Hit the Beach! (8 page)

“There we are – it’s down on record,” she said a minute later, clicking the top back on to the pen.

“What’ve you put?” Lyndz asked, craning to see over her shoulder. Then she squealed, “Rosie! You’re outrageous!”

That brought the rest of us hurrying as fast as we thought you were allowed to in a church. “What? What?” said Fliss breathlessly.

“Look!” Lyndz held up the Visitors’ Book. Under Occupation – a column the rest of us had left blank – Rosie had written:

Wave Warrior

“I wonder what we’ll write there when we come back in twenty years,” said Fliss. But before she could start telling us about her plans to become a model –
again
– Frankie said, “Hey – you know what I really fancy doing?”

“What’s that?” I said.

“I fancy checking out that end of the beach
where the real surfers go. See if Bethany and Aidan are there.”

“And Jude,” said Rosie.

“But we’re not allowed on the beach,” began Fliss. “Remember what Mrs Weaver said…”

“I know, I know,” Frankie cut in. “But next to the sand, isn’t there a grassy area with a pathway?”

“There was by our bit,” I nodded, thinking about the place where we had our surfing lessons. “The path runs behind the beach huts.”

“And it probably carries on right along the whole length of the beach,” said Frankie.

“We could go and see if it does, anyway,” said Rosie eagerly. “And it’s not
part
of the beach, so we wouldn’t be breaking any rules.”

“Exactly,” said Frankie. She laughed. “Don’t look so worried, Fliss! Weaver’ll never find out in any case. Come on, let’s go.”

Frankie’s hunch was right. The path did stretch right along the edge of the beach, tracking
through the grassy area that was the last bit before the sand started. As we followed the path past where we’d had our lessons, it began to climb a little – the grassy bank rose higher than the sand, and every so often we saw sets of rough steps that people had made in the rocks, leading down to the beach.

This meant that by the time we got to the place the serious surfers used, the path was high enough up to give us a really good view of the water. There were quite a few people out there. We sat down to watch.

“They are
really
good,” said Rosie after a minute. “Doesn’t it look great when they turn quickly and the water swooshes up?”

“They do look cool,” Fliss admitted. “They make it look really easy too. They must practise
all
the time.”

“That’s Jude,” said Lyndz, shading her eyes.

“No, no –
that’s
Jude.” Frankie pointed. “The one with his wetsuit rolled down.”

“Oh, yes. And there’s Bethany!” Lyndz
exclaimed. “Look – just going into the water, with the red surfboard.”

“I see her! Cool!” Rosie knelt up excitedly.

We all watched Bethany as she lay on her board and paddled out. Then she sat up, waiting as a set of waves approached. At the last minute, she turned her board around. The first wave caught her and she stood up, heading across the wave, parallel to the beach.

Suddenly, we saw Jude not far from Bethany, just about to stand up on his board.

“Hey – what’s he doing?” I said. “That’s her wave!”

“He’s not going to drop in on her, is he?” said Frankie.

Bethany had explained ‘dropping in’ to us in our last surfing lesson. It’s when one person cuts in front of another on the same wave. It’s really rude, for a start – but it’s really dangerous too, because it might cause a crash.

It seemed as if Rude Jude was living up to his name.

“But it’s Bethany’s wave!” protested Rosie, clenching her fists in frustration. “She got there first!”

We all knew it and we were certain Jude knew it too. But there was nothing any of us could do.

As we watched, Bethany caught sight of Jude and pushed on her board with her back foot, desperately trying to slow herself down. But it wasn’t enough. Jude was right in her path, and though she tried to angle herself in towards the beach to avoid him, it was too late.

A moment later, in a great spray of water, they crashed.

For one heart-stopping moment, as the water bubbled and frothed, Bethany and Jude totally disappeared. Then Jude’s head resurfaced – and Bethany’s followed.

“They’re moving about,” breathed Frankie beside me. “They must be OK.” At the moment of the crash, without thinking, we’d grabbed one another’s hands. Now we held on, our eyes fixed on the distant water.

It looked as if Bethany and Jude were
heading for the beach. As the wave had broken over them, it had swept them part of the way in, so at least they didn’t have far to go.

“Jude’s trying to help her out of the water,” said Rosie.

“And she’s pushing him away,” I said. “Look!”

Even from this distance, Bethany looked pretty angry. Once she was in shallow enough water to be able to stand, she started wading painfully slowly towards the beach. Jude tried to take her arm and put it around his shoulders so that he could support her, but she shrugged him off.

“She must be hurt,” said Rosie. Then she gasped. “Ohmigosh!”

There was blood – lots of it – running down Bethany’s right leg.

I scrambled to my feet. “We have to go and help!”

“We can’t…we’re not allowed on the beach.”

“Fliss, this is an emergency!” I said. “Bethany’s
hurt – who cares about rules? Come on!”

I dashed to the nearest set of steps and half-climbed, half-slithered down them on to the sand. Then I set off running, with the others following close behind.

