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My enemy the sea
I do not like the sea. I do not like its unpredictability, the coldness of the water;its gloomy colouration; it’s fearful depth - which makes you think there might be ahideous monster rising up beneath you - and I must confess I actually get into a panicwhenever I see it, even if it is just a glimpse. The sight of breakers crashing along adramatic shoreline rather than fill me with awe or romantic associations instead fillsme with nausea.As a result of my phobia I have never – well not since that day - enjoyed therare delight of holidaying on the English seaside or anywhere else for that matter. OnJuly the 11
th
1959 I became lifelong enemies with the sea and since then have avoidedit at all costs. It was one of the things my ex-wife continually bemoaned about our marriage: we never went on ‘normal’ holidays she would complain. I never told her about what happened when I was on the threshold of manhood. I thought then thecurse would be with me for life but I was wrong – the sea and I had one last scene to play out before the end and that is what I shall tell now.It started one evening not long after my divorce when I was around at myfriends the Atkins’s having dinner and discussing ‘what-to-do-next’. There was a pause in the conversation in which everyone seemed to reflect on the endless number of possibilities which lay before me. Gerald, who rarely reflects for long, however said suddenly and with a knowing glance:“Well you could always stay at Mandalay.”There was a dramatic pause, and then a silence. Gerald knew about my phobia andsince Mandalay was by the sea the suggestion was an intentionally risqué one. I feltsurprise, fear and confidence all at once – as if I had been encouraged by an admiringcolleague who I respected to go for a promotion I knew was out of my reach.It was late and I felt tipsy with wine – perhaps it was that, I don’t know, perhaps the liberation from an unhappy marriage but in that moment I becamefoolhardy. Gerald’s company often had that effect on me – as if he were a sort of confidence ‘catalyst’.“You could work on your book there in peace.” He added pulling the cork out of theMacon Village and refilling my glass.”Yes, what a good idea Gerald,” chimed in his wife before she suddenly looked up asif something had occurred to her and then said almost involuntarily,“But..”“But..I cannot stand the Sea.” I completed for her.“Well - yes...”I looked at Gerald and Annette and thought about how lovely my friends theAtkins’s had been to me supporting me through the terrible final stages of divorce.For a moment I entertained the irrational idea that they were somehow gifted beingswho knew what I needed better than I did. I leant back and closed my eyes and breathed a sigh of relief; then - I do not know how it happened but I overheard myself assenting. I even said something like: “I’d love to, that’s very kind of you, it would bemy pleasure.” Gerald smiled and emptied his glass in one swig as if he had completedone of his multi million pound deals.
 
***When I set out I purposely left it till the early evening so that I could arrive when itwas pitch black and thus avoid any unpleasant glimpses of the sea on the way up. Ittook a while to find but eventually I saw the sign in the headlights amongst theundergrowth. I felt slightly giddy just being near the invisible mass of the ocean withits terrible strength, its terrible secrets, its capricious waves and currents. Mandalay itturned out was indeed a large house built of grey brick. I could not say it was beautiful – I had expected something more picturesque with grand bay windows andfestoons of wisteria and ivy but even in the darkness I could see this was a moresimple structure – with a touch even of the simplicity of the modernist about it. Ismelt the salt air immediately and stood for a moment with the car door open and thelight inside still on. The smell of the air alone had taken me back to that holiday inGrayson Sands in 59’. Suddenly I felt sick and had to steady myself against the bonnet of the car. Then I jumped from fright at the sound of a sea gull squawking as itflew overhead shrouded by the impenetrable darkness. At that moment – with the car door still open and the luggage not yet unpacked – my nerve almost failed me and Ialmost decided to turn back. But then the thought of having to tell the Aitkin’s whohad already left for their tour of the subcontinent, and of all the trouble it would causeI forced the unhappy associations out of my mind and decided to keep going – thehuman spirit was capable of anything I reassured myself.I set off across the shingle drive taking one