Kook - Chris Vick

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me the truth. I felt heavy inside. They were going to flog me a board they had no hope of selling to anyone else and take me for every note in my pocket.

      All the same, I took it off them, felt the weight of it. It wasn’t light but lighter than I’d expected from its size. I looked it over, and generally tried to look like I had a fucking clue.

      “How much?” I said.

      “Depends. You want a suit too?”

      “Maybe.”

      Rag patted his gut. “Before I graduated to the school of longboard, when I was all slim and lovely, I had this Ripcurl summer suit …” He dug into the mountain again and came out with a greying suit, with loose stitching and a couple of holes in it.

      “Try it on.”

      Now I knew this was a joke, as well as a rip-off. I stripped to my pants and put the suit on. Pulling and panting I squeezed myself into it. It took a while. It fitted, a bit too much, and it stank. If me doing this was anything to do with impressing Jade, I was beginning to feel I might have made a mistake.

      “It’s a bit tight,” I said.

      “Needs to be.” Ned gave me the board to hold, and they stood back to admire their work.

      “He looks ready,” said Rag.

      “He does.”

      Again, I wondered what Jade would say. Maybe nothing, if she couldn’t get the words out for laughing. I put the board down, picked up my trousers and took out the notes. Rag couldn’t see how much was there, but he looked at the green and purple and licked his lips.

      “You won’t tell Jade, will you? She’ll take the piss. I’ll tell her myself like … once I’m all right at it. Anyway, how much?” I said, swallowing. Rag pulled his gaze from the cash and looked at me square, serious.

      “A hundred and fifty. And that includes the suit.”

      “Oh, um, well how much just for the board?”

      “Well…” He stroked his chin, considering the price… then cracked up. “I’m just messing. You think I’d sell you a suit I pissed in a thousand times?”

      Ned put a hand on my shoulder.

      “We’re giving you this stuff for free, but one day we may ask you a favour. Cool?”

      “Cool,” I agreed, straight off, without thinking.

      “I’ll ask you one more time,” said Rag. “You’re going to do this, Sam, for real?”

      “Yes.” And I meant it. A grin spread across their faces. They stood back, looking me up and down, admiring what they’d made.

      “You’re a surfer now, Sam,” said Rag. “One less of them…”

      “…One more of us,” said Ned.

      They did a comedy high-five.

      

      MUM’S FACE WAS a right picture when I turned up with the board and suit.

      There was a row. Course there was. But I was determined.

      “It’s not safe,” she said.

      “I’ll be careful.”

      “Your father drowned at sea.”

      “Mum, we live by the sea. On the edge of the moor. The edge of nowhere. There’s nothing else to do…”

      Mum chewed her lip.

      “Look,” I said. “If he’d died in a car crash, would you stop me learning to drive?”

      “No.”

      “But you’d want me to be careful, right? I’ll be careful. Safe. I promise.”

      She gave in eventually, but only after I’d made a bunch of promises.

      Never alone. I had to be with people who knew what they were doing.

      Never when it was big or dangerous.

      No going off surfing when I should be doing homework or helping in the house.

      I reckon she thought I’d try it for a bit and then lose interest, as soon as I realised I wasn’t any good.

      I told Mum the night before I started that I was meeting some surfers who were giving me a lesson before school. So that was broken promise number one.

      I got up in the dark and sneaked downstairs. I’d laid it all out the night before: board, wetsuit, rash vest, towel, board wax, bananas and a flask of coffee for fuel. The whole thing had to run smooth. I had to be in the water super early, surf for an hour, race home, get changed and get to the bus stop in time. And then make it look to Jade like I’d just got up, before asking her if she’d been surfing. Just like every morning.

      There was a chance I’d run into her at the beach, and if I did, I’d fess up. But if I could, I’d keep it a secret till I’d at least had a good crack at it. If she was surfing, she’d most likely be on the reefs, so with a bit of luck, she wouldn’t see me.

      And what would she think if she did? What would she say? It was hard to guess.

      All this went through my head as I cycled with the wetsuit half on, up to my waist, and the board under my arm. The bike was old and only had three gears, so I stayed in the middle one as I couldn’t change. I was wobbling and rolling like a drunk man, and how I got to the beach without falling off I have no idea. Jade had made it look easy.

      I could still see stars in the western sky, but behind the moors the edges of the clouds were burning with light pinks and oranges. I hit the clifftop at Gwynsand, not even thirty minutes after I’d crawled out of bed. I felt like half of me was still there I was so groggy. I couldn’t see much of the water, and I couldn’t hear any waves. But Rag had given me the forecast, and like he had promised, there were lines of breaking white water bumping over a sand bar on the low tide. I dumped the bike and my bag and walked down to the beach and over the sand to the sea.

      There was one surfer already out there, a thin guy on a really long board. Seeing him gave me this sudden wake-up call. I felt stupid, a real pretender, like I’d been in a dream and just come round. What was I doing? Really? But there didn’t seem much sense in turning back. That would have felt even dumber.

      The sand was cold under my feet, but Rag had said the water would be warmer than the land. He was right, it was. I waded in, lifting the board over the tiny waves till I was chest deep. I climbed on, but even though the board was big, and even though it was calm beyond the shore break, the board rocked and slipped like a horse that didn’t want anyone riding it. Once I did get on, the paddling bit wasn’t too hard. It was only when I got out to where the surfer was and I tried to sit on it that it went back to being a horse-with-attitude. I stretched my legs wide and eventually got balance, but if I leant too far forward or back, the board dipped. I leant the other way when it did, but that started the board rocking, or for no reason I started leaning sideways, and I lost balance and fell in. Then I had to go through the hassle of climbing back on and doing the same thing all over again. Lots of times.

      The surfer just sat there, with his arms folded, watching. He looked a lot like Jesus but with long, dreadlocked hair and beard. A knackered Jesus, with brown leathery skin and watery eyes. He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t offer any help either. Eventually I got on and stayed on, and he turned away, and looked out to sea. I did the same, and in silence we watched as the last smudge of dark blue evaporated and night turned to day.

      When the waves came I had a go, but they kept running under me before they broke. So I paddled in a bit and waited for one that had already broken.

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