Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,167
I now realized, hoping that there might be at least one person who could understand me, who could keep me attached to this place. But he was gone now. Sucked down, sucked under by the insatiable waves.
As the high tide swirled below and gnawed eagerly at the base of the cliff, I thought about Mr. Cuthbertson’s stories in my geography lessons, of whole towns and villages pulled under, of ports and people washed away. There were ancient graveyards in the silt and mud off the East Yorkshire coast. A sea full of bodies. I was sad that Malcolm had to drown there, but it seemed a fitting place to end.
I stepped back from the cliff and pulled the duffel bag from my shoulder. Then I tugged back the string fastening its mouth and tipped its contents onto the wet ground—a pillowcase holding a hundred little pills and a whiskey bottle containing a couple of inches of bright, coppery liquid.
It didn’t take long to push it all into me. A handful of pills, a stinging mouthful of the whiskey, another handful of the pills. I did it so fast that by the time I was done I didn’t feel the effects of any of it, just the raw and glorious burn of the whiskey all the way from my lips down my throat and into my stomach.
I began walking. Back along the cliff, gazing at the turbulent water, until I reached the path that led to the beach. As I made my way down, my limbs began to feel stretched out, loose. The noise of the waves became deafening, a percussion orchestra in my ears. And then a bright stretch of sky opened up on the horizon. It glistened across the silvered water, dazzling. I kept blinking. My eyes, now heavy and aching, couldn’t bear all that light. But I kept plodding downward until I reached the bottom, and a little patch of sand not quite covered by the tide. For a moment—or perhaps for a long, long time—I stood there, watching the waves sweep onto the sand, over and across one another, like crescendos of music, or rising and falling floods of hope. Then, as I felt dizziness start to overtake me, I kicked off my shoes, and in my stocking feet I stumbled over the wet sand and into the water, its cold fingers welcoming me, pulling me into a startling embrace.
I waded deeper, into history, into memories, toward swallowed land and drowned villages, inundated lives. I waded into stories about myself. The chubby-cheeked three-year-old my mother had talked about, thrilled to run away from her into the churning waters of the North Sea. It occurred to me then that I’d always been determined to run toward a dazzling, distant horizon. As the water clasped me to it, I decided that this was the one thing I loved about myself.
A wave came in, fast and tumbling, and I was underwater, limbs flailing, clothes flapping, sagging, dragging me downward. I gasped for air and took in choked-down mouthfuls of salt water. I felt my lungs burn, I felt my stomach lurch, I felt a shuddering convulsion. Then, buoyed up and pushed above the surface, I took in a breath.
Then I opened my eyes and saw Malcolm’s ghost swim over to greet me. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. And, even though I fought him, I was happy to see him. It was nice, I realized, to finally find a friend.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“AM I IN DELAPOLE?”
An old lady was hovering over me. Veiny-faced and smiling. She took my hand. The room behind her was creamy, gloss-painted. At my feet I could see the grim metal frame of a hospital bed.
“You’re safe now, lovey.” She had a voice that was scratchy and vaguely familiar. She smelled of eau de cologne and washing detergent. She had wrinkly tan skin and white, almost invisible eyebrows, and the palest blue eyes I’d ever seen.
“I didn’t drown?”
She shook her head and squeezed my fingers. “No, love. You’re still with us.” I saw a tear roll down her cheek, and I thought of the taste of salt water. I felt my stomach rise then lurch back, like a wave.
“Who are you?” I asked. She looked too old to be a nurse, and besides, she was wearing a flowery dress and big button earrings that covered her earlobes. There was a brooch pinned to her chest, a cluster of bright-colored feathers and little pearls.