step at a time and found the keyunder the appointed and rather incongruous urn. Then I let myself in. It was bothexhilarating and slightly frightening being in such a large house at night, on my own.I hurried around switching on all the lights. The lounge was the only room whichlooked old-fashioned. It was gracious and impressive with large French windowsoverlooking the lawn, and a large ornate fireplace in the centre around which wasarranged a suite of modern and more comfortable beige sofa and chairs. By thewindows there was a fine Edwardian side table which looked like an abandoned desk in desperate need of a sitter. Fashion and girlie magazines - no doubt belonging toCharlie, the Atkins’s daughter - lay sprawled around on side tables and the maincoffee table in front of the fireplace. The room, one felt, would have been more ‘athome’ with large groups. There was the feeling too that this was space for entertainment – I saw in my mind’s eye the many parties the Aitkin’s must haveenjoyed down here; an imaginary grand piano struck up a tune; I could see dashingmen in smoking jackets and beautiful girls and young rich people smoking pot. Iwalked over to the window and drew the curtains and then went into the kitchen andmade a cup of tea…***She strode confidently as other people simply walked and I can still remember howshe strode that day, with great purpose over the gently undulating Norfolk sand dunes,a lone figure with a conspiratorial smile on her face; no doubt with reference to our clandestine kiss we had had in the hotel the night before. She wore strange bug-eyedsunglasses which hid her curious mischievous eyes – and I think I may have asked her where she bought them trying to be an expert ladies man, and she had said the KingsRoad. Seeing her looking so fabulous in her designer swimsuit, walking towards meover the dunes made me wonder whether I was dreaming – was it really possible this
 
 beautiful, athletic young women was interested in me? Though I was not exactly uglyI wasn’t an Adonis either and it all seemed too good to be true. She was such a‘healthy specimen’. When she smiled at me I felt a sickness and fear in the pit of mystomach. I have often thought beautiful women make people nervous and this was theeffect Monika Bradley had on me then. She was in a different league to the sorts of girls I kissed after dances who always had some unfortunate physical defect whether it was acne and specs or bad breath or too much weight. Monika in contrast looked asglamorous as a film star, she was confident, she was older; she was married, she waswealthy. Eventually she arrived at the spot I had chosen with the intent of spying on pretty girls using my new binoculars whilst officially keeping watch of the twins whowere playing on the beach. With an instinct for the underhand Monika understood mysordid plan immediately. That was something else that was different about her – sheunderstood my darker carnal thoughts and urges almost better than I did. Her smile became a chuckle as she approached me.“Peeping are we?”“What?” I said faux incredulously.“YOU, up here in your crow’s nest.””I’m just keeping an eye on the twins whilst the grown ups are at lunch.”“Oh really?” She said lifting her sunglasses onto her dark bob as she sat down rather archly – and overly close to me. I felt our thighs chaffing as she snuggled into thesand.”You’re a good kisser you know.”I then felt as I always did in her company – painfully embarrassed. Thoughts andwords dried up completely. I didn’t know what to say. I tried to pull myself together  but all I could do was ask her about her sunglasses again. She smiled and answeredvaguely. All of a sudden she seemed abstracted. We watched the sun pour goldenafternoon light on the strand. The scene would have been perfect for a painter. I felthot and itchy. I felt my penis stirring in my trunks. It seemed to have obtained a mindof its own in the last year. She wiggled her red-painted neat little piggy-toes.Suddenly unbidden the thought of sucking them came into my mind – I blushed andtried to look away from her. Her breathing seemed to intensify audibly. Suddenly Iremembered I was supposed to be looking out for the twins. I was glad for somethingto get my mind of Monika and picked up the binoculars. The twins were busy playing in the sand building shapes.“So did you manage to get the key off your parents?”“No,”“ – well yes.”She laughed.“Did you ask them?”I didn’t answer.“You didn’t did you? You stole it.”“They wouldn’t have given it...”She looked at me again with her crimson lipstick smile, she looked even more beautiful than ever.“So shall we go?”
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