The Day Of The Wave (32 page)

'Sonthi's been working hard. He sends his love. He's back with his girlfriend, Sasi,' I say. 'They've broken up a lot but I think this time it might last. They're kind of perfect in a messed up way.' I'm aware I'm saying anything, and that the blood is zinging through my veins now as I talk. I'm waiting for something already; an argument, maybe. An accusation.

'Such a sweet boy, I'm so happy you're still working together,' my mom says as she watches the kettle start to bubble and boil already. I wonder how many times she boiled it, waiting for me to get here. 'Do you have a girlfriend? You must meet a lot of people, running the dive shop?'

'I've had a few,' I reply.

'No one special?'

I take the cup of tea she's handing me now and move along on the couch to let her sit down. She studies me with those eyes, the same blue as mine. 'There's someone,' I admit, 'but I think I ruined it. Long story.'

She sips her tea. 'How did you ruin it?'

Shit. I stare down at my tea, still swirling from where she stirred the milk into it. 'I tend to ruin things a lot, mom,' I say carefully. She's still fixing me with her stare. I can hear Glenn moving about in the other room now. He's obviously decided to leave us to it. 

'We met before the tsunami, ' I say with a sigh. 'Izzy's the girl I was asking about in all those hospitals, when you came to get me.'

She swallows her tea loudly as her eyebrows shoot up. 'That's incredible!'

'Yeah, we met up again by accident. She's been scared of the ocean her whole life but we started hanging out and I think she finally got over it. She's kind of the reason I'm here.' I suck in a breath, hold it for a moment as the avalanche of missing Izzy crashes over me again. 'She told me to talk to you.'

Mom puts her cup down on the table, rests her hand on my jeans over my knee. I realize my heart is thudding wildly. 'I'm so sorry I never open up or tell you anything about my life, mom, I'm so selfish...'

'Ben, where is this coming from?'

I put my own cup down on the glass table in front of us. I can't stop the words spilling out of me. They're choked but they need to be said. 'It's the truth. I know you blame me mom, for what happened to Toby, so I guess talking to you always made me feel worse somehow, but I should have just talked about that. Izzy said...'

'
Blame
you? Ben, why on earth would you think that?' Mom's eyes are round, imploring now. I can feel the hurt shining out of them; the confusion.

'Because you never spoke to me, mom! You went into your room every night and you cried for Toby and Charlie, and you acted like I wasn't there! For years! I thought you blamed me for their deaths, we shouldn't have been out there...'

'Baby, I was grieving. My son and my brother were gone! I never blamed you, how could you think that? I just didn't know what to do!'

We're both crying now. I swipe at my eyes as she scoots even closer to me on the couch. 'I thought you resented me,' she says. 'All this time, Ben, I thought you resented me for taking you home, when you wanted to stay and keep looking for them. I thought that's why you always went back to Khao Lak...'

'No, mom. I mean, yes, I wanted to be there in case he ever came back, in case he was found but I didn't resent you!' 

'You just kept moving on, all these places, as soon as you could leave me you were gone. You never told me where you were going...'

'I'm so sorry.'

She puts her other hand on top of mine, squeezes it. 'I guess neither of us dealt with it very well, did we,' she says after a minute. 'I admit, I didn't call as much as I wanted to because you hardly ever answered my calls, and then I just felt so bad about that, and so sad...'

'I'm so sorry, mom, I'm so sorry,' I say now, standing up and pulling her up by her hands. I wrap my arms around her. She's the small one now, the one I should have been there for this whole time. I've been a complete selfish asshole, taking on the blame she never even issued me and ignoring her for what's clearly been all in my head. Izzy was right. I've screwed everything up.

'I'm always here for you, Ben. Always,' mom says now. 'I want you to promise we'll have this week together here, and you can tell me everything, OK? I want to be here for you, I love you.'

'OK,' I say as she releases me. I feel like such a child again. A stupid one.

She pulls me back down, picks up her tea cup. We're silent for a moment, before she looks at me, puts a hand to my arm. It's so tanned compared to hers. 'So, what are you going to do about her?' 

