Low-Tide

I'm running, running, running. The blood racing in my ears drowns
out the sounds of the sea a million miles away. My feet sting, slapping
through the puddles on the hard sand. My heart is red-hot, pounding,
and with all the force my straining lungs permit, I start to
scream:

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy? I'mmmm?flyyyying?"

I wheel for another pass. Arms outstretched, wind blown tears blinding
me, tonguing my chattering teeth for the thunder of guns, going at him
full tilt and he, big as the cliffs, impervious to my puny attack,
rolls out his dark brown laugh like the sea rolling over the
gravel.

I'm standing, panting, a little way off, preparing for another charge,
when the mountain speaks: "And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to
my arms, my beamish boy!" With my invisible sword shimmering in the
wintery sun, I advance on the terrible Jabberwock. Excitement
overflowing, I get too close and in a flash he scoops me up and flies
me higher than the sky above his head. Holding me there a moment, he
looks at me as if I am more beautiful to him than all creation. Then,
settling me on his broad shoulders, he toots the horn, blows smoke from
the pipe forever fixed between his teeth and slowly we start to make
way across the grey expanse before us. From the crow's nest, I can see
Queen Mary's four funnels billowing white streamers of farewell as she
makes her way down the Solent from Southampton. I semaphore secret
signals to her and, hearing the reply in the squawking of the seagulls,
call down to the helmsman to make for port.

My father turns his back on the flat grey sand that reaches almost to
the horizon and sets course across the shingle towards the tartan car
rug, my mother, and tea.

-----------------------------------------

I am sitting on the car rug, looking out at those same grey flats. Even
in the bright August sunshine, they seem greyer now than they ever were
all those years ago.

I'm too hot.

I'm trying to remember: Was that the last time we were here
together?

A couple walk past and, as they go, they swing their little boy between
them whilst he grips tightly to their wrists and lets out peals of
laughter so intense they could be mistaken for pain.

I swallow and clear my throat, but the choking sensation wont go. I
feel as if forty years of snot and tears are lodged there, just at the
back of my throat, and that at any moment they might overwhelm me. I
look up and suck in air. I'm like a drowning man trying to keep my head
above water. Above me, the bunting, strung along the promenade from
lamp to lamp, is flapping lazily. I blink, and wipe away a stray tear
that escapes from the corner of my eye. It's not a good day,
today.

I'm holding my head between my hands looking down at the blurry
pavement. There are a few dark dots where tears have fallen.
Occasionally my shoulders quiver, but no sound comes out.

"Would you like my ice cream?"

I open my eyes. I see a pair of scruffy shoes and as I uncurl myself,
there's the small boy I saw earlier standing in front of me.

"You can have it if you want."

He thrusts the cone at me and, in self-defence, I take it. I'm holding
the cone and trying to focus. His parents are standing a little way
off. They've stopped and are scanning the bank-holiday hordes for their
wayward son.

"Come on Billy!"

As he turns, and I reach out, he knocks my hand and the ice cream
tumbles from my grasp. My eyes follow its infinitely slow descent. When
I look up from the pink splatter, Billy is already skipping off through
the crowd and as my eyes fall back, they slide across the bench's brass
plate and I can't help reading the familiar inscription under my
breath.

When I look up again only a few stragglers remain of the day's
crowds.

I reach down and untie my shoelaces, fold my clothes neatly and pile
them on the bench. I un-strap my father's watch and, as he taught me,
wrap it in a sock before hiding it in my shoe.

The pebbles are hard under my bare feet, but the sand is easy going and
before long, the racing water of the incoming tide is licking my ankles
in greeting and I don't hesitate, but wade straight in.