Wasted (22 page)

If we look for meaning, we find meaning where perhaps no meaning really is. There could be no meaning at all. It could just be life. Stuff happening, doing your best.

“Your turn first, Ella. It was your idea.” Chris takes a coin from his wallet inside his jacket pocket. Ella grins and runs a hand through her spiked hair till it looks even more like a straw nest. Her thick black eyeliner is all smudged with sweat and probably the tears of so many goodbyes. She has an elfin face, thinks Jess.

Ella calls heads. It's tails. “Unlucky!” they all shout. Jess leans back into Jack's body, feels his arms tight around her and his mouth in her hair. Her hands are on his and she is learning the geography of his knuckles.

“Pour her a drink,” says someone.

“No, I'm not doing that,” says Ella. “That's a stupid dare.”

“Play the game, Ella,” says Tommy. Tommy is drunk, not badly so but enough to say things he wouldn't normally say. He's in the mood not to care, not to think before he speaks.

“Give me something else to do.”

“Oh, come on, what's the point of a dare if you don't do it?”

Ella looks angry. She shakes her head. Something nasty descends on the group. Into their silence the fire cracks more loudly and the wild surf roars like a beast.

Jess butts in. “Just give her something else. She doesn't have to play drinking games. How about a blindfold obstacle course?”

The moment is broken as they set about creating an obstacle course for Ella to negotiate blindfold.

“Hey, you're sending me to the sea!” Ella shouts as she feels her feet going down the sloping beach. But she laughs as the first wave crashes over her feet, soaking her jeans to the knees.

“Go and rescue her, Chris!” Jack laughs. And Chris runs down the beach, scooping up Ella and carrying her back still blindfolded. As she watches them, Jess sees a light out at sea, and a shape. Two lights. Speedboats?

“Jet skis,” says Jack, seeing where she is looking.

“Bit stupid to do that at night, isn't it?”

“Dunno. Some idiots, that's all.”

And they turn back to the game. It is Jack's turn and he extricates himself from Jess in order to arm-wrestle Tommy – Jack wins and Tommy has to drink another shot. And so the game continues with forfeits which only seem funny at the time – bum prints in the sand, vodka drunk from someone else's belly button, a marshmallow eaten from someone's lips, running semi-naked to the next fire and stealing an item, passing a hand through the flames, twenty press-ups, singing “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep” while standing on your head.

The jet skis skim and leap over the bay again, closer now. They can hear shrieking across the waves, see the lights skittering here and there. The unnatural drone is annoying. It is not much louder than the surf and the fires and the laughter of friends, but it is intrusive.

“Isn't that Kelly?” says Ella, after a while, when one jet ski has roared towards the beach and then turned and disappeared again.

She is right. That blonde hair stands out in the moonlight and, as the light from the other jet ski shines briefly on her body, they can see she's wearing a bright red top of some sort now, maybe a life jacket, though it doesn't quite look like one. If Jess looked round at Jack now, she'd see him frown.

They turn away, not wishing to let Kelly spoil their party, reckoning that if they ignore her she'll soon go. The marshmallows have finished but someone has crisps. Tommy has fallen asleep and has to be prodded awake when it's his turn. A couple of the other groups have dispersed now, the flames of their fires sinking into embers. Ash blows in the wind. The smell of burning wood is in Jess's hair, her eyes, her skin. And Jack's. She can smell him through it as she leans back against him. She pulls his arms more tightly around her as she sits between his legs. Jack has drunk very little, Jess little more: she is gently floating, her skin tingling in a pleasant woolly way.

Energy is seeping away from the night but they want to cling to it. Despite the quickening wind, the growing waves, it is still warm. The tide is coming in, the surf hurling itself hungrily at the beach. But their group is far from the water's edge, on sand that is always dry.

Jess has pins and needles. She extricates herself from Jack and stands up, moving her feet and toes to get the blood flowing again.

It is Jack's turn.

“Oh, let's stop now,” says Ella. “I've had enough. Sand in places that are going to be hard to explain.”