'Izzy? Nothing,' I say too quickly, rubbing my cheeks and chin. 'Nobody meets the love of their life when they're sixteen, mom.' 

'Of course they do. I was sixteen when I met Glenn!'

What
? She must see my look of surprise. 

'Oh yes, we were friends at school. We liked each other a lot but he always had other girlfriends. I married your father and he missed his chance, or so he thought.' She purses her lips, half smiles. 'I guess sometimes when the universe wants you to be with someone, it finds a way. Where is Izzy now? She's British, right? Is she here in the UK?'

'You remember she's British?' I say, finally. Every word she's saying is like a stun gun right now. I never even knew she and Glenn met before she married my dad.

She smiles. 'I remember you talking about her, asking all those people. I wasn't completely deaf to you, you know.'

I match her smile, weakly. 'I don't know where she is. I think she's marrying someone else, anyway,' I say, and my mom makes a sound that's so sympathetic I'm almost sick. The thought of Izzy with Colin, or anyone makes my flesh crawl.

'Do you love her?' my mom says.

The question bounces around my skull before dropping the answer automatically in my mouth. 'Yes.' I close my eyes as the realization chokes me. Holy shit,
yes
. 

That night we had sex, the thing I felt that she felt too was the me I've always blocked; the parts I've never bared to anyone, blending with the real Izzy. It was all her colors mixing up with mine, from the reds to the angry blacks and the grey bits in-between, finally,
finally
making something beautiful. And I sent her away. 

I sent away the only woman I've ever loved.

I stare at the emails lined up in my inbox. My heart is drumming so hard I almost don't hear the waitress Pip asking if I want a re-fill. She tuts and pours the coffee into my cup anyway. She knows I have about six re-fills every morning while I sit here, spilling my guts out into my laptop.

'Thanks,' I tell her gratefully.

'Are those from more agents?' she says, pointing at the screen. 

'Yes. I'm too scared to look,' I say. I had to tell her the whole story yesterday, after she saw me pacing around behind my chair in agony over the others. I've had nothing but rejections so far; a big fat heap of NO, NO, NO, NO.

'Read them!' Pip instructs. 'Remember, JK Rowling got rejected millions of times before Harry Potter got published!'

'This isn't exactly a story about wizards,' I tell her with a groan. But I click the first one open anyway, holding my coffee close. I read the email aloud, but my heart sinks more with every word.

'Dear Isla Sullivan,

Thank you so much for sending the Write One Agency your query. We'd like to apologize for the impersonal nature of this standard rejection letter. On average, we receive nearly 500 email query letters a week, although we do read each and every one. Unfortunately, while we love the sound of 'The Day of the Wave' this project is not right for us. As this business is so subjective and opinions vary widely, we recommend that you pursue other agents. After all, it just takes one "yes" to find the right match. 

Good luck with all your publishing endeavors. 

Sincerely,

Melody Adams.'

Pip puts a hand to my shoulder sympathetically. 'You wouldn't want to trust your career to someone called Melody anyway,' she says. 'Open the others.'

I click on another one.

'Dear Isla,

We'd like to thank you for sending your query. After careful consideration, Tina doesn't feel she is the right agent to represent your book.  Please keep in mind that our business is a subjective one, and that another agent might feel differently... blah blah blah.'

I take a huge gulp of my coffee as Pip sits down in the chair next to me. 'They're all the same,' I say into her light brown eyes. 'They all say another agent might feel differently, but it looks like they all feel the same.'

'There's one more,' she says, pointing at the other one sitting underneath. I almost can't stand it, but I click it open and start reading out loud.

'
Hi Isla,

I'd like to thank you for sending me your query. I receive nearly 800 email query letters a week and I have to say, 'The Day of the Wave' really grabbed my attention...'

'Woah!' Pip slams the table with her palm suddenly. 

'Oh my God,' I manage as she offers me a high-five. I turn back to the screen. My palms have turned damp and my heart beats harder as I carry on reading.

'I loved the first five chapters and I can tell this is a story very close to your heart. I feel it's really one that needs to be told. I would love to read more when you have it, and if it's OK with you I would love to set up a Skype call soon to discuss some of my thoughts about this project. I have a feeling we can do great things together.

