Selma
Kent, UK
27 July 1991
Idris led me to the cave, his hand still wrapped around mine. A campfire flickered outside it, and the sound of guitar music, laughter, even a child giggling was carried along with the breeze. As we drew closer, I could see seven people sitting around the fire on colourful chalk boulders, listening to a young tanned man dressed in just shorts playing a soft tune on his guitar. The girl I’d met a few days before was sitting beside him with her arms wrapped around him, her fingers hungry in his hair. A tall black man sat beside her, dressed smartly in chinos and a white shirt, his fingers tapping gently on his knee, his eyes closed. A brown and white Jack Russell lay with its furry chin on the man’s foot.
Behind the group sat a woman in her fifties wearing an oversized kaftan dress, paper flowers in different colours scattered around her. She was doing something I couldn’t see, her arms moving erratically, her back bent over. Swaying to the music nearby was a slim, attractive woman with short, blonde hair, the flames of the fire dancing on her tanned skin. I recognised her as being a local yoga teacher, and thought it no surprise that someone like her had been drawn there. But what was a surprise was seeing timid Donna among the group, with her son Tom. She must have come directly from the pub just after I left. What on earth was she doing there?
Then there, beyond them all, was the cave and the old hotel looming dark and abandoned above it. The cave was too dark to properly see inside but I caught glimpses of colour on the walls. Idris’s paintings?
When we approached the group, everyone seemed to sense him, growing quiet as they peered up. The young man even stopped strumming his guitar and Tom stopped giggling.
Weird.
‘Please, continue Caden,’ Idris instructed him. The young man smiled and continued playing his guitar as he glanced over me.
The girl I’d spoken to before jumped up, rushing over. ‘You came!’ she said, enveloping me in a hug. She smelt musty, as if she hadn’t showered for a few days. It wasn’t unpleasant though. ‘I’m Oceane by the way.’ She pronounced it Osh-ee-anne.
‘Is that the author?’ Caden asked over his music.
‘Yes, the author!’ Oceane exclaimed.
‘That’s so cool,’ Caden said. He started singing. ‘Sifting over the sands of my mind, trying to find treasures that never existed.’
I looked at him in surprise. ‘That’s a line from my book!’
‘Of course,’ Idris said. ‘We’ve all been reading it. Can’t ignore our local author, can we?’
‘I hope you’re working on something new,’ the yoga teacher said, eyes sparkling as she continued to sway. ‘Reading it really touched my soul.’
I opened my mouth then closed it. I didn’t know what to say. Part of me was delighted. The book had barely sold so I hadn’t had any feedback from readers beyond my editors and friends. But the other part thought it was bloody bizarre, all these people fawning over me.
‘Come, sit with us,’ Idris said, gently putting his hand on the small of my back and leading me towards the fire. I looked over my shoulder towards the town. Maybe this was a bad idea, but something propelled me forward anyway and I sat down on a straw mat, looking at the flickering orange and yellow of the flames, feeling their warmth on my skin.
I suddenly felt exhausted. I closed my eyes, breathing in the battle between the fire’s ash and salt of the sea, my actions at the pub and the subsequent conversation with Idris still playing on my mind.
Something cold nudged against my bare knees and I looked down to see the Jack Russell peering up at me, its tail wagging.
Was the dog going to tell me it loved my book too?
It went to lick my hand and I leaned away from it.
Idris laughed. ‘Not a dog person?’
‘No, not really. Sorry,’ I said. ‘One of my stepdads had one. Let’s just say, we didn’t get on.’
‘Stepdads?’ the yoga teacher asked with a raised eyebrow.
‘My mum got remarried a couple of times,’ I replied.
‘Come, Mojo,’ the man in the white shirt said, patting his thigh. The dog bounded over to him, and I assumed he must be the owner.
I turned to Donna. ‘Did you come from the pub?’
Donna nodded. ‘I was getting fed up with the conversation. Apart from your bit anyway,’ she added with a raised eyebrow.
