FATHOMS

The sea came in lazily at first, lapping gently against his toes. He
felt strangely liberated being trapped, cut off by the tide. He had his
mobile phone with him and felt reassured that he could call for help at
any time. He thought he would leave it just a little while longer.
Savour the moment, as it were.

In no time at all, the cave felt colder. The walls, he noticed for the
first time, were running damp, decorated with green slime. He felt the
drop in temperature acutely and shivered. The tide frothed and swirled
now around his ankles and he spent ten minutes digging out a little
trench across the opening to the cave, a childish little moat to save
them, and watched fascinated at how quickly it was filled in by the
water like a briny broth. Sea-spray had dampened his hair and it clung
to his face, threatening to curl at any minute. He could taste the salt
on his lips.

Lost in thought, dreamlike, he was brought back to the reality of the
moment by the frenzy of the sea which had taken to hurling itself in
through the entrance, soaking him. Soaking everything. The sandwiches
were ruined now, a meal for the crabs. Did the same fate await
him?

"I'm cold, right?" he had almost forgotten she was there, sitting on a
rock towards the rear of the cave, chin resting on her knees, rocking.
That incessant rocking. It drove him crazy. All day every day she
rocked, even in her sleep. The sound of it in the dead of night made
him want to scream. The sight of her made him want to scream.

"I'll phone for help soon, ok?" he didn't look at her, instead stared
out thoughtfully through the opening at a vast expanse of blue. Only
blue.

"Right." He felt the smile in her voice. She was always smiling but it
didn't become her, her teeth had needed fixing but they'd not bothered
about it. Perhaps if she had been &;#8230; normal.

"My buckets gone, right?" They watched it bobbing away, sunshine
yellow. Yellow was her favourite colour.

"Yes, Lucy your bucket has gone. We'll get another one tomorrow."

It was coming in faster now. There wasn't much time. The water that
reached his waist was so cold. Lucy was still perched on the rock with
her legs dangling in the water, she was still rocking. He watched her
for a while, feeling guilty. Damn! He hadn't bargained for the guilt
trip, after all he hadn't actually planned all this, it was just a
spontaneous decision, spur of the moment&;#8230;. Wasn't it? It
would seem like an accident. No-one need ever know the truth. Except
himself.

"You ok, love?" She responded to the tenderness in his voice, by
reaching out her arms to him, her little black eyes bright,
loving.

"It's ok Dad, right?"

He waded over to her "It will be," he held her to his chest and fell
into the easy rhythm of her rocking. They rocked together for a little
while, the motion made him sleepy. He closed his eyes.

He realised it was useless now. The ocean was stirring around them,
threatening to suck them down, pulling on them. It was to his waist
now. He fumbled for the mobile, dialling 999.

"Help us" he called, alarmed now because it seemed impossible that
anyone could reach them. Lucy clumsily tried to stand on the rock
attempting to balance herself, but her feet kept slipping and she
gashed her leg. Blood mixed with the ocean, wet on her skin. She did
not notice but smiled moon-faced at him, cow-eyes unaware. Total trust
for the father she loved, who did not love her.

"Stop rocking Luce or you'll fall" he clambered up beside her and there
they stood for an eternity, him gripping the slime covered walls of the
cave, her gripping him, rocking, rocking to the rhythm of the sea. Like
the tide coming in and going out again. Endless, endless motion.

She was shouting, not like her, he could not make out what she was
saying. The roar, there was no other word for it, of the sea drowned
out their voices. It was positively deafening. She clung to him like
seaweed, little raisin eyes full of wonderment, crooked teeth exposed
in that peculiar smile of her's.

That was the very last thing he saw of her - that smile. It had
troubled him badly over the years, especially at night. He would wake,
calling her name, reaching for her as the water made a blanket round
her and the waves rocked her away.

The Doctor prescribed sleeping tablets and other ones to help with the
depression, the tears. His wife so hated to see him cry.

"You must take them" his wife had pressed, gently, "You've blamed
yourself for Lucy for so long. We all know there was no chance, nothing
you could do. Nothing anyone could do."

He remembered her birth, his revulsion, despair at the sight of her
moony little face, different from his, different from his beautiful
wife's.

"How can this be?" he had wondered.

"Can't you do something?" he had asked the Consultant, angrily,
accusingly.

Just one of those things, apparently. There was nothing anyone could do
for her.