak I realise that I don't know what it is. A dog passes, red-rag tongue lolling from his mouth. He eyeballs us briefly, but lollops on, too busy to stop.
'Y00000-hooooooo.'
Our mother's voice reaches us through the cries of the birds. I turn my neck and look under the crook of my arm to see her running in the way only women of her age can - awkwardly modest, with her knees together, as if she'd rather be walking. She is brandishing a camera. Beth and I smile dutifully into the sun as the shutter clicks. I will keep that photo on my wall at college until my final year, when I have a party where it disappears, either trodden underfoot with cigarette butts or stolen by someone who likes the look of us.
My father joins us hastily, not wishing to be left alone with
Mario. Mario trails behind. He has taken off his shirt. His chest is tanned. He flexes his arm muscles. If I keep him out of the edges of my vision, I could almost pretend he isn't here. At the top of the beach my mother's newspaper wheels across the sand.
'Are you going swimming or not?' He looks at me hard.
I stand up. My costume is damp, cold and crusted with sand.
'There are too many jellyfish, ' Beth tells him.
Mario closes his hand around my wrist and runs towards the sea, dragging me behind him, my wrist bones cracking and bending under the pressure. Spumes of water spray up under my flailing legs, the jellyfish are swirled about in the agitated water and I hear a screaming that isn't the seagulls. He stops dead, the icy water lapping at my ribcage and placing his hands on my shoulders, he forces me down. My knees buckle and water closes over my head. I twist and thrash under his grasp, lashing out at him, swallowing great gulps of bitter water. My skin is prickling, alert with the panic of sensing the stinging brush of jellyfish trails. Through his fingers I can feel the shudder of his laughter. Suddenly I am released. My head soars and breaks the surface and sunlight rushes in on me. The sound of the beach roars in my ears and I gasp for air, gagging and coughing. I wipe the water from my eyes with shaking hands and we stare at each other for a split second before I am pushed down again into the silence of the sea. This time I keep my mouth closed. The water is swinging with light. His fingers are pressing small circular bruises into my shoulders. The jellyfish hang in
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