Samuel left his plimsolls atop the sea wall, and climbed carefully down to the storm-strewn cove. The sun was a glowing ember in the east, the sky ribboned with purple-gold clouds. Far out, a boat was turning homeward, bright blue sails battered by the rising wind and the twisting crest of the sea. But Samuel pressed on. Through sodden sand; through sharp stones and the floating remains of dead, wet crabs; through gusting winds and salt and spray, until finally he reached the place where Miranda had vanished.
He knelt to catch his breath. Here, the mire ended, and the sea began. The tide was already beginning to swill and foam around the enormous boulder on which he rested, flooding the shallow rockpools that dominated the landscape. And, a darkness was creeping over the cove now, growing steadily with the tide, as if the sea itself was pulling particles of light from the air.
If he stayed here, he would drown. But five answerless summers kept Samuel rooted to the spot, kept his eyes fixated on the massing water around him, as if his memories were projected across the lapping waves. Even now, he could recall the way the wind whipped Miranda’s pale blonde hair across her cheeks, the salted spray that beaded on the shoulders of her leather jacket, and how her fingers curled and shivered around his palms. He could picture them as children, sneaking out to swim in the early-morning tides, the sun still rising as they plunged headfirst into the waves; and he could remember the warmth that came with their first kiss, the feeling that they could float forever in that wash of wild, grey water, and never want for anything or anyone else.
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Miranda came early, and alone, a windbreaker pulled hastily over her newly-washed hair. The rock-pools were half-submerged, the rain harder, faster, and brighter with every clap of heat-lightning that rang from the sky. She left her boots beneath the sea wall, wading barefoot through damp sand, denim jeans rolled to her ankles. And when the way became heavy, the sand too wet to bear, she perched herself on a mossy boulder that overlooked the sea.
From here, Miranda could see the whole world. The pre-dawn sky was lidded with storm clouds, and the waves were filled with grit and silt from half-eroded rocks. In the far west, the glowing line of the horizon gave way to something magical and beyond her understanding, to a place that brimmed with light and hope. She thought then of Samuel, of all the moments she had not yet experienced and perhaps never would, of a time when love seemed infinite.
Around Miranda, the air was silent, save only for the steady patter of rain that beat against her boulder. And yet, she did not hear the fishing boat until it was almost upon her, emerging like a ghost from the misty east. Her noiseless peace was broken, suddenly, by the sound of ancient rudders beating through cold water, of ropes being tossed to shore, and profanities that she recognised only by their tone.
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Chronicles of Cooke 