But Tommy and Chris have other ideas. “Everyone else has done two,” says Tommy.

“Yeah, well, you're seeing two of everything, Tommy,” says Jack.

But of course, Jack will do it. One last turn. And then they'll stop, they agree.

“Let me spin the coin,” says Jess. They wait for her. She holds out her hand for someone to give her the coin. “Well, who's got it?”

“Tommy, you had it last.”

“Well, I haven't got it now.” Tommy vaguely looks around him. They all search but no one can find it.

“Just use another one,” says Ella.

Jess takes the one from her back pocket. Jack's coin. The one she's been keeping safe. Maybe if she hadn't been drinking, she'd have kept it safe still.

“Jack?”

He hesitates.

“What's the big deal?” asks Chris. He looks from Jack to Jess. Their faces look oddly serious. Intent.

Still Jack hesitates. It is as though the words will not come from his mouth. In his head he is stuck; his brain will not send the instruction to the mouth.
Yes?
Or
No?
It's simple and yet, as he very well knows, not so simple. Because it may well make a difference, and he will never know.

“It won't make any difference which coin you use,” says someone.

“You have no idea if it will or won't.”

“It's just a coin, Jack, for Christ's sake. It's just a coin. Like,
game
, you know? As in
game
?” Tommy has a headache. He has no time for his friend's pointless hang-ups. He has known Jack for a long time, has seen him obsess about this damned coin – not that Tommy knows that this is not the original coin. But if he did, it would make no difference: a coin is a coin and simply the best way we have to imitate randomness. Chance. Luck. Tommy doesn't care what you call it. Tommy is like most people.

Jack stares at Tommy for what seems a long time. Jess kneels down, touches his arm. “Hey, Jack, don't spoil things. I don't mind what coin we use. Maybe let's not even play, hey? It's late. Maybe we should go home soon? I'm getting a bit cold anyway.”

And after a moment Jack relaxes. Shrugs. “It's OK. Let's do it. As you say, Tommy, it won't make any difference, will it?” And he pours himself a small shot of vodka, knocking it back. “Go for it, Jess. Spin that coin. And make it a good spin.”

He puts his hand on hers to slant her fingers the right way, watches as she balances the coin in just the place where he has taught her. And she spins.

It is a good spin. It is beautiful. The firelight catches it, the wind catches it, Jack blows a kiss towards her and the kiss catches it. The coin flies high, hovers, tumbles down, and Jack calls heads.

It is tails. He stands up, runs his hands through his hair. “So, what's it to be?”

“Skinny-dipping,” says someone.

“Easy,” says Jack. “I could do with washing all this smoke off me.” He kicks off his shoes. There is wolf-whistling as he strips off: rugby shirt, T-shirt, trainers, socks, jeans. Chris puts his hands over Jess's eyes. There is laughter again. The wind catches the flames and they stretch and lean. Jess hugs her knees.

There are the jet skis, far away in the distance. Light plays over the water like two tiny Tinkerbells. Everyone watches and laughs as Jack runs towards the water, splashes through the first shallow frothy breakers, and dives forward smooth as a porpoise.

There is a moment of emptiness. It is a fraction of space, when one thing ends and another begins. Laughter stops, punched in the face, shocked.

Jess's body freezes.

Breath holds.

One jet ski.

It is coming.

Straight

towards

the beach.

Jack is standing now,

his back to the sea,

grinning.

The rider's face

laughing,

but then

terrified,

trying to turn.

Screaming.

A spray of froth.

A flash

of red.

Jack.

TIME
moves backwards. Splinters. It is impossible to say what happens first. The jet ski almost misses Jack. It catches him a glancing blow and his rag-doll body is flung through the air, before landing in the shallows.

Jess cannot scream. Or breathe.

A body flies from the jet ski. The jet ski hits the body in the air before skimming onto the beach.

Jack swallows bitter water.

Blood.

The coin digs into Jess's hand, bruising it.

People run towards the water's edge.

