Wedding Night
Page 119
I’m standing on the wooden jetty, waiting for waves of nostalgia and enlightenment to engulf me. I’m waiting to cry and maybe think of something poignant to say to Ben. But the weird thing is, I don’t really want to cry. I feel a bit blank.
I can just glimpse the guest house, far above, from where I’m standing. I can see the familiar dusty ochre stone and a couple of windows. It’s smaller than I remember, and one of the shutters is drooping. My gaze lowers to the cliff. There are the steps cut into the rock, forking halfway down. One set leads to the jetty where we’re standing and the other leads to the main beach. They’ve put in metal barriers, which kind of ruin the look. And a railing across the top of the cliff. And there’s a safety sign. A safety sign? We never had a safety sign. Anyway. Be positive.
Ben rejoins me, and I take his hand. The beach is round a jutting outcrop of rock, so I can’t see yet if that’s changed. But how can a beach change? A beach is a beach.
“What shall we do first?” I ask softly. “Guest house? Beach? Or secret cove?”
Ben squeezes my hand back. “Secret cove.”
And now, at last, I start to feel ripples of excitement. The secret cove. The place we first undressed each other, shaking with hot, insatiable, teenage desire. The place where we did it three, four, five times in a day. The idea of revisiting it—in all senses—is so exciting that I shiver.
“We’ll need to hire a boat.”
He’ll sail me round to the cove like he always used to, my feet up on the side of the boat. And we’ll drag the boat up onto the sand and find that sheltered patch of sand, and …
“Let’s get a boat.” Ben’s voice is thick, and I can tell he’s as excited as I am.
“D’you think they still hire them out at the beach?”
“Only one way to find out.”
With a sudden lightness of heart, I take hold of his hand and pull him toward the steps. We’ll go straight to the beach, we’ll get a boat; it’s all going to happen.
“Come on!” I’m leaping up the rocky steps, my heart thumping with excitement. We’re nearly at the fork in the steps. We’ll see that familiar stretch of beautiful golden sand at any moment, waiting for us after all this time—
Oh my God.
I’m staring down onto the beach in shock. What’s happened to it? Who are all these people?
When we were staying at the guest house, the beach seemed a massive, empty space. There were about twenty of us at the guest house, tops, and we used to spread ourselves over the sand so no one was crowded.
What I’m staring at now looks like an occupation. Or the morning after a festival. There are about seventy people filling the sand in disheveled groups, some still cocooned in sleeping bags. I can see the remains of a fire. There are a couple of tents. Most of them are students, I guess, appraising them. Or eternal students, maybe.
As we’re standing there uncertainly, a young guy with a goatee comes partway up the steps and greets us in a South African accent.
“Hi. You look lost.”
I feel lost, I want to retort, but instead I muster a smile. “Just … looking.”
“We’re visiting,” says Ben easily. “We came here years ago. It’s changed.”
“Oh.” The light in the guy’s face changes. “You’re one of those. From the golden age.”
“The golden age?”
“That’s what we call it.” He laughs. “We get so many people your age coming back, telling us how it used to be before they built the hostel. Most of them spend the whole time whinging about how it’s been ruined. You coming down?”
As we follow him, I’m prickling a little at his words. “Whinging” is a bit aggressive. And “your age”? What does that mean? I mean, obviously we’re a little older than he is, but we’re still, broadly speaking, young. I’m still in the same category.
“What hostel?” asks Ben as we arrive on the beach. “Don’t you stay at the guest house?”
“A few do.” The guy shrugs. “Not many. It’s a fairly ropy outfit. I think the old guy’s just sold it. No, we’re at the hostel. A few hundred yards behind. It was built maybe … ten years ago? They had a big advertising campaign. Really worked. This place is so amazing,” he adds as he walks away. “The sunsets are unbelievable. Take care now.”
Ben smiles back, but I feel like exploding with fury. I can’t believe they’ve built a hostel. I feel livid. This was our place. How dare they advertise it?
