The Day Of The Wave (6 page)

She was talking about some friend of her mom's who was moving to London - some woman who worked at a magazine, I think, called Maria. Bizzy wanted to be a writer. She carried a notebook in her beach bag and was always scribbling in it. 

'Isn't Toby too young to go scuba diving?' she said then, looking at me. Her big brown eyes were twinkling in the faint light from a nearby restaurant shack, like they were trapping fireflies. So beautiful.

'He's ten, it's a good age to start. He's almost qualified,' I told her. Our legs brushed on the side of the boat. Toby was a natural in the water. He never showed a speck of fear, even during the tests when he had to take his mask off and put it back on again underwater. 'He's done all the pool stuff now. Tomorrow's his first real fun dive - then there's two more and he'll have his PADI.'

'When did you get your certificate?' she asked me. 'Does your whole family dive?'

'My mom and step dad won't,' I answered, looking out over the blackening ocean. I didn't know Glenn too well - they'd only been married a year - but I couldn't imagine my mom in a snorkel, never mind on the ocean floor with a tank strapped to her back. I loved my mom but her idea of an underwater adventure was driving the Prius through the carwash. We all knew it.

'Uncle Charlie's been diving his whole life,' I told her. 'He's mom's brother. He got me qualified when I was Toby's age.'

'Where?'

'California. This is the first time I've come diving here, though. Toby wasn't old enough to come away without her really, till now.'

'You're so lucky your uncle lives here,' she said then, all starry-eyed. 'It's like heaven.'

'I know, but he's lived everywhere. He ran a shack on Little Corn Island before this - have you heard of it?'

'Nope.'

'Nicaragua,' I told her, proud of my knowledge of exotic places, all from my uncle of course. 'On the Caribbean side. He said he could walk into the ocean from the beach, pick a lobster up in his bare hands, walk back and cook it for dinner!'

'That's amazing!'

'Yes, but it was boring, there were hardly any tourists. Not like here.'

'Little Corn,' Bizzy said dreamily, twirling her long hair round a finger against her collarbone. 'That sounds amazing, too. Makes you wonder why anyone lives in big cities, really, doesn't it?'

I smiled, nudging her shoulder, still holding tight to her other hand. 'You can't work on a big glossy magazine if you live on an island,' I said and she stuck her tongue out, making me want to kiss her even more. 

*

I don't know why I didn't. To this day I have no clue why I chickened out, every single time. I'd kissed a couple girls before; more than a couple actually but something about British Izzy had me weak at the knees and chicken shit terrified all at once. Maybe it was the setting, so perfect and pristine, I didn't want to risk ruining it. Maybe it was the proximity of her parents, always watching me like hawks. 

I think of her face again this morning.; those aching brown eyes. What have they seen?
And the scars on her arms...

A shiver runs up my spine in the heat. I was lucky. Obviously we were both lucky. We survived. All my scars are on the inside.

I force myself to get up, walk back to my hut. I strip off my clothes and turn on the shower. The water is cold in my outdoor bathroom but I'm used to it. The days and nights here are both so damn hot that a hot shower would be hell and there's no A/C here, not like at the big hotels. 

I rinse myself off with soap, turn my face to the clouds from under the showerhead. The bathroom's the best part, I think. My room is basic, just a bed with a dresser and a closet and fridge, wooden walls and a terracotta colored tile floor. I chose this place on this particular beach 'cause it's quieter than Bang Niang. After being with people all day at Dream Dive and the school, I really just like to be alone, although I'm there most of the day. I never go too far. Just in case...

I shove the thought away as usual, but it's back in a second; course it is. Not a day goes past when I don't see him in my mind's eye, walking out of that ocean towards me like the whole thing was a mistake, a blip in time that fixed itself and brought him back. 

They never found Toby. But that's where I lost him. And even though my mom was eight thousand miles away when it happened, I know that's where I lost her, too.

The night bus is freezing. I haven't been so cold since I got to Thailand. I'm really regretting not getting my one jumper out of my suitcase before they stashed it in the luggage hold with a million backpacks. 