‘I think I might have gone too far.’
‘It brought you here,’ Idris said. ‘That can only be a good thing.’
‘Wine? Beer?’ Donna asked, a shy look on her face.
‘I don’t suppose you have any gin?’ I asked her.
Donna frowned. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’
Caden laughed. ‘There will be soon though, now you’ve mentioned it. Donna can’t let anyone go without. She’s our angel.’
‘She sure is,’ Idris said, walking over and putting his hand on Donna’s shoulder.
Donna peered up at him, a child-like look of awe on her face.
I looked between them both, trying my best not to raise an eyebrow.
‘How long have you been here?’ I asked Donna.
‘Just a few days,’ she replied.
‘Long enough to make a difference,’ Idris said.
Oceane smiled. ‘Mum’s a supercook.’
I looked between Donna and Oceane in surprise. ‘Oceane’s your daughter?’
Donna nodded and my eyes widened in surprise. I had no idea Donna had an older daughter … and they seemed so different. Or were they? Donna had come to live here, hadn’t she? And she’d called her daughter Oceane.
I was suddenly seeing her in a very different light.
‘Will wine do?’ she asked me.
I shrugged. ‘Sure.’
Donna stood and pulled a half-empty bottle of white wine from a cooler box, sloshing some of it into a small ceramic bowl. I took the bowl, feeling its weight and coolness.
‘Interesting drinking device,’ I said.
‘Maggie made it,’ Donna replied, gesturing to the woman by the cave with her back to us.
‘What’s she doing?’ I asked.
Idris looked towards Maggie. ‘She’s in the current at the moment. Got into it quicker than most.’
‘What is this current?’ I asked. ‘Oceane mentioned it to me.’
‘You’ll see,’ Idris said mysteriously.
‘I’m Anita,’ the yoga teacher said, touching her hand to her chest. ‘I think you might know that already? I saw you in one of my classes once.’
‘Yep,’ I said, taking a sip of wine. ‘I learnt a valuable lesson, that lesson being I’m very unbendy.’
Everyone laughed.
‘Easily remedied,’ Anita said, waving her hand about. ‘We’ll sort it during the sunrise salute tomorrow morning.’
‘Oh, I won’t be here in the morning,’ I said. ‘Just a fleeting visit.’
Everyone exchanged knowing looks. Some sizzling chicken from the fire was passed my way. I took it without question, suddenly ravenous.
‘As you know, I’m Caden,’ the boy with the guitar said. ‘Guitarist, song scribe, lover,’ he added, wiggling his eyebrows at Oceane who laughed in response.
‘I believe you know Donna,’ Idris said, gesturing to her. ‘And her son Tom.’
‘Yes,’ I said, smiling at Donna. She returned my smile, turning another chicken wing in the fire.
‘And Julien,’ Idris said, gesturing to the man sitting quietly on the rock with the dog. Julien examined my face then he nodded at me. I nodded back. Already I could tell there was something about him, a calmness that was slightly uncomfortable. ‘That’s everyone. So far, anyway,’ Idris said with a contented smile.
‘Tell us about your next novel,’ Anita asked.
‘Never ask an author that!’ Oceane said.
I smiled at her. ‘Oceane’s right. It strikes the fear of God into us.’
‘You’re kidding,’ Anita said. ‘I thought you’d want to talk about writing?’
‘I adore talking about writing,’ I said. ‘But I feel talking about a new idea might jinx it.’
‘I get it actually,’ Julien said in a cut-glass accent. ‘When I start a new piece of furniture, I’d rather wait until it’s finished before telling someone about it. Just in case it flops spectacularly.’
‘It’s fear,’ Idris said.
Everyone turned to him, going very quiet. It was as if, when he spoke, everything else was wiped away.
‘Fear that people won’t like what you’ve created,’ he continued, sitting down cross-legged on the sand across from me. He was looking right into my eyes. I held his gaze. ‘That fear plagues artists like all of us. It’s the main reason we can’t get into the current,’ he continued. ‘We’re constantly thinking of this person and that person and a dozen people, a hundred, a thousand people who might hate what we’re working on. Numbers, when we should be looking beyond numbers.’
