He passed her a couple of slices and she sniffed it. ‘A mix, I think, of pork and lean beef. She took a bite. ‘Gorgeous. Really chewy.’
‘There are some tomatoes too, and wine.’
‘It’ll send me to sleep if I drink wine.’
When they’d finished their lunch, and the wine, Jack lay back with his hands behind his head and his breathing instantly slowed.
Florence went in search of some shade, getting a little wet as she clambered over the still water in the weatherworn rock pools, picking her way carefully over the rocks but grazing her knee a little. She found a craggy inlet with a small cave that seemed ideal. If she nodded off in the midday sun she’d get a headache, but this shade was perfect, and it would be lovely to fall asleep to the gentle rhythm of the sea.
Later, when she woke, she heard Jack calling her name through the rising sounds of a storm. She rose to her feet and realised that the sea had swollen while she had been sleeping, and waves were now smashing against the rocks. She couldn’t work out how to reach the beach where Jack had been without clambering right into the swirling water which she feared might sweep her away. She couldn’t even see Jack as she stared at the sea, nor the little boat either. Huge waves were battering the cliffs, foaming as they leapt into the air and the ominous violet sky was shifting to black. She stood on a section of rock pushing her back hard against the cliff face to stop herself slipping. Sheshouted his name, but the wind whipped her voice away. Her heart thumped. This did not look good.
Maybe the water wouldn’t fill the cave and she could just wait it out. The sand felt quite dry at the back of it. But really, she had no idea. She shouted for Jack again. Nothing.
She glanced up to see if there might be another way to get out and saw him standing on a rock many feet above and to the side of her staring grimly at the water. She flapped her arms to attract his attention. He spotted her and she could see the relief flooding his face.
‘Wait there,’ he said. ‘I’m coming down.’
Her heart lurched as he began to descend, slipping and sliding on crumbling rocks that gave way beneath his feet. Even if he does reach me, she thought, how are we ever going to crawl back up there again battered by this torrent?
The wind shrieked and the water began spinning at the cave’s entrance. She’d never be able to get past this. Beyond her the sea was growing even wilder. She heard the pounding waves and the crack of thunder, the noise so loud she could hardly think. And then she saw Jack had reached her, was leaning over the cave’s entrance from above and holding out his hand.
‘Come on,’ she managed to hear him shout. ‘Come on. Now. We don’t have long.’
She would have to take a leap of faith. Jump to reach his hand. But if she missed, she’d be in the water and dragged away in moments. Even Jack couldn’t save her from that.
Scared to move, but also scared not to move, she tooka breath as he yelled at her to hurry. Her heart almost stopped as she stretched out and leapt and then, oh God, she felt his hands grasping hers. He began to haul her up. She scraped her flesh against the rocks and could barely breathe for fear of Jack losing his grip. But he did not and when he finally dragged her over the top, they lay together panting, exhausted from the effort. The storm seemed to pause too.
After a while he rose to his feet and helped her up, but then the wind redoubled with the force of a cyclone.
‘Keep low. It will be all right if we zigzag our way. Try to feel for footholds.’
She nodded and saw what he meant. But she couldn’t feel any part of her body, let alone her feet.
When they finally reached a slightly flatter patch they rested again for a moment, and he pointed a little further up. ‘There’s a hut. We’ll head for it and sit out the storm.’
They staggered on through driving wind and rain while concentrating on not missing their footing on the shifting stones and feeling that it would never end. But then, at last, they reached the hut. He pushed open the door of the little weather-beaten place and they both fell into it, shivering but amazed that they’d made it.
‘Jesus, Florence,’ he managed to say, gasping for breath. And she saw that Jack, a man not given to shock, was shaken.
‘I’m … so … sorry,’ she tried to say, all her strength spent.
He wrapped his arms around her. ‘You gave me a fright.’
‘I gave myself a fright.’
She heard the rolling sea, the waves thundering against the cliffs and the rain beating on the tin roof and stumbled into a corner where her legs gave way. Like a rag doll, she collapsed onto some blankets that smelt as if they had been there for years.
He sat next to her, knees drawn up. Neither spoke and Florence fell into a kind of stupor.
Sometime later she roused herself to find the noise of the storm receding – just the hum and thump of the water now – and Jack had lit a candle.
‘Lucky the first match wasn’t damp,’ he said.
‘Lucky?’
He gave a grim little laugh. ‘I found it in here along with the candle. Only one in the box. The gods were on our side.’
‘A miracle then.’