As I got nearer to Bethany, I saw her sit down on the sand, grimacing with pain, so that she could untie the leash from her ankle. Jude bent over her, but I heard her snap, “Leave me alone, you jerk! You’ve done enough damage already!” Jude straightened up and walked away.

A huddle of his friends soon closed round him. I heard one of them say, “Hey, mate, is your board all right? Any damage?” And another added, “Girls are rubbish surfers – why can’t they stay out of our way?”

Jude didn’t reply, but I wanted to shout, “Are you blind? It was
his
fault!” But I didn’t have enough breath to waste on them. I reached Bethany and skidded down on to my knees in front of her.

“Hey – you OK?”

It was a silly question. The gash, which was on her shin, looked pretty nasty and there was a lot of blood. As the others caught up, I could see Fliss and Lyndz starting to look queasy. They don’t have much stomach for gore. I’m lucky that it doesn’t faze me – especially since I want to be a doctor. No use being a surgeon if you faint in the operating theatre!

“You should go to hospital,” I said to Bethany.

She hadn’t even asked what we were doing there. She seemed to be concentrating pretty hard just on dealing with the pain. “I’ll be fine,” she said tightly and tried to stand up.

“Whoa!” I caught her arm as she fell sideways.

She slumped back on to the sand. “Can someone fetch my stuff?” she said weakly. “It’s over there.” And she flapped a hand towards where Jude was standing. “The green bag with a yellow stripe…”

“I see it!” said Frankie and raced to get it.

In a minute, Frankie was back. Bethany said, “I’ll tie my sweatshirt round my leg,” and grabbed the bag, rummaging through it with trembling hands.

Frankie nodded in the direction of Jude and his mates and whispered to me, “They asked if they could help. I said no – right?”

“Right,” I agreed. But to be honest, I was worried. “Bethany, you should…” I wanted to say it again.

“The hospital?” Bethany nodded. “Maybe you’re right.”

“We could ring for an ambulance,” said Frankie eagerly.

Lyndz had turned away from the blood and was scanning the beach. “I reckon there’s a phone box over there,” she said, pointing back the way we’d come. “Or do you have a mobile?”

Gingerly, and with a lot of wincing, Bethany was wrapping her sweatshirt round her leg.
Without looking up, she said, “I do…but you can’t get a signal at this end of the beach. There’s – there’s a phone box down by the place that sells ice creams.” She leant back on her hands for a moment, looking at me. She’d gone very pale. “But listen, don’t ring the hospital,” she said. “Ring Aidan, will you? He’ll be at the hostel.”

“What’s the number?”

Rosie found a pen in her bag and, as Bethany recited the telephone number, I wrote it on my hand. Then all of us except Bethany looked in our purses for ten pence pieces.

“Stay there!” I commanded, tipping a handful of change into my pocket. “I won’t be a sec!” And I set off across the beach, running as fast as I could.

As I reached the phone box, I suddenly worried that it’d be out of order. But I was lucky. I picked up the receiver and dialled the number. “Come on, come on,” I whispered.

After what seemed like an age, there was a
clunk and Aidan’s voice said, “Beach Road Hostel, hello?”

“Aidan, it’s Kenny,” I gabbled. “Bethany’s had an accident. You’ve got to come…”

In a second I’d told him what had happened and where we were, and he was on his way.

I dashed back across the sand. “He’s coming in the car,” I panted when I reached the others. “He’ll be here really soon. Bethany – you should raise your leg up, I think. Lean it on me.” And I knelt down in front of her again.

Lyndz found a towel in Bethany’s bag and rolled it into a pillow for her. Bethany lay back. “Thank you,” she said and tried to smile.

Soon Rosie, who’d run back to the pathway for a better view of the road, yelled out, “I can see him!” She started jumping up and down, waving her hands above her head.

A minute later, the battered car I remembered from the night of our midnight feast lumbered into view. Aidan had turned off the road and was bumping over the grass, getting
as near to the beach as he possibly could.

He stopped not far from where we’d been sitting when we saw the accident, sprang out of the car and, without even stopping to shut the door, sprinted down on to the beach.

As he reached us, I saw him catch sight of the red-stained sweatshirt and swallow, hard. “Bethy, are you all right?” he said, kneeling beside her.

“Been better,” said Bethany, giving him a lopsided grin.

“What happened? It was Jude, was it?”

“How about I tell you on the way to the Princess Margaret?”

That must have been the name of the hospital.

Aidan nodded. “It’s a deal. Stick your arm round my neck. I’ll carry you to the car.”

He crouched beside her, putting one arm round her waist and wriggling the other, carefully, under her knees. “Bet you anything it was no accident,” he said, as he picked her up.
“Jude wants you out of tomorrow’s competition, you know that, don’t you? He’s scared you might beat him.”

“Well, no chance of that now,” said Bethany. Then she looked at us over Aidan’s shoulder. “Thanks so much, guys, you really helped – I’ll see you later!” And with that, they set off across the beach.