‘What’s so dreadful about numbers?’ I asked.
‘They cloud the judgement,’ Donna said.
I looked at her. ‘But they’re essential to everyday living. We use them to tell the time, to take measurements, count money …’
Donna smiled. ‘I don’t use them to take measurements when I’m cooking. I use my instincts.’
‘And we have no money kept here, no clocks either. In fact, watches aren’t allowed,’ Julien said, peering at my watch. I looked down at the watch that had once belonged to my mother.
‘We wake with the sun and sleep when we’re tired,’ Anita added.
‘Or don’t sleep if we’re in the current,’ Caden said.
They all nodded. It was as though they were seamlessly weaving a story together … and yet they’d only lived with each other for a few days. Maybe it was this ‘current’ they all talked of. The same current they refused to tell me about.
‘So how do you pay for all this if numbers aren’t your thing?’ I asked, gesturing to the wine and food.
‘Money,’ Donna said simply.
I laughed. ‘That’s numbers.’
‘But we don’t pay for it here, do we?’ Julien said. ‘We get money out when we’re in town and use it at the shops, giving any change which remains to the charity shops.’
‘Money clouds the creative juices,’ Oceane said. ‘All numbers do. It’s impossible to get into the current if we’re surrounded by them.’
‘What’s the bloody current?’ I shouted out, the loudness of my voice surprising me.
Julien frowned but Idris laughed. ‘I like your intensity.’
‘Then bloody tell me what it is,’ I said, leaning towards him and smiling to show him I wasn’t being too serious. But the fact was, I really did want to know.
He stood up, putting his hand out to me. ‘Come and see.’
I let him lead me to Maggie, very conscious of his warm hand around mine, intimate, soft. I felt drunk, not just from the gin and the wine but from his proximity too. It reminded me of being drunk as a teenager, night swimming with an old boyfriend, the heady freedom of it, like the night was infinite.
The dark cave unfolded before me like I was in a dream; slightly hazy, very warm. ‘The infamous cave,’ I whispered, suddenly feeling dizzy with the smell of salt and seaweed, ashes and barbecued chicken.
Idris came to a stop. Maggie was sitting before us, folding petals at an amazing speed, her fingers flexing and bending as she pressed the delicate flowers together. Her head was down, her brow knitted, her face in complete concentration. She seemed totally oblivious to our presence.
‘Maggie is a craftswoman,’ Idris explained in a quiet voice as we watched her. ‘She excels at a variety of crafts, from pottery to sewing to making masks. But it’s the paper flowering that she’s truly able to find the current with.’
‘So, being in the current is basically being in the zone?’ I asked.
He thought about it. ‘In a sense. But it goes deeper than that. Entering the current has a physical effect on the brain, deactivating the prefrontal cortex.’ He gently tapped the bottom of my forehead. ‘It controls elements like reason, logic, problem-solving …’
‘And numbers,’ I said, raising an eyebrow.
He smiled. ‘Yes. When we’re not dominated by those elements of our psyche, we can truly give into creativity.’
‘I get it. When I’m really into writing, everything around me disappears.’
‘It goes beyond that. It’s hard to explain until you’ve experienced it. But when you do, the work you produce will be the best you ever have.’
I thought about it. That was certainly a tempting prospect considering how utterly useless I’d been at writing lately. It amazed me sometimes, how I could get lost in my writing, hours passing without me realising. And yet Idris was saying it was possible to go even deeper than that. Maybe that was just what my writing needed?
We grew silent, watching as Maggie smoothed the petals of a pink flower, examining it for imperfections before placing it with the others.
‘So what’s this all about?’ I said after a while, gesturing to the group. ‘Why are all these people here? It can’t be just about getting into the current, as you call it,’ I said, making quotation marks with my fingers.
