Two ~ Rescue

The first time I met Alastair will be forever ingrained in my memory. It was almost three years ago, shortly after we'd moved to Carringham—a small but affluent area in West London. At sixteen, I'd been blissfully unaware of the adult problems that everyday life entailed. Life was so easy, yet so boring.

Then I met Alastair Montgomery.

On our third night in the new house, his family came for dinner and I was smitten. Two years older than me, he seemed so mature—much more mature than boys my age—as well as being handsome, funny, and intelligent.

When our parents retired to the drawing room for coffee, we remained at the dining table, discussing politics. The topic came easily to me—we'd had similar debates at school—and Alastair listened intently. He acknowledged everything I said, offering convincing arguments to counter my own. Arguments that I later found out were not his personal views, but just an excuse to challenge me.

"I have a question, Rosa." He lifted the almost-empty bottle of wine to his mouth and tipped the remaining liquid down his throat. I watched him swallow, unable to tear my eyes away. "When was the last time you went against your parents' wishes?"

I considered it, but not for long. Just long enough for him to believe I'd given it thought.

"Why would I do that? They give me everything I want."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I realised how spoilt I sounded. That hadn't been what I'd meant at all, but Alastair saw right through me. He pursed his lips as his eyes flickered over my face.

It was an intense stare, one that made my heart speed up with nerves. Whilst I'd been taught how to communicate effectively, I'd never done so on such a personal level with a guy. Conversations usually revolved around current affairs as an opportunity to prove my intellectual value. No boy had ever taken an interest in my mind. Until Alastair.

We met regularly after that—first as a friendship, then a relationship. Alastair represented everything I longed for in life: excitement, unpredictability, intimacy and romance. He enlightened me on a whole matter of things, including the reason for his family's attendance that evening; his father was entering into business with my father.

Although I knew his family had money, I didn't realise the extent of their wealth until I hit Google. They were multi-millionaires who'd made a series of well-judged investments, predominantly in the property industry.

Apparently it was a big deal that his tycoon father wanted to invest in our company, and my mother reiterated this after we came clean about our secret romance. She wasn't keen at first—she warned me it could become messy when tangled with business—but she liked Alastair, and soon her acceptance of our relationship transformed into genuine encouragement.

It wasn't until we'd been dating for over a year that I acknowledged my relationship with Alastair had changed. Like our parents—and like my mother had warned—it intertwined with our families' businesses. I'd become less of a conquest to Alastair, and he'd become less of an addiction to me.

Our romance lived on in public, but sometimes in private, too. We had good days when we'd spend hours in bed, alternating between laughter, sex and cuddles. We had bad days when Alastair's work took up all his time, when we'd both make poor decisions or go a week without talking.

But we never discussed the state of our relationship, neither of us wanting to be the one to pull out the block that brings the whole Jenga tower tumbling down. We accepted that things worked a certain way. That things had to work a certain way, because we weren't the only two people in this.

