Esther Chilton

Welcome to my regular guest writer slot. This week it’s the turn of Nicola Daly, who has a passion for fiction writing. If you’d like to be included in my guest writer slot, please get in touch: estherchilton@gmail.com. Poems can be up to 60 lines and prose 2000 words. If you’d like to add a short bio and photo, then great.

Here’s a little bit about Nicola before you read her gripping story:

Mum to two teenage daughters, an aging black lab, and a hamster called Seratonin, Nicola lives in north Cumbria close to Hadrian’s Wall and the Scottish borderlands. A student with the Writers Bureau, she is working on her first novel.

Summer Seaside Saga

By

Nicola Daley

‘We haven’t been to the beach yet,’ Dad says. ‘I’ll just grab our stuff.’ And off he bounds, like an overgrown labrador puppy.

‘I think I’m getting a cold,’ Mum says and sneezes. ‘I’d better stay here. You two go with your dad.’

Iris and I share a look and go back to staring through the stream of rain gushing down the caravan window; we watch the raindrops bouncing off the car roof and Dad wrestling the wind to open the boot.

‘They say it’s going to brighten up,’ Mum says and blows her nose.

She told us the same thing yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that…

***

So, here we are, in an empty, mud-churned car park. It’s taken all day to get organised, but would you believe, “they” might be right? It’s finally stopped raining, and a weak, watery sunshine is breaking through the layers of grey. It may yet turn into a fair evening.

As we get out of the car, we are greeted by the sound of seagulls screaming into the wind and the dull throb of waves relentlessly pounding the beach beyond the dunes. A squall buffets us, and when we scurry into their shelter it’s as though somebody has pressed the mute button. But we don’t linger; the beach beckons.

The roar of wind and noise of crashing waves pummelling the seabed immediately engulfs us. We freeze, mesmerized by the awe-inspiring panorama stretching before us. Nobody said anything about it being like this; a huge sweep of sand with endless sea and infinite sky stretches before us. It is wild, exhilarating, and I love it. White crests break into plumes of spray as the surf seethes and relentlessly batters rocky outcrops. Waves crash onto the sand with ferocity. The rhythmic, constantly rolling sea is iridescent in the evening light.

The allure of the waves is too much to resist, and Iris is the first to break free from the spell and tear down to the water. I brace myself against the wind and follow, snapping at her heels. Tearing off layers of clothing until she’s down to her pink, frilly swimming costume with a picture of a mermaid on the front, she belly-dives into the frothy, swirling waves, yelping and shrieking as the ice-cold surf hits her.

‘Come on in, Jasmine,’ she squeals. ‘This is so much fun.’

I give her a long, hard, stare. No. Absolutely, no.

‘Oh, come on, don’t give me that look. You’ll love it. Look, I bet Mum’ll lend you her hair drier and – glug glug,’ the rest of her words are lost as a wave wipes her from her feet. She emerges from the surf, grins, and dives into another wave surging to the shore.

Without taking my eyes from her, I pace along the waterline, making sure to jump over any of those nasty stray waves that like to sneak up on you when you’re not looking. A quick glance over my shoulder and Dad has finally wrangled the windbreak into place and is disappearing behind it, newspaper flapping in his hand.

I resume my vigilance of Iris … only Iris isn’t there. Where is she? I scan the seething surface for any signs. But nothing. This is not good. Wait, is that her? There’s something pink and frilly being tossed around like a floppy ragdoll on the peak of a mountainous wave, only to be sucked back under. My heart hammers in my chest. No.

Dad’s too far away for me to run back and fetch him, so it’s up to me. I launch myself into the surf at the last place where I saw her. The waves batter me, and the weight of my wet fur pulls me down. Luckily, I am a strong swimmer even though I hate getting wet. The water crushes my chest and my eyes sting. But Iris… I have to find Iris. I think I see an arm flailing, and I doggy-paddle my way towards her.

Put your arms around me, I try to say, except it doesn’t sound like that because I swallow a mouthful of water, so I nudge her with my nose. And then, the best feeling, as her small arms circle me. Fighting the pull of the sea, I drag her to the beach. Everything hurts, but this is Iris, my human sister, and I’ll do anything for her.

We collapse in a heap on the shimmering sand. I gulp lungful after lungful of beautiful, sweet air. Iris curls into a ball, panting heavily.

‘I think we should go and find Dad,’ she says in a small voice and sits up.

We traipse towards the lopsided windbreak, but by the time we reach it, she’s skipping.

‘Dad, Dad,’ she calls, swiping the newspaper from his face, ‘We’ve had the best adventure ever.’

‘Ugh, Iris, you’re dripping over me.’ His eyes widen, ‘Jasmine. What happened to you? How did Iris manage to get you in? You hate getting wet.’

I bare my teeth in a grin and shake myself. Over him.

‘Ugh,’ he says, grabbing towels. ‘Let’s get you both dried off.’

‘Dad, guess what?’ Iris giggles. ‘The sea monster tried to steal me, and Jazzy came in and rescued me, and …’

‘Of course, sweetheart. And I suppose there was a mermaid too?’

‘No, I’m the mermaid, silly,’ she says through chattering teeth. ‘And Jazzy turned into a silky…’

‘I think you mean a selkie,’ Dad says.

‘That’s what I said, Jazzy turned into a silky…’

‘Come on, Mermaid Princess and her faithful Selkie, let’s go,’ Dad says, gathering our beach paraphernalia, and we set off back to the car.

Veins of silver ripple across the pools left by the retreating sea and a myriad of colours shimmer and dance. Lights twinkle at the far end of the beach. At the opposite end, an imposing and majestic castle, standing like a sentinel on its rocky outcrop, is now a brooding silhouette against a silver-blue sky streaked with amber and gold.

‘Mum’ll need to dry Jazzy’s fur with the drier,’ says Iris as Dad fastens her car seat. ‘But can we stop off and get fish and chips first? And Jazzy needs her own portion.’

I prick my ears. Now, I like the sound of that. Iris is the best little sister in the world.

Photo credits: Rhiannon Fox