‘It is,’ he replied. ‘Everything we do here is about getting into the current. It’s our sole aim. Individually and as a group. Specifically to reach the point of being in the current together for as long as possible. Then great things will happen.’
‘Like what?’
He smiled, his face lighting up. ‘That’s all to discover. But for you? Maybe you’ll write your second novel.’
I had to admit it was appealing, even if it did sound a bit woo-woo. I peered at my wine. Clearly I’d drunk too much.
‘You’ve achieved a lot in less than two weeks,’ I said.
‘Anyone can, when they put their mind to it.’
‘Minus the prefrontal cortex.’
He laughed. ‘Want to see inside?’ he asked, gesturing towards the cave.
‘Why not?’
We walked towards the cave. It was long and narrow, stretching back for what I’d imagine was over a hundred metres. Paintings dotted the entrance: blue fish; white birds, wings spread wide; starfish and shells.
‘You did these?’ I asked Idris.
He nodded.
‘Is that what you did, before you came here?’
‘I’ve always painted,’ he replied, not really answering my question.
We stepped into the cave. At the front were two barbecues, three cooler boxes, plus two small white cupboards that appeared to have been ripped from a kitchen. Just beyond it was a long, narrow table made of thick driftwood with several mismatched chairs around it.
‘Julien made that table,’ Idris said.
‘Nice.’ And it really was nice, the kind of table I might have looked at with Mike, desperate to buy but way above our budget. The place was surprising me, making me feel strangely at home.
We stepped further into the cave and the atmosphere suddenly changed, my senses overwhelmed by the sound of the sea, as if I was holding a shell up to my ear. It felt intimate in there, like I was cut right off from it all, our own private little world apart from the rush of the sea outside.
‘Quite something, isn’t it?’ Idris asked. ‘The feeling you get?’
I nodded, overwhelmed as I looked around me. I’d visited the cave before Idris had appeared in town, of course, but it felt different at night. The walls were a mixture of black rock, white chalk and green moss. Ledges lined the cave like small shelves, and large chalk boulders were littered here and there, painted an assortment of colours.
Dotted around the cave were sleeping bags, some chairs, and small side tables made from crates. Spread across the back of the cave wall were paintings – the top half of each person residing in the cave staring out at me, doing whatever it was they loved: Maggie at an urn, Oceane curled up writing in a notepad, Donna cooking, Caden with a guitar and a pen, Julien building a table.
I walked over, putting my hand out to touch them, and I was surprised when I realised the paintings weren’t flat. Idris had somehow carved everyone’s features into the chalk then painted them with pigment.
‘I paint anyone who joins the group,’ Idris explained.
I imagined a painting of myself up there, writing my second novel.
I shook my head. How ridiculous! I stepped away, wet sand gliding across my bare toes. It felt like snow, cold to the touch. Lining the bottom of the walls was driftwood, carried in by high tides.
‘Doesn’t it get damp?’ I asked, touching the mossy wet walls.
‘It does. But we don’t mind.’
‘What about the sea? Does it get in during high tide?’
‘It hasn’t while we’ve been here.’
I peered up. There was vegetation growing from the walls, green leaves dotted here and there. I turned back around, looking out of the mouth of the cave towards the sea. It felt as though I was looking at a projection film of the sea.
‘It doesn’t feel real, does it?’ Idris said, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. ‘It’s as though this cave is all that exists and everything outside is fiction.’ He smiled. ‘Perfect for writing, don’t you think?’
I smiled back. ‘I know what you’re trying to do.’
‘Can you blame me? I’d love you to join us here.’ He held my gaze and I felt my breath quicken.
‘I see we have a new member,’ a voice boomed out.
We looked over to see Maggie standing at the mouth of the cave, her long grey hair turned white by the moonlight. She strode in, putting a dusty hand out to me. ‘I’m Maggie.’
‘I’m Selma and I’m not a new member – just a curious visitor.’
