B) To the sea (part 2)

The path ended on a vast slab of pink rock, like a giant's doorstep,
but the street was the sea. To the left was a tumble of boulder
shoulders, over which the waves shawled and slipped trailing
lace.

I'd been hoping to find Dad and Terry, but there was no sign of them. I
was beginning to feel like I was falling, nothing familiar to hold
onto. Even the woman in period costume who'd come down the path before
me, had vanished. I turned to make my way back up the path, before Dad
and Terry could get any further from me than they must be already, and
stumbled. Looking down, my foot was caught in some cloth. Had they been
down here after all? I bent to pick it up, thinking it must be a
fishing bag or something, then realised it was the woman's clothes, -
of course, she would have come down here to swim. The skirt was wrapped
round her shirt. As I started to fold them up again a button popped off
from one of them, but before I could pick it up I heard someone
crashing down the path behind me. Hope leapt that it was Terry, and I
spun round, but it was a stranger, a man dressed in period costume like
the woman had been. Embarrassment that I was tresspassing on a film set
turned to fear when I saw his expression. He would not carry on acting
with me in full view surely? So, the rage on his face must be directed
at me; I looked round frantically, feeling trapped. The tide was edging
out at last, I could see a thin strip of sand beyond the boulders
beside me. Their brutal angles were wet dark and slippy and, reaching
for my first foothold in the slimey seaweed I was glad of the galaxy of
limpets to give some grip. I did not get far though, before I became
more scared of being dragged into the sea than I had been of the man.
What would he do, anyway, with the woman swimming nearby? I clung to a
rock, trouser legs heavy with cold water, got my balance, craned round:
he was gone. I decided to go back - would rather face him than the
breath craving sea But as I lifted my foot, shifted my grip a large
wave barged into me and I was sucked into a kaleidoscope of
splashes.

Salt was in my mouth, water stinging my eyes. Stone grated on my hand
as I scrabbled and failed to grip,
went down in the roar.

I gulped water, it filled my nose, I was going to drown, I couldn't cry
for help.

Arms flailed, left hand touched something sleek, swift firm nudging,
propped me up. I reached out, wrapped my arms round a sinnuous shape,
which pulled me away from the rocks.

Then slipped free of me. My wet heavy legs went down and touched the
ground. I was standing, head above the surging waves. I opened my eyes,
could see sand infront of me, began to stagger-wade forward.

When the sea was only knee high a big wave knocked me over and I
crawled the rest of the way, lay sprawled shaking in the sun, sicking
salt, crying salt.

Then, dimly but so welcome, Terry's voice "What the F**k" then "are you
ok?"