I wanted to go too. Wouldn’t you? (Well, maybe not – unless you find hospitals as fascinating as I do!) But as I made to follow them, Frankie grabbed my arm.

“Kenny – we’re supposed to be at the barbecue,” she said.

“What? That’s not for ages…” I looked at my watch. And did a massive double take. I’d thought it was about 4 o’clock – 4.30 max. But my watch said 6.15! Mrs Weaver had told us that everyone
had
to be at the barbecue by 6 o’clock at the very latest.

“Oh no, we’d better run for it,” I said. “Come on – last one there has to sit with the M&Ms!”

The barbecue was being held at the opposite end of the beach, in a little sheltered cove not far from where Aidan had held his volleyball lessons earlier in the week. It took us a while to get there; although we set off at a dash, Fliss got a stitch about halfway, so we had to slow down. When we finally arrived at the cove, it was clear that we were the last. The rest of the class had already built a rather wonky stone barbecue, and Regina Hill and Ryan Scott were busy trying to light a fire under it.

“Here they are,” I heard Miss Walsh say, tapping Mrs Weaver on the shoulder and nodding in our direction.

Mrs Weaver turned. “What time do you girls call this?” she snapped as she strode over to us, her hands on her hips.

“We’re ever so sorry,” said Rosie. “We didn’t realise how late it was – we got so wrapped up in the questionnaire.”

I winced. What if Weaver asked to look at our answer sheet? We’d only filled in about two of the blanks.

Luckily, just at that moment, Mrs Daniels came up.

“I can’t think where Bethany and Aidan have got to, Mrs Weaver,” she said. (Isn’t it weird when teachers call each other ‘Mrs This’ and ‘Miss That’ just because you’re listening? We all know full well they call each other ‘Sue’ or ‘Trish’ or whatever in the staffroom.)

Mrs Weaver checked her watch. “Hmm. They’re usually so reliable.”

“Um, excuse me – Mrs Daniels?” I heard Frankie say before I could stop her. “Bethany had an accident, so Aidan’s taken her to the hospital.”

“Really?” Mrs Daniels looked concerned. “What kind of an accident?”

“A surfing accident,” Frankie replied. “She got a really bad gash on her shin and there was loads of blood, and…”

“How do you know?” Mrs Weaver cut in sharply.

I wanted to put my t-shirt over my head. We were really going to be for it, now!

Frankie hadn’t cottoned on. “Oh, we saw it happen!” she was saying. “There was a crash with another surfer…”

“Francesca Thomas, what on
earth
were you doing on the beach?” shouted Mrs Weaver, going bright red in the face and looking as if she was about to explode. “Did I not say that it was absolutely forbidden?”

The whole class went quiet and turned to look at us.

“But we weren’t
on
the beach, Mrs Weaver,” Frankie protested. “We remembered what you said and we were really careful to keep off it. We stuck to the pathway on the grass – honestly! Until we saw that Bethany was hurt – and that was an emergency. We couldn’t leave her bleeding there just because you’d told us…”

“That’s enough.” Mrs Weaver held up her hand. “I will ask Bethany when I see her to give me an account of your behaviour.”

“Kenny – I mean, Laura, was going to ring for an ambulance,” said Frankie more quietly. “But Bethany said to ring for Aidan instead. It’s thanks to her that Bethany got to the hospital so quickly.”

“Yes, well…” Mrs Weaver looked from one to the other of us, clearly not sure whether she should be angry or not. “How badly is Bethany hurt?”

“I think she’ll be OK,” I said, trying to sound like my dad in serious doctor mode. “But she might need stitches.”

“Phew! That was a close thing,” said Rosie as Mrs Weaver went back to the barbecue. “I thought she was going to put us on the first train home!”

“I know. Talk about over-reacting,” Frankie agreed. “Come on – let’s find a job that needs doing.”

The barbecue turned out to be really good fun. We were doing it Robinson Crusoe style: no high-tech equipment like I’ve seen round at Fliss’s house (her mum’s boyfriend, Andy, loves barbecues and has all the gadgets). Instead, people were busy spiking sausages on a load of sticks that Ryan and Danny had collected, and holding them over the fire. There were burgers cooking too, and Miss Walsh was trying to barbecue sardines, although they kept falling apart. For the veggies there were corncobs and kebabs made up of pieces of onion, mushroom and green and red peppers, singeing at the edges.

The Sleepover Club volunteered for pudding duty: we peeled a load of bananas, cut a slit in them lengthways and pressed chunks of chocolate and marshmallows into the gap. Then we wrapped them in tin foil so they could be put on the barbecue. Yum, yum,
yum
!

“You know, it’s weird, but I had a feeling something bad was going to happen,” I said
three-quarters of an hour later as we sat on the sand, munching happily.

“Maybe you’re psychic!” said Fliss excitedly.

“Always hoping for a medical emergency, more like,” laughed Frankie, licking ketchup off her wrist.

“Hey!” said Lyndz. “Look who’s here!”

The rest of us turned. Two people were picking their way slowly towards us over the rocks that sheltered the cove from the rest of the beach.