Someone dials 999. Three others do the same. They cannot see the buttons. Fingers are all thick and useless. They shake.

Jess is at the water's edge ahead of them. Her mind is full of one word only:

No!

IF…

If Jack had not met Jess, she would be somewhere else entirely. She would be nowhere near this beach with its faraway town lights, running screaming along the shingle towards the human heap that sprawls in the froth, her clothes sticky with sweat and sea spray and vodka and grimy with wood smoke.

Jack wouldn't be here either. And there's the dilemma. To live without pain or to live without joy.

They move him gently. His back or neck might be injured and they know to be careful of that, but they cannot leave him face down in the water. They do the best they can and wait for sirens. All are cold, shocked, holding on to themselves, just. Some are silent, others talk occasionally, quietly; one girl is crying, another has her fist pressed to her mouth. Jack is on his side, with as many rugs and bits of clothing as they can find to cover him. They know he is breathing and someone has found a pulse. They keep checking.

It is hard to be sure about a pulse when their own hearts are beating so loud in their ears, and their fingers feel dead. But they are as sure as they can be.

Everyone is very sober now. Tommy stares. He almost cannot move. His face is ashen in the darkness.

Jack must not die. They will not let him.

Jess holds his hand. She pummels it and presses it and wills it to respond. But it doesn't. She talks to him.
Come on, Jack. Come on, Jack. Please.

Kelly lies a little way off, where she, too, has been pulled from the water. Someone has covered her body with a picnic rug but Jess has already seen it. She had to jump over it as she ran to Jack. A dead body is a strange thing, she discovers. And horrible. Kelly is waxy in her moonlit death. The neck is rather obviously broken. And there is blood. A piece of seaweed is entangled in her hair. Her face is greyer than a human's should be, fish-like, and damp.

All the muscles in Jess's face are tight. Her chest is crushed. She wonders if her head might burst or her heart actually break. She keeps forgetting to breathe. From her mouth comes a strange sound and she realizes that teeth actually do chatter with cold and fear.

The other jet ski has now been ridden carefully onto the beach – bit too late to think about being careful now – and a boy is running towards them all. His face looks terrible.

Jess turns away. She knows it is Simon and she wishes never to see him again or speak to him or anything at all. He should have stayed out of her life and he should stay out now.

She can only think of Jack.

Sirens.

A sob rises in her throat.

Her fingers are crossed. If she prayed, she'd pray. She prays anyway.

If there was a ladder, she'd avoid it.

There isn't.

JESS
is spinning a coin. Not actually playing Jack's Game yet, because if you're going to play you have to be very sure. Heads or tails, win or lose, life or death: playing the game changes things and you can't escape its rules. Jess knows that now.

She thinks – because she has thought about this quite a lot in the last day and a bit – that if there's a God, He must play Jack's Game. It's not much of an explanation.

Jess is sitting in a horrible waiting room the colour of old white socks. Waiting. The waiting is awful. She needs her guitar, but it wouldn't exactly be appropriate. On the floor is a grubby doll with no clothes and one leg. It lies there with its blue eyes open. It looks shocked, or dead. There is pen scribbled on its stomach and someone has tried to cut its hair. Jess remembers doing that to a doll once.

Jess should be starting a new life now. And perhaps, in a way, she is. For she won't be the same after this, whatever happens.

A flash of anger crosses her mind. She thinks that Kelly… But no, best not to think like that. She is not prone to violent thoughts. But she is in a state of shock, and strange feelings are stirring. She tries to think about anything else.

The bracelet she's wearing. A birthday present from her best friend, Chloe. That was a good day: her mum remembered to rustle up a cake – all the way from Mrs Beaton's Tea Shoppe – and they ate it on the beach, digging their bare heels into the shingle and breathing the seashell air. Her dad phoned and sent the usual money.

But Jess is scared and it's hard to keep her mind on such things as cake, though she must try. And so: it was a fantastic cake; she and her mum used their fingers to scrape the chocolate icing off the wrapping; they have the best cakes in Mrs Beaton's Tea Shoppe.