The Coastal Path
Darren Worrow
“Morning
love,” my wife says cheerfully as I open the door, “where have you been?”
“I thought I
might take a stroll along the coastal path,” I inform her, “you know, just a
stroll.”
“Did you get
out of the park?” she asks.
“No, I was
tired and turned back at the gate.” I take my shoes off and thank her for the
cup of tea she hands me, jiggling on a saucer. I sit at the table and smile at
her. She smiles back.
It’s so nice here on the holiday park, yes
it’s a big place, far bigger than we are used to but we enjoy every minute of
it. We’ve been here a while now, to be honest it’s such a carefree place I
never stop to think just how long; must have been three weeks or more.
Upon my
retirement we visited some foreign countries you know, saw a bit of the world.
But now, we like coming here, it’s not just for old people, oh no, there’s
young and old, a good mix of people. I guess it reminds me of holidays we took
when the kids were little; the best days of our lives.
Of course
after the accident we couldn’t get around so easy, the thought of sitting on a
plane for ages wouldn’t agree with my posture. No, we’re happy here. When we
took holidays in such parks, when the children were little, they were always
smaller places; you weren’t just a number, the staff got to know you and the
other holiday-makers would chat and you made friends.
Here it’s
different, such a big place, like a city of caravans. People come and go, you
never see the same person twice. I admit it’s not as social but we like it.
I’ve done my years of being sociable; we like to keep ourselves to ourselves.
The accident
had an effect on us no doubt, times were hard to begin with, you know, getting
over the shock, we were lucky to be alive. But we stuck together and came out
the end as a very happy couple. It was quickly after that, I cannot even recall
when exactly, the man approached us and sold us this caravan. I know he was
just a salesman, I’m no fool, but the way he sold it to us, he had real
charisma, a really kind, genuine guy; and we got a good deal.
The caravan
was lovely, we didn’t even need any decorations or furniture from home; it was
all here when we arrived. The salesman made sure we were pampered. Since that
day we never looked back, sure the letting agency let us down. They say it’s a
recession, I never check the news but the young these days just don’t have the
funds for a holiday. I understand; it’s tricky for them to find people to lease
it to. It doesn’t matter, I never went into this as an investment; we wanted
somewhere familiar we could take a break and being as it’s always free, we stay
here for long periods of time. Like I say, I cannot even recall how long we’ve
been here!
We have some
sandwiches and I pop over to the camp shop. People are coming and going, buying
gifts and toys, posing for photos, eating ice cream and playing ball games on
the patches between the caravans. It’s nice. I consider stopping off for a beer
at the bar, just a half. I do so and as I sit there the barman is the only
person who talks to me; it’s okay, I like it this way.
People are
watching football on a big screen, playing pool or wandering through on their
way to the arcade or one of the big halls where there is entertainment for the
children. I can people-watch here to my heart’s content; just the half though,
that’s plenty for me and I’m beginning to feel a little lightheaded. I get up
to leave and the barman doesn’t even notice; he is busy serving a young couple
at the other endo of the bar.
I take a
slow, unsteady stroll back to our caravan. My wife smiles, presents me with a
simple dinner which we eat in silence. The evening is spent watching the
television. We could go to the club but to be honest, I’m not in the mood for
the noise. We tend do this, the club is noisy and, well, not for us.
Still we
like it here and as the sun sets over the sea we get ready for bed.
*******************
It’s the
next morning and I’m up before my wife, I used to work early so my body clock
is set for this time and doesn’t seem to revert. The sun is rising over the sea
again; I give one of those “another day” sighs.
I think I
might try and take a stroll along the coastal path today. I often contemplate
this, just to get out of the park for a while. Honestly, feels like we’re here
so often it’s funny, like nowhere else exists! I just like to see the cliff
face and the waves crashing into the rocks below me. You can see the path
crossing the cliffs and stretching for miles. It’d be nice to follow it for a
little way, to see what is outside the park.
I get my
shoes on and pick up my cap. Grasp my walking stick and leave the caravan, my
wife still sleeping. She will wake but know I’m out for one of my strolls. I
often do but, just as I’m leaving the gates of the park I tend to feel tired
and turn back. I used to be quite the rambler but, if it makes me out of breath
then it’s not worth continuing.
Today
though, as the fresh seaside air hits me and the other campers are still dozing
in their caravans, I start my walk. Lovely it is too. I feel exhilarated, as if
I can wander for miles and I intend to try this time to make it to the brow of
hill I see every morning.
The caravans
facing out towards the path and the cliffs beyond are far more luxurious than
ours. Some doubled up caravans, with verandas and tables outside. It’s a
splendid view to behold and although I envy them a little, I’m content with
what we have.
