Her smile was wide, a slice of melon. She gaped at the view in Soustons, the thickly wooded shoreline down to the lake, mottled green with water lilies. The smooth surface was flecked with gliding swans, ripples behind them as they slipped through the water. There was a pier made of planks of wood and, to one side, little cabins. Further to the right there were blue and white catamarans, bending and weaving along the lake. Soustons was an ideal place for water sports. Maura clapped her hands together and Brendan thought about the different activities he could try. They drove on to the beach where their bodyboarding instructor had arranged to meet them. Maura carried the holdall, still with its label attached, containing their new sports clothes.
At the accueil, the reception area which looked more like a hut, they were met by Mathieu. He wore shorts, a bright T-shirt and orange-framed sunglasses, which lodged on top of his dark curls. He asked them if they spoke French and Brendan explained that he did, so Mathieu told them he would explain everything in English as the instructions were quite complex. Maura had booked two activities: in the early afternoon they would try bodyboarding and afterwards they would go for a bike ride. Mathieu would be their instructor for the bodyboarding and he suggested that they change into the wet suits, and he would meet them down by the water.
Maura’s smile diminished when she emerged in the wet suit. She moved awkwardly, her body shrugging from side to side on flat feet. She was like a seal, slick and shiny and out of place on land. Brendan had surfed before and he was ready for the lesson. Mathieu would start them both off, and then he would concentrate on helping Maura, the beginner, who smiled and covered her embarrassment by batting mascara-laden lashes at him. The instructor was strongly muscled; he spoke excellent English and Maura giggled and patted his arm. Brendan wondered if he would be able to go off on his own for a few minutes, once Mathieu was satisfied with his competence. He bit his lip. His own voice echoed in his ears. It had been his suggestion to share an activity together, and he ought to stay with her. The instructor gave them a board each, which Maura held out straight in front of her like a tray, and they walked in a line towards the area designated for the activity, Maura at the back, fumbling with her board and trotting and running a bit to keep up.
Mathieu gave them the initial coaching, Maura smiling, then laughing when she slithered off the surface and rolled in the water, her face wet and reddening. Brendan mounted his board; he found it easy and was splashing in the water, watching her.
She looked over at him. ‘I’m not sure I’m getting the hang of this. You go off, Brendan. Enjoy yourself. It’ll take me a while to get going.’
‘Are you sure?’ He smiled at her, hopefully.
‘I’m a novice. I’ll be all right here with Mathieu. You’re much more experienced. Go on with you. I want you to enjoy today.’
Brendan pecked her cheek then swam out into deeper water, enjoying some solitary time bodyboarding; gripping his board as he launched himself through the water, slicing the surf. He felt the power in his legs as he kicked against the roll of the water; he pushed himself forward and felt himself lift and launch on his board. He remembered Yeats and wondered what the poet himself might have written about surfing, had he been given the opportunity. He floated on the surface of the water and turned round and waved to Maura. She waved back. She was still trying to lie on the board which shifted away from her grasp. He would have a few more moments by himself, then go back and help her, and she’d manage fine, just as they had done when they’d climbed Great Gable. He would offer her a hand, encourage her, and she would be pleased with him.
He plunged once more into the rising surf, balancing his board and crashing into the wave, letting it push and support him before he leaned forward and dived down into the water. The swell lifted him and he waited for the next roll, thrilling in the idea that it might be stronger than him; it might throw him up, hurl him down, hold him beneath. Brendan could not remember the last time he had diced so closely with chance, when life was so unpredictable, so excitingly dangerous. He was like a sea creature himself, a velvet dolphin, free and at play in the sea. The water rose and hurled him upwards again and his heart knocked in his chest as he hugged the board and kicked himself forward. The surf was violent and strong, spraying him, and he cried out as he felt the electric pulsing of his skin. The water on his face revived him; he blinked his eyes and looked back towards the shoreline.
Maura was still there, the wet suit bobbing black in the water, splashing for a moment, and then she disappeared. Her head came up again, her arms waving in the air and threshing hard against the water. He turned to head back as the surf swelled behind him once more. He swam to the shore, his legs strong and his heart pounding, a smile stuck on his face. Maura was spitting and coughing. Mathieu held up her board and she turned to Brendan.
