This Book Made Me Think of You(64)

“Later. I need to cool off first.”

Tilly unzips her brand-new windproof jacket and sheds it to the ground, pulling her sweat-soaked T-shirt over her head. There’s a seal dozing on a rock a little way along the beach, but it completely ignores them as Tilly tugs at her trousers, Rachel getting the idea and beginning to ditch her own clothing. When they’re both down to their underwear, they run down the beach. Water sprays around them as they launch themselves into the sea.

“Shit! It’s cold!”

“What were you expecting,” says Rachel between gasping breaths, swimming a rapid chin-up breaststroke. “It’s the bloody Atlantic. Of course it’s freezing.”

Tilly swims out further, cold water lapping against her skin, salt getting into her mouth and her heart pounding.

“It’s fantastic!”

This time the euphoria may be the onset of hypothermia. But either way, it feels incredible. They float on their backs, turning to look at the island and their bikes that look so small on the shore.

“Oh shit. Look at those clouds…”

The sea darkens as the sun disappears behind a bank of clouds, choppy waves whipped up by a fierce and sudden wind.

“We should get back to our things!” Their clothes are scattered about on the beach, and they both swim quickly back toward them, stumbling as they try to run out of the sea. Getting out is somehow much harder than running in and far less graceful, both of them getting knocked backward by the waves and holding on to each other for support, resembling two drunk women trying to walk across a bouncy castle.

And then it begins to rain.





Forty-One




Within moments their bags and clothes are soaked through. The rain is nothing like London rain. It blasts in from the sea on a strong wind, hammering the ground and making the bay disappear behind a gray haze.

“Shit!”

“Grab a tent pole!”

“Which one?”

“Any one!”

They scrabble about, still in their soaked underwear, pulling at poles and pegs.

“Don’t let go!” shrieks Tilly as the tent’s outer fabric flaps wildly like a sail.

“I can’t see!” says Rachel, wiping her eyes as the rain blasts their faces. Eventually, they manage to construct something that resembles a tent, but before they can peg it down, it blows away down the beach, rolling about like an oversized can tumbling down a hill.

“Quick! Before it goes in the sea!”

Tilly runs barefoot across the pebbles, wincing as shells and rocks press sharply into her soles. Then Rachel takes a leap and manages to grab hold of one side of the tent, Tilly taking the other. Battling against the wind, they tug it back to the pitch near their bags, and Rachel holds on with her entire body as Tilly unwinds the ropes and hammers the pegs into the ground using a large rock. Once it’s secure, she unzips the opening and starts throwing bags inside.

“There’s a tent pole left over! Why is there a tent pole left over?”

“It doesn’t matter, just get inside!”

They shove the rest of their things through the door, leaving the bikes abandoned on the beach, then crawl in after, zipping the door closed.

Inside, the rain sounds even louder, hammering on the fabric as the sea wind makes the whole frame shake. There’s a distinct smell that Tilly realizes is probably coming from them. They’ve both removed the worst of their damp clothes, goose-pimply flesh on show as they shiver and reach for extra layers, checking each item to see if it’s managed to escape getting wet.

“I’m bloody freezing. Who thought that swimming was a good idea?” Rachel groans as she reaches for her sleeping bag.

“Ugh, it’s wet!” Tilly cries as she grabs her own sleeping bag. But they crawl inside anyway, putting the hoods up and tightening the drawstrings so they resemble a pair of shivering caterpillars. The rain doesn’t sound as if it is easing; if anything it crashes even louder, making the whole tent shake.

“We should eat something, maybe it will help us warm up.”

“Good idea. I’m starving. Lunch seems like it was days ago.”

Tilly reaches for the gas stove and cooking equipment, then stops.

“Shit.”

“What is it?”

She gestures at the roof. “It’s raining. We can’t cook outside. And I don’t really feel comfortable cooking over an open flame in here, not when it’s so cramped.”

“Shit. Well, we have to eat something.”

Tilly digs around in the food bag, pulling out a couple of cereal bars. They crunch through them in silence.

“That didn’t touch the sides. What else have we got?”

It’s Rachel who reaches into the bag this time, pulling out the plastic pots they bought for their meals.

“Which would you prefer, cold porridge or cold Pot Noodle?”

“I really don’t want to eat cold Pot Noodle.”

“Porridge it is then. Pass me the water.”

Rachel opens the two porridge pots, fills them up with water, and stirs. The oats float limply on the surface alongside flecks of milk powder and red bits that may in another life have resembled dried fruit.

“Apparently it’s summer berries flavor,” Rachel says as she passes a pot to Tilly. Rachel takes a mouthful of hers, grimacing. “It’s not…so bad…” It takes her a long time to swallow.