Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,60

I was a little odd.

I ignored his look and continued. This was a topic I was determined to explore. “Aren’t you frightened, though, that it’ll fall into the sea?”

He barked out a high laugh. “Maybe, but that might not be a bad thing. It might make my dad buy us a new place to live.”

“You’re not on holiday? You live here?” I asked, even more intrigued.

“Yeah, my dad owns the caravan park.”

“God, that must be great, being right on the sea like this. I mean, being able to watch the waves all the time and see the ships and imagine all the places they’re going to.”

“You think so?” he asked. He seemed a little taken aback at my enthusiasm, but also a little pleased, his bright mouth easing into a smile.

“Yes,” I answered. “I’d love to live here.” It might not be a neat little street with neat new houses, but it had a view that stretched all the way to the horizon. How could anyone not want to live in such a place?

“Are you having me on?” he asked, resting his hand on his hip and eyeing me suspiciously.

“No,” I answered. “Really, it must be great.”

“Well, yeah, actually, there is something nice about looking out at the sea. And hearing it. I love the sound of the waves.”

“It must be very soothing.” I listened to the lulling softness of the waves behind us on the beach. They rose and fell so steadily, like the slow exhale and inhale of a peaceful sleeper.

“Yeah, exactly! It’s really, really soothing,” the boy said, apparently delighted that I understood. Then he added with a shrug, “But living in a caravan can get a bit cramped. There’s only the three of us—me, my mum, and my dad. But, still, it’s a bloody tight squeeze.”

I recalled my own family’s week in a caravan in Bridlington—how I’d had barely an inch of privacy, how the rain had thrummed on the roof as loud as bullets, the unbearable claustrophobia after the first few days. On second thought, perhaps living in a caravan on a cliff edge might not be as wonderful as I’d thought. Still, it did have some advantages. “It must be exciting seeing the erosion,” I declared. “East Yorkshire has one of the fastest-eroding coastlines in the world, you know.” I shoved my hands into my pockets and gave a slow, authoritative nod. After all, this was a subject I was well versed in—Mr. Cuthbertson had seen to that.

“I know,” the boy said, raising his eyes skyward, as if he’d heard this piece of information a thousand times. Then he grinned. “But you’re right—it can be sort of exciting sometimes. There was a big storm last year and about fifteen feet of the cliff went down in one night. I actually heard it fall.”

“You didn’t,” I said, amazed.

“I did,” he said. “It went thunk.” He gave an exaggerated nod, as if to imitate the fall of the cliff. “And the next day, when I went out, there was this giant piece of the cliff just gone. Disappeared.” He swept his hands in front of him, like a magician performing a trick.

“Really?” I said, looking wistfully toward the cliff edge.

“Yeah. And not long after that we had to move all the caravans away from the cliff. This man from the council came and said it was dangerous if we left things the way they were. We didn’t get round to moving ours, though. My dad said he’ll do it when he feels like it. He can’t stand the council telling him what to do. He thinks they’re a bunch of busy-bodies. But to be honest,” he said, glancing back at his family’s caravan then turning to me and lowering his voice, “I think they know what they’re talking about. Maybe you’re right,” he said, laughing. “I should be scared, living right near the cliff edge like that. I mean, every year there’s a little bit less of the caravan park. And though my dad won’t admit it, eventually we won’t have anything left.”

“Really?” I surveyed the caravan park. It seemed strange that this entire grassy stretch would be pulled into the water. Perhaps, I thought with a thrill, it would be Reatton-in-Sea sooner than I’d thought. “Have you ever had a caravan go over the edge?” I asked.

“No,” the boy said. “But I’d like to give ours a shove.”

I laughed. “It does look a bit the worse for wear.”

“Bloody ancient,” he answered, sighing. “I’d love to