He had seen pictures of the seventies rock singer Alice Cooper, with black make-up streaked down his face. Alice Cooper sang ‘School’s Out’ and the teachers had always played the song at the end of each term in the staff room, singing the lyrics loudly and drinking wine. Maura presented a similar picture to the rock star, wiggly lines of vertical mascara, an insistent symmetry painted from each eye to the corners of her mouth. She saw him staring at her and she was suddenly anxious. Quickly, she dipped her cupped hands in the water twice, three times, splashing her face clean. He put his hand out and wiped a smudge of damp mascara from her cheek. She looked up at him, her face gleaming. A feeling surged through him, not unlike tenderness.
She presented her best smile. ‘So, have you had a good time, Brendan?’
‘Yes, I’ve really enjoyed myself, thanks.’ He thought for a minute. ‘Did you like the bodyboarding?’
She shrugged, her grin wide. ‘I’m not much use at these things though. And the wet suit doesn’t really do me any favours.’
He nodded. ‘Wet suits don’t really flatter people’s bodies.’ He saw her expression change; she was hurt and he immediately regretted the remark. His cheeks burned. His comment was obtuse, crass, and he wondered why he always said the wrong thing to her. She was sweet in her wet suit, smiling and cheerful in the water, and he wanted to say something flattering, something which would make everything all right.
He tried again. ‘Can I help you get the hang of it on the board? I mean, I’ve had a lovely time out there. What if we did a little bodyboarding together? I’m sure I could help you get quite good at it.’
She shook her head. ‘I fancy a break, a coffee, maybe a sandwich. I’ve booked the cycling for later. We’ll do that after lunch?’
Brendan turned to Mathieu and thanked him for instructing his wife. He held out his hand and took Maura’s and they walked out of the water together. Brendan thought of James Bond and Ursula Andress in her white bikini in Dr No. Maura gazed up at him and smiled back.
‘This was a great idea, Maura. I’m so glad you decided to organise it. Thank you.’ He bent down and kissed her cheek, which was cold and wet. ‘Let’s get lunch, will we? I need a shower. I’m starving.’
They sat inside a café and ate ham sandwiches, shared a plate of chips and drank coffee. Brendan persuaded Maura that they’d enjoy a doughnut, that it might be good energy food before the cycling, and he bought one for each of them, with jam and cream. She chattered happily, licking sugar from her fingers, and told him that she’d booked a hotel for the evening and they could have a special dinner together. She was fresh and scrubbed clean, her skin flushed from the shower. Her hair was damp and he noticed the little dimples in her cheeks. Brendan took her hand and thought about holding it to his lips. He sat back in his seat, confident in the new Lycra cycle shorts and a bright racing top they’d bought on the way. Maura looked bright and cheerful in a sports shirt and jogging bottoms, and she was clearly excited.
‘Well, Brendan, I said you’d never get me on a bike but, I have to say, I’m really looking forward to this part of the day.’ He smiled and told himself that things were changing for the better. The shared activities would bring them together. This was a fresh start.
They turned up to collect their bicycles; the accueil was a simple reception area, a large shed full of bicycles, surrounded by woodland. Brendan gave his name and the instructor nodded and wheeled out a shiny red tandem. Brendan stared at it; he had imagined himself cycling alone, Maura behind him on her own machine. Their instructor, Louis, explained that the ride should take two hours and they should stick to the designated routes on the signposts. He gave them crash hats to wear. Maura suggested that Brendan take the front of the tandem and she would help at the back. Brendan climbed on and she struggled across the frame, quivering, lifting her leg and nervously putting it down again, until they were in position.
Brendan leaned over his shoulder. ‘Just time it with me, Maura. I’ll set us off. That is the difficult part.’
The launch was not easy. Maura wailed and wobbled nervously then screamed with excitement, putting her feet down and asking if they could start again. They began, rolled forward, tottered and stopped, Maura laughing and Brendan concentrating hard, a frown on his face. On the sixth attempt, they were off, making precarious pressure on the pedals with Brendan pushing the machine forward and Maura teetering nervously in the saddle behind.
The route took them on a path around the woods. Maura was pedalling furiously, keeping in time with Brendan. He spoke to her over his shoulder, checking she felt secure. She was behind him, balancing awkwardly, as he urged the bike forward, his voice encouraging. He turned them towards an incline and raised himself out of the saddle. Moments later there was a lurch behind him as Maura did the same and, together, their breaths synchronised, they pushed harder on the pedals, propelling the tandem forward. He felt her head rest against his back for a moment, then she wrapped an arm around his waist and held on tightly for a moment before gripping both handlebars again.