Hope to speak to you very soon,

Jane Woodhall.'

Pip throws her arms around me. I'm too shocked to respond. I've been sitting here every morning for the last three works, re-living the nightmare but finally making something out of the whole thing that I haven't been able to do since the tsunami happened. Suddenly, someone else wants to help me tell my story. Someone else thinks it needs to be told. Tears sting my eyes but I can't keep the smile off my face. 

I want to call Ben and tell him my news, but my heart lurches right out of its happy place when I realize all over again that Ben is gone. 

He hasn't been in touch at all and I haven't even seen him on Skype for two days. His parting gift was my new ability to do this, I guess; to build something good, something useful from the wreckage.
Maybe it'll help
. Maybe it'll help others.

All I can do now is keep writing.

'We need to get the Piccadilly Line down to South Kensington, we should be able to walk from there,' my mom says, zooming in on the tube map on her iPhone. We're standing on the busy street in the middle of Leicester Square, dodging tourists much like ourselves, all taking photos and selfies in the flashing lights. 

'What's in South Kensington?' I ask mom now, walking alongside her as she directs us a different way to the way we came. She's been dragging me to all kinds of places all week and I've gone along with it. We spent most of yesterday looking at antiques around Notting Hill and admiring art that went totally over my head in the Saatchi Gallery, and I've just spent a small fortune on two sundaes in the Häagen-Dazs cafe. 

'I thought we'd go to the Science Museum,' mom says, stopping to avoid walking through a Chinese man's photo. 'There's an exhibition on about Churchill and how he helped Britain win the Second World War.'

'Sounds thrilling,' I say and she rolls her eyes, loops her arm through mine. 

'If you like you can just play with the telescopes and hang out in the hologram room, with the other kids?'

I laugh. 'I'm a kid, am I?'

'You're always going to be my baby,' she smiles.

I have to admit, hanging out with my mom this week has been a lot of fun. We've talked a lot and laughed a lot and we lit a candle for Toby and Charlie in St. Paul's Cathedral. I've never been particularly religious but there was something special about that place with all its marble and gilded oak, and the humongous windows casting calming beams of light and shadows on the tiled floors.

'They're here, aren't they?' Mom said as we stood there at the altar. I held her hand tight. I could feel them there too, both of them; watching us and smiling.  

'Oooh,' mom says now. 'Do you mind if I just check out this store?' She's stopped halfway up the street. There are all kinds of tourist stalls and touts selling tickets and terrible T-shirts around here and it reminds me of Khao San Road, only five times the price. She's already bought enough magnets to cover three refrigerators and to warrant taking out another mortgage on her house. 

'Sure,' I say. 'I'll wait out here.' I watch as she steps inside and gets swamped straight away by racks of merchandise. I don't think I can handle any more stores. 

My eyes scan the surroundings. We're almost at Covent Garden and as I read the black signpost next to me pointing our way, something hits me like a baseball bat. This is where Izzy told me she worked. My mind rewinds to the night on Phi Phi when we drank all those buckets. I smile to myself, before the usual twist of pain and self-loathing makes me grate my teeth and clench my fists inside my pockets. 

Then I see it.

Right across the street is the deli Izzy told me about. It must be the same one; I can see a poster in the window with a blown up picture of a bun on it. Try our Hot Cross Buns, the sign says. I wait for the big red busses to stop at the lights and cross over. I know I have to try one, seeing as she gave them such rave reviews. I'll get one for mom, too, for later, seeing as we just ate all that ice-cream.

I put my hand on the door to open it, but I pause, gather my thoughts. What if she's in there?

I turn away. Then I stop and turn back. She's not going to be in there.

I pull the door open. It smells so good inside. There are several people lined up, so I join them at the back, wait my turn. I can't stop scanning the place anyway with my eyes as the memories crash over me. 

'I can't sing,' Izzy said that night as I watched her pink lips and wished I could kiss her.

'Can't because you're full of rum?' I laughed at her.

'Can't because I really can't!'

She was right, she really couldn't sing. Izzy didn't think she could do a lot of things, but she did them anyway.