Maggie smiled as though she didn’t believe me. It irritated me. ‘Oceane mentioned you,’ she said, ‘you’re the writer. I loved your novel.’
The irritation trickled away. ‘Your flowers are beautiful,’ I said.
Maggie plucked a purple flower from her pocket and tucked it behind my ear. ‘And now you’re even more beautiful. More wine? I’m gasping for some.’
Over the next couple of hours, the group discussed their art and the importance of getting into the current, and I was surprised to find myself in a heady space of self-contentment despite my cynicism about the place. I was, quite simply, a writer here. Not in the way people like my colleague Monica perceived me, with the faraway glitzy title of ‘author’. But in the real, earthy way that only those who created could understand. Nothing to do with my publishing contract, sales, literary world domination. It was just about the craft.
After a while, we all fell into a strange dreamy silence prompted by Idris. He simply stopped talking, stopped responding to questions. Just fell silent and still. Anita followed his lead, crossing her legs and closing her eyes and the others quickly did the same. Even Donna’s son grew quiet.
I felt awkward, looking at all these people with their eyes closed. I took the chance to really take Idris in, the flames flickering on his face. His skin seemed to shine in the moonlight, as it had the night he saved Monica’s boy. My eyes trailed down to his bare shoulders and chest. He was still shirtless, despite the creeping cold of night. I noticed his nipples harden as the breeze stirred around him and I felt a stirring inside me too. It surprised me. I hadn’t felt any kind of stirrings for such a long time.
He opened his eyes, catching me watching him. Then he closed them again without saying anything.
God, what was I doing there, staring at a man’s naked chest and talking about getting into the bloody current?
I jumped up and walked to the sea’s edge. After a while, Idris joined me, so close I could feel the bristles on my arms buzzing from his proximity. He turned to me, green eyes taking in mine.
‘I think you’ll come to live here.’ It wasn’t a question. More a statement.
I laughed, shaking my head. ‘You’re asking me to come live in a cave with eight strangers.’
‘Donna’s not a stranger.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Why not?’
‘My daughter for a start!’
‘She’ll come too! We have Tom living happily here already. It’s warm, sheltered, with plenty of food. That’s all a child needs, isn’t it?’
I shook my head, laughing. ‘It’s ridiculous to even consider it. Utterly, utterly preposterous.’
‘Preposterous to think it’s possible to have a novel published. But you did it.’
‘That’s different!’
He cocked his head. ‘Is it? You followed your heart, wrote what was in your heart, sent it off, despite everything we read telling us the chances of getting published are minimal. And yet you find it hard to believe living in a cave with eight strangers might be the best thing you could do right now?’
He held my gaze. I wanted to turn away but the look on his face was so intense, so sure, I found I couldn’t.
‘How’s your next book coming along?’ he asked, his eyes all-knowing.
‘Fine.’ I peered towards town. ‘I have to go home.’
‘What if this is home?’
‘Now you’re just being ridiculous.’
He smiled slightly. ‘I like you. I like the way you talk.’ He sighed. ‘Okay, fine, go. But at least let me walk you back to the main path. It’s very dark on the beach. And on the way, I can show you one more thing …’
‘You’re not going to slaughter a goat and make me drink the blood, are you?’
He laughed, touching my arm. ‘You really are funny. Come.’
So I did, too curious not to. We walked along the dark beach together, the waves of the sea crashing next to us. I looked in the direction of my house, my stomach sinking. For a moment, I imagined stepping into the waves rather than going back there to Mike.
Would Idris walk on water to save me?
I rolled my eyes. I was officially going insane.
Idris paused at the small cave closest to his one and crouched down, stepping inside.
He blinked out at me from the darkness. ‘Come in!’ I hesitated and Idris laughed. ‘Don’t look so worried, there are no goats in here! You have nothing to fear, Selma. I promise. You need to trust me.’