And just look at the way they treat it. There’s rubbish everywhere. I can see cans and empty crisp packets and even a couple of used condoms. At the sight of them, my stomach turns. They’ve been having sex all over the place. That’s so gross.
I can just glimpse the guest house, far above, from where I’m standing. I can see the familiar dusty ochre stone and a couple of windows. It’s smaller than I remember, and one of the shutters is drooping. My gaze lowers to the cliff. There are the steps cut into the rock, forking halfway down. One set leads to the jetty where we’re standing and the other leads to the main beach. They’ve put in metal barriers, which kind of ruin the look. And a railing across the top of the cliff. And there’s a safety sign. A safety sign? We never had a safety sign. Anyway. Be positive.
Ben rejoins me, and I take his hand. The beach is round a jutting outcrop of rock, so I can’t see yet if that’s changed. But how can a beach change? A beach is a beach.
“What shall we do first?” I ask softly. “Guest house? Beach? Or secret cove?”
Ben squeezes my hand back. “Secret cove.”
And now, at last, I start to feel ripples of excitement. The secret cove. The place we first undressed each other, shaking with hot, insatiable, teenage desire. The place where we did it three, four, five times in a day. The idea of revisiting it—in all senses—is so exciting that I shiver.
“We’ll need to hire a boat.”
He’ll sail me round to the cove like he always used to, my feet up on the side of the boat. And we’ll drag the boat up onto the sand and find that sheltered patch of sand, and …
“Let’s get a boat.” Ben’s voice is thick, and I can tell he’s as excited as I am.
“D’you think they still hire them out at the beach?”
“Only one way to find out.”
With a sudden lightness of heart, I take hold of his hand and pull him toward the steps. We’ll go straight to the beach, we’ll get a boat; it’s all going to happen.
“Come on!” I’m leaping up the rocky steps, my heart thumping with excitement. We’re nearly at the fork in the steps. We’ll see that familiar stretch of beautiful golden sand at any moment, waiting for us after all this time—
Oh my God.
I’m staring down onto the beach in shock. What’s happened to it? Who are all these people?
When we were staying at the guest house, the beach seemed a massive, empty space. There were about twenty of us at the guest house, tops, and we used to spread ourselves over the sand so no one was crowded.
What I’m staring at now looks like an occupation. Or the morning after a festival. There are about seventy people filling the sand in disheveled groups, some still cocooned in sleeping bags. I can see the remains of a fire. There are a couple of tents. Most of them are students, I guess, appraising them. Or eternal students, maybe.
As we’re standing there uncertainly, a young guy with a goatee comes partway up the steps and greets us in a South African accent.
“Hi. You look lost.”
I feel lost, I want to retort, but instead I muster a smile. “Just … looking.”
“We’re visiting,” says Ben easily. “We came here years ago. It’s changed.”
“Oh.” The light in the guy’s face changes. “You’re one of those. From the golden age.”
“The golden age?”
“That’s what we call it.” He laughs. “We get so many people your age coming back, telling us how it used to be before they built the hostel. Most of them spend the whole time whinging about how it’s been ruined. You coming down?”
As we follow him, I’m prickling a little at his words. “Whinging” is a bit aggressive. And “your age”? What does that mean? I mean, obviously we’re a little older than he is, but we’re still, broadly speaking, young. I’m still in the same category.
“What hostel?” asks Ben as we arrive on the beach. “Don’t you stay at the guest house?”
“A few do.” The guy shrugs. “Not many. It’s a fairly ropy outfit. I think the old guy’s just sold it. No, we’re at the hostel. A few hundred yards behind. It was built maybe … ten years ago? They had a big advertising campaign. Really worked. This place is so amazing,” he adds as he walks away. “The sunsets are unbelievable. Take care now.”
Ben smiles back, but I feel like exploding with fury. I can’t believe they’ve built a hostel. I feel livid. This was our place. How dare they advertise it?
And just look at the way they treat it. There’s rubbish everywhere. I can see cans and empty crisp packets and even a couple of used condoms. At the sight of them, my stomach turns. They’ve been having sex all over the place. That’s so gross.