'Are you going to the full moon party?' a Scottish guy asks me from the seat next to mine. He's cute. He has bright red hair with a blonde streak across the middle, like a Mohawk gone wrong. He has a nice nose, too. What's not as cute is the bright yellow sleeveless shirt he's wearing with Chang Beer on it and the tinny sound of his music that's been pumping from his headphones into my own ears since we set off at seven p.m.

'I don't think so,' I say, stopping my typing. I've been trying to edit my article on my iPad but the bumps in the road and the erratic driving keep making me add even more mistakes. 

'You really should, it's awesome. I've been twice,' he says. 'I'm going to Phi Phi, my mate's there, then we're heading back up and over to Koh Phangan for the full moon. You should come? I can add you to Facebook if you want, what's your full name? Have you done Vietnam yet, by the way?'

I smile politely. 'I'm really not sure that's my thing, thanks though,' I say. 'And no, I haven't been to Vietnam.' I notice a greasy streak on the window by his head, where his sweat and sunscreen have rubbed off and smudged the glass. He smells a bit, actually. I pull the sarong I'm using as a scarf further over my mouth. 

'The food in Vietnam is meant to be the best, have you heard that, too?' he says and I try to make my eyes look interested. I don't want to seem rude, but I really don't want to talk to anyone either; especially anyone I don't know about places I have no intention of ever visiting. Already I wish I booked a flight to Phuket, like Ben suggested, but the lady in the shop said at six hundred baht a bus ticket was cheaper. That was true, but I think she got a bigger cut from the bus company than she would've got from AirAsia. My head was still reeling when I talked to her anyway. I just handed over the cash and went back to pack. Then I walked around a mall till five p.m, drinking bubble tea and freaking out over what I was about to do. I still am... freaking out, that is.

Two German girls in front are talking softly in words I don't understand. The Chinese guy in the seat across the aisle from me is asleep and snoring. He's wearing eyeshades and ear plugs and he's wrapped in a huge blanket he must have brought himself. I'm jealous. They've given us blankets for the journey - it was part of the allure of going first class - but they're so thin they're useless. 

I shiver under the stupid A/C as the Scottish guy rattles on about Ho Chi Minh motorcycle tours and some bloke who got arrested for drunkenly pissing on a wall in a hostel. I try to ignore the fact that I need a wee. I was hoping I could go the whole twelve-hour trip without needing the toilet at all. There can't be many things worse than a grim bus stop toilet... except a toilet that's literally on a bus. I can smell it already. I swear someone's been sick in it, which wouldn't surprise me, judging by the group of drunk guys that got on back in Bangkok. Some of them are still being loud at the back. They're American. Part of me wants to smirk and rib Ben about 'his kind' when I see him. 

Oh my god, I'm going to see Ben
.

A little shiver of something like excitement rushes up my spine. I think it's excitement. It could also be utter dread. I plug my headphones into the iPad as soon as the Scot pauses for thought, select a playlist I made earlier. Today's gratitude is most definitely my iPad. I've been trying to distract myself since I boarded the bus with thoughts of everything but what the hell I'm doing, cancelling Bali to go back to Khao Lak. 

If I hate it when I get there, if it makes things worse, if I lose control, I can leave. I repeat the words to myself again as I nod at the Scot's mouth moving. I probably won't last the day. But whenever I thought about flying to Bali instead, the fear of leaving Ben again caused my brain to go into meltdown mode and my heart to bang in my ears. He's the one thing I have left from the time my entire world fell to pieces; the only silver lining that has ever appeared from the wreckage. 

I close my eyes. Of course, I don't know anything about him now. I don't know if he's single, if he drinks, if he acts or sings or reads, if he did any of the things he said he wanted to do. All I know is that we wouldn't have been thrown back together again like we were if it wasn't for a reason. 

*

By the time I open my eyes again the sunlight is streaming through the crack in the curtains over the Scottish guy's head. He's still asleep with his headphones on and it creeps me out for a second - the thought that I just spent the night sleeping next to someone I don't know - but I can't think about it for long because the excruciating need for a wee pushes all other thoughts from my head. I missed the rest stop. 

I scramble up, untangling myself from my sarong and my pointless, thin blanket. The bus is still moving and the bright red digital clock at the front says it's five-thirty a.m. We must be almost there, but I can't hold on any longer. 