The woods smelled of sharp fresh pine and the sun streaked through the gaps in the leaves, creating an enchanted forest of light and dark then light again as the tandem snaked along the paths. Maura was developing confidence behind him, saying little. She was out of breath, occasionally asking if they could stop for a rest soon. Brendan grunted, and heaved the bike around corners, pounding down the pedals and leaning over the handlebars to gain good momentum, deciding that the faster they went the less work Maura would have to do. She stopped pedalling for a moment; there was a groan and she started again, slowly at first, then with more effort.
‘You’re doing well, Maura.’ He heard a moan and she stopped pedalling, and then he felt her kick again.
He decided she needed a break so they turned off the path and stopped beneath a huge tree with drooping leaves and thick gnarled bark. He remembered carving their initials in such a tree, not long after they’d met. MF & BG. Maura Flanagan and Brendan Gallagher. He stood astride the bike, lifted a leg and stood on solid ground, holding the tandem upright.
Maura put both feet on the floor, straddling the bike. ‘How do I get off?’
Brendan held the tandem still with one hand and took her arm in the other. He eased her forwards and she stood awkwardly, rubbing her bottom. ‘I’ll be stiff in the morning. The saddle’s really uncomfortable.’
He laid the bike down and offered her his hand, palm outstretched. ‘But are you enjoying it?’
‘Oh, I’m loving it, spending time with you. It’s like a proper holiday.’ Her eyes shone.
They sat beneath a tree, Maura bending precariously and easing herself to a comfortable position. Brendan stretched out his legs. They were hairy and pale beneath the shorts. He took her hand. ‘I’m so glad you organised this. It’s been really good fun.’
She snuggled close to him and put her head on his shoulder. ‘Brendan, I’m not very good at the sports. I mean, I was hopeless at school. I was always the one last to be picked in the teams. I wish I was better.’
He wrapped an arm round her. ‘We’re together and enjoying ourselves. That’s the main thing. Sharing something we can both do. Everyone can ride a bike and the open air is so nice.’
She breathed out, chewing her lip. ‘That’s what has been wrong with us, hasn’t it? We need to share things more.’
He nodded. ‘Maybe we can start again. I can share what you want to do and you can do the same for me. It’ll all be fine.’
She was thoughtful. ‘If … I mean, if we’d had a family, Brendan—’ He lifted a finger and thought about placing it on her lips. Her eyes filled. ‘If we’d had babbies, well, we’d have naturally shared all this, wouldn’t we?’
He shrugged. ‘We’re fine, Maura. Don’t think about all that. We’ll be just fine.’
‘I just thought—’
‘We’ll be all right.’
She snuggled into the crook of his arm, and he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. Her curls tickled his face and he grinned, and kissed her forehead. She smiled. ‘Ah, but you’re right, Brendan. Everything’ll be just fine.’
He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Come on, my love. Will we get back in the saddle?’
She allowed him to pull her up and then she straddled the tandem, frowning at the discomfort. She smiled at Brendan. ‘I’m ready for round two.’
Brendan started them off and the bike rode bumpily down the path. Maura giggled and, after a few minutes, he felt her rest her head against his back.
They reached an open road. There was a sharp descent and Brendan saw the opportunity to pick up speed, to freewheel down the hill, the wind in his face, gravel crunching beneath the bike. Maura squealed behind him, a peal of delight and excitement caused by the thrill of their acceleration. He pressed harder on the pedals to gain as much velocity as he could and then he steered the tandem towards the steep incline. They picked up speed and plummeted down the hill, lurching forward, the wheels spinning and his legs whirling and his hair flattened by the breeze. Brendan lifted his head back and gulped in the passing air. The feeling of freedom filled his lungs as the bike hurtled down the slope and Brendan whooped out loud. Maura’s voice lifted on the air and they were both shrieking with joy.
The tandem must have hit a pot hole. Something thudded against him, hitting him in the back, and he felt the bike slip from beneath him. The weight of Maura’s unbalanced body slammed against his and he heard her shrieks in his ears as he felt the bike snagging to the left and away from him, causing him to react instinctively. He braked, felt the bike lift behind him and he shot forwards, putting out his hands, crunching down on hard metal and gravel as Maura crashed on top of his shoulders with a howl. He felt the impact and heard a sickening snap and felt himself roll over on the ground, grit embedding in his face. He stayed where he was. Maura clambered to her feet. The groan was his own voice; he tried to sit up and saw Maura looking at her leg. Her jogging bottoms were torn open and blood was trickling from little cuts. Dizziness overtook him and he slumped backwards and heard her repeating his name.
