Doctor Who_ Rip Tide - Louise Cooper [2]
Stephen Gallagher October 2002
Words cannot do justice to the reality of the sea's power. A sweeping statement,
maybe; but anyone who lives in close proximity to the Atlantic, with the sounds of its varying moods a constant backdrop to daily life, knows the emotions it raises in the human mind and heart. Ave, wonder, love, fear ... and, perhaps above all, an innate and intense respect for a natural force that we do not and cannot control. The sea exists without regard for our opinions or desires or commands. It makes its own rules — but we disregard those rules at our peril. Ask a fisherman, a surfer, a lifeguard; anyone whose living or leisure brings them into close proximity with the ocean. Ask the rescue services of the RNLI, coastguard and armed forces, who risk their lives when the sea turns from friend and provider to implacable enemy and shows us how small our place is in the real scheme of things.
Yet the sea creates echoes in us all; and, just as its tides and inclinations ebb and flow with the weather or the seasons or the phases of the moon, so the current of our human moods is driven by unseen influences. We each have our own rip tide, shifting and changing within us. And that, too, can be as unpredictable as the sea.
CORNWALL NOW
Steve had to admit that he fancied her. He noticed her when she walked
past the little lifeboat station on the last strip of the narrow road that sloped down to the beach, and kept watching as she merged into the crowd of late May holiday visitors who were dithering over ice cream flavours at the café or spreading themselves and their gear on the sand. There were a lot of attractive girls around at this time of year, but this one stood out. She was small – petite, almost – with very long, very black hair (probably not natural, but what the hell; the effect was terrific), and she walked with a feline grace that caught the eye and held it.
Steve straightened up from the inflatable lifeboat, where he had been carrying out a maintenance check, and moved to the door of the boathouse. From here he could see the quay where the local fishing boats were pulled up out of reach of the big spring tides. Beyond the quay was a panoramic view of the beach, with the headland's high granite cliffs stark against the vivid blue of the Atlantic. But the view didn't interest him. Narrowing his grey eyes, he looked for the girl, and saw her where the road met the lifeboat slipway twenty metres away, leaning on the railing above the quay and scanning the crowd on the sand below.
'Forget it,' a voice behind him said sourly. 'She's with someone; I saw them earlier. Anyway, she looks as if she'd eat you for lunch and throw the bits to the gulls.'
Steve swung round and stared in annoyance at his younger sister, Nina. Nina glowered back from where she slouched against the boathouse wall. Her shoulder-length blonde hair needed combing, her blue pedalpushers and 'Surfers Against Sewage' T-shirt weren't ironed, and her face wore the sullen expression that told him she was in one of her moods again.
'When I want your advice about women, little sister, I'll ask for it,' Steve retorted. 'And I've told you before: don't creep up on me when I'm working on the boat.'
'You weren't working. You were ogling that girl.'
He ignored that. 'What do you want, anyway? Haven't you got something better to do?'
'If I had, I wouldn't be hanging around here, would I? Did you see her shoes? What sort of moron wears heels like that to the beach?'
Steve sighed. He was fond of Nina – OK, he loved her – but when she was like this it was hard to remember the fact. He tried to remind himself that it wasn't entirely her fault; 17 was a difficult age and she had always been a bit of a misfit, a loner, on the edge of the crowd but never quite included. But if she would only make more of an effort.
'What are you doing to the boat?' she asked.
'Just going over a few things before practice on Sunday morning.' Trying to make peace, he grinned at her. 'And answering