Did I trust him? No, I barely knew him. But nonetheless, I desperately wanted to take the hand he had extended to me, and accept the thrill of stepping into the unknown. So I took his hand, then crouched down and entered the cave’s tiny opening. At first, I was shrouded in complete darkness and panic set in. But then Idris’s soothing deep voice reached me.
‘It’s okay, I’ll lead you. We don’t need light.’
He gently guided me down a stony tunnel and I allowed my free hand to glide along the damp bumpy walls as I bent over to stop myself from bumping my head. A buzz ran through me. How strange, to be here in this cave with a stranger as my family sat a few minutes’ walk away. Strange but exciting too.
‘You can stand properly now,’ Idris said just as I felt a gust of air reach me, the wall disappearing from my touch.
I did as he asked, my eyes adjusting to a new quality of darkness. The tunnel had opened right up, dim light filtering down from above to reveal a huge area with trickling water in front of me.
‘I didn’t even know this was here,’ I said, open-mouthed as I looked around me.
‘Not many do,’ Idris said in the semi-darkness, his hair a silver veil down his neck. ‘Look,’ he said, pointing upwards.
I followed his gaze towards the ceiling of the cave to see something hanging across it.
‘Stalactites,’ I whispered.
‘No,’ Idris said, shaking his head. ‘Look closer. Here, I’ll show you how.’ He took my hand again and led me towards some large boulders, stepping up onto them. I did the same, peering upwards again when I got to the top.
The hanging objects were just a couple of metres away now, a dozen or so in different shapes and sizes, all made of stone. I frowned. The object directly above me looked like a bird. And there, was that a bat? Frozen mid-flight and somehow entangled in a long line of something.
‘Are they real?’ I asked Idris.
‘Yes, they’ve been petrified. There would have been a time when this cave would have suddenly filled with sea water, rising high enough to cover the entire area. Over time, it gained an unusually high mineral content, causing these items to become petrified.’ He smiled. ‘Fascinating, isn’t it? Some of these may have been formed centuries ago.’
I looked at the small bird, its mouth open mid-squawk, the fine details of its wings beautiful in the semi-darkness. ‘I ought to be appalled. But there’s a beauty to them.’
Idris nodded. ‘Yes, I like that. A beauty. But the fact is, they’re trapped in time, aren’t they? Not sure there’s much beauty to that. Easily done though,’ he added, turning his gaze to me. ‘Getting trapped, turning to stone. It’s too late for them, sadly.’
‘I know what you’re doing,’ I said, crossing my arms. ‘Talking in metaphors. Trying to shine a light on what you think is my life.’
He tilted his head. ‘So what if I am? Are you telling me it’s not true? Why are you struggling so much with your next novel? I can tell you are, you know.’
I thought of how I’d felt lately. Trapped. Confined. Was I turning to stone like those animals above me?
‘I feel like I’m in a philosophy lecture, to be honest,’ I said, dismissing the thought.
Idris smiled. ‘Sorry, I have a tendency to do that. You’re not an easy student, you know.’
‘I never have been.’
‘But you could be. I could be too.’
‘You could be?’
‘I feel I can learn from you just as much as you could learn from me,’ he said, his handsome face very serious.
I looked at him, trying to organise the thoughts swirling around my mind: the strange allure of him, of the cave, of this place too. Then the fear too, every part of my sensible mind – my prefrontal cortex – telling me to get the hell out before I started falling down the rabbit hole of possibility.
I stepped off the rock, the fear winning. ‘My learning days are over.’
He frowned slightly.
‘Thanks though,’ I said. ‘It’s been … different.’
Idris was silent as we made our way out of the cave. When we got out, a cloud had passed over the moon, turning the beach pitch black, the only light from the fire outside the main cave.
‘I hope you’ll be back,’ Idris said. ‘I think you will be.’
I dragged my eyes away from the cave. ‘Stop saying that. I have a child, Idris. I can’t run away to live in a cave.’
As I walked into the darkness, leaving the light from the fire and distant voices behind me, I realised I was telling myself that more than Idris. The fact was, there was something about that cave that was drawing me to it.