I make my way up the aisle, open the tiny door at the back and step inside. The stench hits me like a sledgehammer; pungent sewage and vomit. I hold my breath so I can't smell or taste it, then I wee as fast as I can, holding onto the walls to stop myself falling. There's no toilet paper. I rub my hands three times on the tiny, filthy bar of soap, rinse my hands under the pathetic stream that trickles from the tap, squeeze my way back out and head back up the aisle to my seat. The Scottish guy wakes up when I sit down, rubs his eyes sleepily. 

'Morning,' he says and I smile as best I can. I don't like night busses. I don't like them at all. I'm flying out of Phuket when I leave. 

He reaches for his backpack under his seat and unzips several pockets before finding the one with his gum in it. He offers me a stick of Wrigley’s and I let out a sigh, take it. He's nice enough. He's just a bit keen. And he needs to wash more.

'Where you going now, then?' he asks me, shoving his pack back under his seat and pulling his knees up to rest on the seat in front.

'Khao Lak,' I say, pulling the blanket back over me. Another bolt of adrenaline makes me feel sick again. 'It's north, by an hour or so I think. There's a mini van ride included with my ticket.'

'Right,' he says. 'Not heard of that. I'm getting the ferry straight to Phi Phi.'

'You haven't heard of Khao Lak?' I say. I can't hide the surprise in my voice as I unscrew my water bottle, take three long gulps, then three more. Did he not watch the news back in 2004? Did he not see what happened there? Does he even know what happened in Phi Phi? 

I know all the facts. I've tortured myself with them. Almost two thousand people died there that day and seventy percent of the buildings were destroyed. Five thousand people perished in the whole of Thailand and over half were tourists. 

I met a guy once at one of the survivor support groups who'd been rescued and half carried, half dragged up the hill on Phi Phi by two Thai ladies and a man. He found out later that one of the women had watched her newborn baby die when the wall of water swept her shop away. She stuck with him for three days anyway, till he was reunited with his wife. I remember the local people more than anything from that day, and all the days that followed. They were the ones helping. They were the ones being bravest. 

The Scot is still shaking his head. 'I hear you can get magic mushrooms on Phi Phi - not as many cops,' he says. 

I chew hard on my gum. It must be a ghost town now, no matter what they rebuilt of it. How can it not be? I wouldn't take magic mushrooms there if you paid me - I see enough from that day when I'm straight and sober. He's lucky he doesn't know what happened; unless he does and it doesn't bother him.

I stare at his knees against the seatback as he continues to talk. It's hard to imagine unless you were there; I already know that. You can watch the footage on YouTube, and even that movie they made with Ewan McGregor in it and feel horrified, but then you can go back to your daily life and forget about it. You didn't lose anyone. You didn't lose your mind or the flesh from your arms; you won't have to deal with the consequences day in, day out, every day for the rest of your life. 

For a second I envy this guy as he starts up talking about the hotel he's booked and the cocktails that are only two quid. I wish my choice of where to travel boiled down to something as simple as where the best party was... or hallucinogenic fungi. I went to France once, but I stay in London for the most part. There will never be a natural disaster there, no tsunamis, no tornadoes, no earthquakes, no landslides. Of course, there are terrorist threats, but I'm not so bothered about those. Terrorists can't do anything as terrible as Mother Nature can do when she's pissed off.

I realize I'm shaking. I manage not to talk to the Scot again until we roll up at our final destination, where he opens the curtains as people start to stand and reach for their stuff. I reach for my small purse in the seat pocket. It's not there. 

Panic. 

I stand up, feel around behind me, down the side of the seat. 'What's wrong?' he asks, getting to his feet beside me and slipping on his flip flops. 

'My purse, I can't find it, I left it here,' I tell him, picking up my iPad. Thank God that's still here. 

He frowns. 'You left it in the seat pocket?'

'Yes, why?'

'Did it have a sign on it too, staying steal me?'

I scowl at him, carry on looking. I know he didn't take it. He seems like a nice guy, plus he's been making way too much effort to talk to me the whole time. People are getting off the bus now. I sink to the floor, start feeling around under the seat. 'My passport's in there, and my phone, and my notebook,' I say, 'and my credit card, and all my money. Someone must have grabbed it when I was asleep, or in the loo. This can't be happening.'