He opened his eyes and tried to sit again. His arm hurt and he couldn’t lift it. Maura had her phone out and was speaking into it. He tried to focus his vision. She was kneeling next to him.
‘Brendan, how are you feeling? I think you passed out. You’re a horrible colour.’
‘What happened?’
‘We fell. We were going too fast. We hit something – a hole in the road. I’ve phoned for help. You have a lot of cuts on your legs and I am covered in grazes and – oh, what’s the matter with your wrist?’
‘Is the tandem all right?’
‘Sod the tandem.’ Her voice rose in consternation. ‘Brendan, your wrist is swelling up and it looks like it could be sprained or even broken.’
He was going to be sick, sitting askew on the gravel with the metal of the bike beneath him. He struggled to his feet but the world around him would not stay steady and he sat down. Maura crouched next to him, her voice soothing as molasses.
‘You sit still now. Someone will be here in a minute. Try not to move anything.’
The doctor insisted on speaking in English. Maura was all right except for some cuts and bruises. Brendan had abrasions to his elbow and his legs and he had definitely broken his wrist. The arrangements would be made with the holiday insurance company in Dublin and they would be driven to a hotel. The doctor would ring them in the morning, when Brendan was able to concentrate a little better.
He slept fitfully on his back and couldn’t turn over. His wrist was strapped tightly and it throbbed, despite the painkillers. His flesh was scratched, taut and painful on his legs, and his elbow pulsated under the bandage where the skin had been dragged off. He was conscious of Maura in deep sleep next to him. He was worried about what would happen the next day, how they would make the journey to his mother.
The next day, Maura was up early and wearing a flowing skirt which wrapped around her waist and exposed the length of her leg. Little plasters were stuck across her skin. She was wearing the silly sling-backs and a thin, pink T-shirt and complained that her skin would never be the same again on her legs with all the cuts and grazes.
After breakfast, they returned to the hotel room and she phoned the doctor, listening carefully, interrupting only with the words, ‘Of course, Doctor, I understand.’
She put the phone down and turned to Brendan. Her mouth was firm: she was back in the reception of the doctor’s surgery in Dublin, telling a patient what to do. She was in charge.
‘The doctor says you can’t drive for up to four weeks.’
‘That’s got to be wrong.’
‘No, Brendan, Dr Poussin was very clear about it. Four weeks is usual, he says.’
He groaned. ‘I wish you’d have taken your test back in Dublin.’
‘It can’t be helped. I can’t drive and we’re stuck here.’
‘Then I’ll have to drive.’
‘You can’t, it’s dangerous. Besides, it may jeopardise your recovery. The doctor said so.’
‘What’ll we do?’ He reached for another painkiller. He balanced the sore wrist, in its plaster casing, carefully on his knee.
‘We’ll go to Saint-Jean-de-Luz and find a hotel. Someone from the centre at Soustons has offered to drive us there in our car, which is lovely of them. They were so nice about it all. Saint-Jean-de Luz looks a nice place, by the sea. We can stay there for a while, make it a proper holiday.’
‘But what about my plan to ring Mammy? To take her home?’
‘Your mother will have to wait, Brendan. She’s not expecting us. No. We’ll have four weeks or so there and then when, and only when, your wrist is better we’ll pop over and see her.’
‘Who knows where she’ll be by then, Maura?’
‘It’s decided, Brendan. The doctor agrees with me and the holiday insurance will help out while your wrist is broken. It’s a good job we have it: it means we can claim it all back once we’re back, doctor’s bills and extras. We just have to think of it as our own holiday. Time for us. It’s such a good thing the summer holiday is as long as it is in Ireland. We’ve been away for over three weeks and another four will still give us time to get back for the new term. Now you lie there. I’ll bring you some water and an aspirin and then I’ll do the packing. You just rest and leave it all to me.’
He lay back on the bed. His head hurt and his wrist was painful. He closed his eyes, and behind aching lids he heard Maura singing a little tune as she busied herself happily with the packing. The image of the fall was still in his head, the crack of his wrist, and the thud of her body as she smashed against his back, the impact like a sledgehammer. He squeezed his eyelids together. She continued to hum the song as she bustled around the room and it wriggled itself around like a worm in his head as he fell into an exhausted sleep.