Storms. Chris Vick

… cik … cik … Ckkkkkkkkkkk …

      ‘Sonar,’ said Hannah.

      The air filled with waves of echoes, whistles, clicks and thuds. Jake’s skin goosebumped.

      ‘Voices,’ he said.

      ‘The sounds amplify through the hulls of ships,’ said Hannah. ‘Sailors used to reckon it was mermaids. Or the cries of drowned sailors.’

      ‘What are they saying?’

      ‘Hard to know, exactly. We match sounds to observed behaviour, and work out the combinations for feeding, hunting, calling. It’s rudimentary language, which varies between communities. They have dialects, and they use sets of unique phrases for individuals.’

      ‘You mean … names?’

      Hannah shrugged. ‘I guess so.’

      ‘That’s incredible.’ He slumped in his chair, open-mouthed. Hannah saw, and smiled.

      ‘Want to see incredible? Watch this.’ She shifted the angle of the laptop, and moved her chair up next to his. He put his arm round her and rested his hand on the curve of her hip.

      The footage was of sea and islands, taken from a boat he guessed, as the camera was swaying. The water was smooth and the day was crystal-blue, but at the edge of the island were huge breakers. As if on cue, a wave rose up on the screen. The wave held up, feathering white off the top.

      A dark blur emerged inside the wave. Sleek, big and fast. An orca. It waved its tail frantically as it cruised through the blue, then erupted out of the face of the wave, flying backwards. A huge fish in its mouth.

      Jake shock-laughed. He almost clapped. The cheek of the thing. The skill, the grace, the power.

      She stared at him, watching his reaction.

      ‘I’ve never seen anything like that,’ she said. ‘But I will again, one day. I’m going to study orcas.’ Her eyes misted, seeing a dream. ‘You know what’s different about them?’

      ‘Tell me.’

      ‘Animals spend their whole existence hunting or fleeing, finding food, breeding, caring for young, keeping warm, finding shelter. That’s their life. But orcas have evolved beyond that. They have no natural predators, they hunt easily and they’re resistant to cold. So they just … play. Travel. They have large families they stay with for life. Run by the matriarchs. And pods and super-pods that meet up, once in a while. Tribes of the sea.

      ‘They look after each other. They never leave a sick family member. They’ve got life sussed. They’re free.

      ‘A lot of people are like most animals, running around, chasing their tails. If they’re lucky enough to have a roof over their head and food to eat, they stress about exams or money or how they look.

      ‘We could learn from orcas. They just like hanging around, eating, playing and surfing. They’re a bit like you,’ she said with a sly grin and a nudge to his ribs.

      ‘You should see your face light up when you talk about this stuff, Hannah.’

      Her dreamy eyes hypnotised him. The sun-smile, and freckled nose. How she was serious, but passionate too.

      He showed her surf vids. She showed him more vids of dolphins and whales.

      It was near dark when April, Hattie and Sean got home.

      ‘Get these on,’ said Mum, handing Jake frozen pies, peas and chips from her shopping bag. ‘Hannah, sorry, love. I’ll have to move you.’

      Hannah had that look about her still. The sea-eyes, misted.

      ‘That’s okay,’ said Hannah. ‘Anything you want me to do, Mama orca?’

      ‘Mama what?’

      ‘It’s a whale,’ said Jake.

      ‘It’s a compliment, April,’ said Hannah. ‘I promise.’

PART TWO

       www.Eye-Sea-Surfcheck.com

       Forecast

       Winds: Raging westerlies, 30mph with up to 50mph gusts

       Conditions: Heaving. Massive. Dangerous.

       Waves: Big, bigger and also massive. Swell 12–15ft at 13–14 seconds wave period. Wave face 15 and up to 20ft. More.

      Whooaa!!

      Summer’s well and truly over, folks. This is a biggy.

      Once-in-a-blue-moon sheltered spots will be firing. The sea gods are giving us gifts. It’s going to be special. It’s going to be wonderful … if you know where to look.

       Jake

      THERE WASN’T MUCH to Brook Cove. A river that poured into a small harbour, a handful of fishermen’s cottages and a café selling cream teas.

      It was pretty in summer, but when autumn came the valley was dipped in shadow. The café was closed and the cottages empty.

      It was a lonely place, but it suited Goofy. He lived above the café in a studio flat, with a kitchen at one end, a sofa-bed at the other and a separate bathroom.

      Jake climbed up the steps to the flat, knocked and walked in. The place was a mess, with beer cans on the floor and pizza boxes and surf mags on the table. Three knackered surfboards leant against the wall.

      Goofy was asleep on the sofa, fully dressed but, weirdly, holding a mug of tea.

      ‘Bit late for sleeping,’ said Jake.

      Goofy opened an eye. ‘Been for a dawny surf, haven’t I? Catching up on the zeds.’ He glanced down at his mug. ‘This is cold, man. Get a fresh brew on.’

      Jake walked to the kitchen end of the flat and got busy rinsing mugs and boiling the kettle.

      ‘You come about the money?’ said Goofy.

      ‘Yeah. Need to get that Hawaii ticket sorted. Listen, mate –’ he turned to look at Goofy straight – ‘I’m sorry about this. I wouldn’t if I wasn’t desperate. I’ve had to help Mum out. More than I thought.’

      Goofy picked up a pizza crust and threw it at Jake.

      ‘Shut up, you daft twat,’ he said. ‘You helped me settle ’ere when I had nothing.’

      Goofy had arrived in Cornwall with nothing. Less.

      ‘How come you turned up here in the first place?’ said Jake. ‘You were in a bit of a state.’

      Goofy sighed. ‘Running away from shit, like always.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Never mind. I’m here now, aren’t I? And rich enough to lend you money. I’m due some dosh from Lancaster.’

      Jake shook his head as he poured boiling water into the mugs. If Hannah’s dad knew he was helping fund Jake’s trip to Hawaii …

      ‘Soon as you get work you can pay me back. Electric transfer or whathavya. Small problem, though …’ Goofy let the words hang.

      Jake brought the tea over and sat down. ‘Problem?’ he said.

      Goofy stared at his mug, chewing his lip. He looked embarrassed, which was a first.

      ‘I can only go three hundred. Not seven, like.’

      ‘What? Three hundred? You’re bloody kidding?’ Jake felt bad as soon as he’d