In a twisted sense, I found comfort in that—because it's hard to break up with someone when your feelings for them are so deep-rooted that they fail to disappear, even when the initial excitement has expired.

~~~

After staring at the beach from my balcony whilst waiting for the sun to hit it, I headed there after lunch. At the foot of the garden, a narrow set of stone steps descended beyond the row of trees, leading down to golden sand. We couldn't be much closer to it, so at least that was a positive.

I'd always loved beaches; the tranquillity of the ocean had acted as an escape mechanism for me during recent family holidays. Sometimes I would sit on the sand and watch the waves crash against the shore, forgetting the stresses of my own life and relishing the peace. Nature at its finest. With the picnic a constant niggle in my mind, I hoped a beach could rescue me once again from the agonising thoughts that ate away at me.

The sand warm beneath my feet, I strolled along the coast, soon removing my flip-flops to appreciate the sensation of the soft grains trickling between my toes.

Maybe North Carolina hadn't hit peak holiday season yet, as the beach was deserted. A lifeguard's chair held an imposing presence further down, but nobody occupied it. I didn't mind being the only one there, though. With no distractions, I could relax for what felt like the first time in ages and lowered myself down to the ground, smoothing out the skirt of my dress to avoid sand in unwanted areas.

It would be evening in the UK now. The picnic well underway. Alastair would be at that stage of drunk where his words were coherent but his actions questionable. Even though I'd told myself I wouldn't, I returned to social media, seeking photos.

A few had been posted but only one of interest, featuring Alastair and Daisy. Although in no way incriminating, seeing the two of them together unsettled my stomach. Standing side by side, Alastair's arm was draped around Daisy. She smiled into the camera, her face partially hidden by her huge sunglasses and straw hat.

Double tapping the screen, I 'liked' the photo, for a hundred and one reasons—none of them being the fact that I actually did like the photo.

The heat burned my back, as if I needed a reminder I was in Hell. Anxious about the picture and increasingly tormented over the upcoming summer, I set my phone on a nearby rock before heading towards the sea.

As I dipped my feet into the chilly water, an unfamiliar thrill of serenity washed over me. It disappeared as soon as it had arrived, but there'd been a sense of relief where I'd felt detached—in a good way—from the dramas of London.

I waded further into the ocean, wincing as a wave splashed my front. It was refreshing, though, and the kind of escape I'd been searching for. Hitching my dress up, I strode towards a calmer section of water. With the blazing sun scorching my upper body, and the cold water cooling my lower body, I savoured the contrasting sensations.

In the distance, I heard a shout. Before I could turn, a pull sucked my feet from the seabed and dragged me away from the beach, deep into the huge expanse of ocean I'd admired just minutes before.

Salty water surged up my nose and flooded into my mouth as I struggled against the invisible force, fighting to overpower it and swim back to shore. But it continued to drag me along, unrelenting, whilst I choked on the gushing water and thrashed around, unable to regain charge of my body.

My limbs burned with fatigue, yet the ocean showed no signs of tiring, not allowing me a second of mercy where I could fight to escape.

Darkness. Water. No oxygen. No air.

Then air.

Light.

I coughed, spluttered, gasped to refill my lungs with oxygen. A hand gripped my upper arm, hauling me towards the shore.

As the water became shallower, and my toes scraped the ground again, my panic subsided and the hand released me. The unexpected requirement for my tired legs to function caused me to stumble backwards and land on my coccyx, water and sand splashing up into my eyes and face as I searched for the owner of the hand. I couldn't find the energy for vanity, only relief.

A tanned boy, ripped with muscles and wearing bright red swimming shorts, stood a few feet away. I hadn't noticed anyone on the beach, but thank goodness he'd been around. If he hadn't...

Desperate to gush my appreciation, I lifted my gaze to his, noticing his narrowed eyes, balled fists and clenched jaw.

I was stunned into silence, still sat on the shore with the waves rolling over my soaked body. The guy ran a hand through his dark hair, sprays of water dripping to the ground.

"The red flag is there for a reason, you know." He gestured towards the wooden lifeguard station, a dramatic movement to accompany the harsh bark of his voice.

I'd been so preoccupied with the irony of having a lifeguard on a deserted beach that I'd failed to spot the crimson flag fluttering in the light breeze.

"I didn't notice. The sea looked calm." My throat scratched, aching for a drink, despite the water I'd swallowed.

The guy's hands landed on his hips, drawing my attention to his broad shoulders and sculpted chest, the sun bouncing off droplets and making his skin glisten. Yet when he spoke, his attractiveness plummeted.

"There are deadly rip currents on this stretch. Hundreds of swimmers drown every year. It's clueless people like you who people like me have to rescue because you have no idea how dangerous the ocean can be."

I scrambled to my feet, narrowing my eyes to match his scowl. I'd made a genuine mistake, and yet he felt within his right to make generalisations? Perhaps I had behaved irresponsibly by not checking out the flag, and if this boy hadn't been around, that current could have defeated me. Unfortunately, though, defensiveness now overpowered my earlier urgency to thank him.

"Do you insult every victim like this?" I raised my eyebrows and folded my arms.

"Only the clueless tourists."

"Right, because this is clearly a hot tourist destination." I threw my hands out to emphasise the empty beach with not another human, let alone tourist, in sight.

"I saved your life and you've not even thanked me. If I hadn't been here, you'd have drowned, especially with the way you were flailing about in the water."

I've not thanked you because you're being a dick.

"Well, maybe if such a dangerous beach had a lifeguard, they'd have stopped me from going so far out."

His jaw clenched again, and I wondered if he regretted helping me. If I'd saved someone's life and they were this bitchy, I wouldn't be very impressed, either. He'd instigated the argument, though. Had he expected me to sit there and accept his insults?

"I am the lifeguard," he said through gritted teeth.

My eyes dropped to his red shorts and the humiliating realisation dawned on me. I willed a quick retort to spring to mind, but nothing came. I wanted to tell him he was a useless lifeguard, but I couldn't. The guy had saved my life; he was an excellent lifeguard. Yet he'd rubbed me up the wrong way, so I wasn't going to back down.

"I guess saving lives is your job, then."

I needed to leave the beach before I crumbled. The guy had every right to be angry. He hadn't rescued me because I'd come into genuine difficulty through no fault of my own; he'd rescued me because of my ignorance and carelessness. Mortifying.

But my pride prevented me from admitting that. He could have checked I was okay, but he didn't. He launched into abuse instead. Hardly professional lifeguard behaviour...

Without another word, the boy marched up the beach and climbed the ladder into his chair. I watched him for a few moments, but his eyes remained fixed on the ocean, never once flickering in my direction.

Dripping wet and no longer able to enjoy myself because of his presence, I collected my phone and headed back. Alastair had irritated me earlier, and now another boy had pushed my buttons.

More than anything, I wanted a friend who I could spill my heart out to. Daisy and I used to be close, many years ago, but we'd drifted apart when the politics of being a socialite had hijacked our lives. I was the one who'd introduced her to that life, and she'd taken to it like a fish to water, so much so that she'd tried to take my boyfriend from me, too.

Much like my relationship with Alastair, my friendship with Daisy had become more about having decent social connections than genuine, intimate connections. Trust severed, the relationship hung by a thread that represented our years of history.

I draped my soaked dress over the balcony and hopped into the shower to wash the salt and sand from my body. The deluge of water covering my head and face caused my heartbeat to quicken, but I forced myself to remain calm. It was only a shower. I wouldn't drown in a shower.

To reinforce that, I stayed underneath the torrent of water for longer than necessary, tilting my head back so it drenched my face. I waited until all feelings of panic had subsided before ducking out and twisting the dial to stop the flow. It would not beat me.

With a towel wrapped around my body, I hovered in the middle of my bedroom. What to do? I knew there wasn't much in the town, so I didn't want to exhaust all my entertainment options on the first day.

After rooting through my case, I found my book and dragged a chair onto the balcony. For the rest of the day, I read. It was the kind of escapism I liked most, where I could lose myself in a novel and, for a few hours, live someone else's life.

~~~

Thank you for reading :) xx

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