I stroll
along and note their curtains are all closed; no one is around but me. I can do
this; I can wander free from the park for once. I reach the gate and I’m
overcome with determination but also, foolishly, I feel some butterflies in my
stomach; don’t know why. I used to walk for miles and I know I can stop and
rest before returning if I want. There are benches as far along as I can see.
I clasp my
hand on the kissing gate at the very end of the park. The last caravan is
adjacent; all that follows is breath-taking countryside, bracken to my left and
grass verge on my right, leading down to those steep cliffs. The sun in the
distance is rising fast now, turning twilight into day; how can people sleep
during these hours? This is the most beautiful time of the day.
With that
thought I push the kissing-gate open and smile, here we go. I walk along the
path carefully, looking down through most of the beginning. I don’t want to
risk losing my step on a stone and tumbling towards the edge but, hey, the risk
is worth it, driving me to continue.
I must have
been walking this way for five or ten minutes now and I stop to take a look
around. I long to see the caravan park in the distance, to know I’m out of
there for a while. I love it there, it’s the kind of place we’d wanted to go to
when we were young, and now it’s everything we wished for, well, sometimes I
admit it gets a bit much. You know; it’s all fine, just, I don’t know; feels
like we’re trapped in there. I laugh at the notion and take a deep breath. I
stare out to sea and watch the sun’s reflection as ripples in the water;
breath-taking.
Although, I
note the formation of the cliffs is the same as when I left the kissing-gate
some distance away. I cannot be as fast at walking as I used to be! I turn to
check my progress and my heart stops. Something here is wrong, definitely
wrong. I’m still standing at the edge of the kissing-gate.
I look
around, the surroundings are familiar but that is eerie, I mean, knowing that
I’ve been walking for ten minutes or more. I should be quarter of a mile along
the path.
I touch the
gate, as if it’s my imagination. I
nervously giggle as I feel the wooden post under my fingertips. I claim to
myself; must be going mad and to prove myself wrong I intend to continue
walking.
Now, with
more vigour and haste I wander, maybe sprint, as far as a pensioner can. I can
see movement in the pattern of the rocks locked in the dry mud path, so I know
I am covering ground. But still, when I stop and look behind me, the kissing-gate
is still within arm’s reach.
The last
caravans on the site sit in the same place, confirming it’s not the gate that
is moving with me. It’s as if I’ve not moved at all, although I know I have.
This time I wander backwards so I can still gaze at the gate and surroundings;
still it is stagnant and gets no smaller to my eye. I look forward, the scenery
beyond is so wonderful, so idyllic; I long to be there but it seems, weirdly,
unattainable.
But how can
this be? Why can I not make progress, as if it is all but a dream, as if this
world beyond the park gate is just a picture? Surely not, what kind of game is
this? I ponder all this; my arm stretches out into the air. I reach as far as I
can until my hand touches something invisible but solid in thin air, it’s
indescribable to the touch, moist, maybe, like a wet wall, but sticky too, as
my hand is immersing in it. I note, with horror that my hand is indeed melding
with the blue sky and I move my arm down though the bracken. Still, it’s not
really there, only this sensation of moistness, of sticky, translucent
substance, slowly sinking my hand further into it.
Quickly with
fear I retract my hand and it comes into view, as if I lifted it out of oily
liquid. The image of the bushes and the deep blue sky sticks to it for a fraction
of a second and then, it bounces back, like a stick being pulled from molten
rubber. I check my hand with amazement, it is fine. I am fine, but, I have to
admit, despite seeing some stuff in my life, some really nasty experiences, I
never felt as scared.
I took three
steps back, through the kissing-gate and back into the park, I raise my arm
again and it is as if nothing happened, the air reacted how it should, how it
always has, just glides your hand through it. There was no, like what I would
deem a force-field, as if the world beyond this point was merely an illusion,
but I know, rationally , that is not possible.
I’ve seen
enough, I don’t want to think any more about it until I’ve told my wife. We
look after each other and she will ease my mind. I had a senior moment she will
tell me, and to stop being so silly. I will agree, knowing it’s true. But
really, I have to know what it was.
I stop,
contemplate going back beyond the gate, I don’t know, to experiment, see if I
can pass through it. This sends my imagination wild with theory, can I pass
through, what will be there if I do but most importantly, why and how can this
be?
Now I’ve
thought about it I know I have to go back, I have to have confirmation what
just happened was real. I have to test the ideas racing through my mind.
Before I do
a sudden voice breaks my wandering mind and snaps me into reality. It is a male
voice, strong and abrupt, “morning!” it bellows confidently.
A young man,
of average build and height, wearing average clothes, is walking his dog. I was
so wrapped up it seems I didn’t even notice him approaching and now, he is
opposite me, trying to get through the kissing-gate. He is so close I can smell
his breath.
“Oh!” I cry,
“You made me jump!”
“Sorry!” he
cheerfully jests and he raises his arm towards me, to touch me on the side of
the face. I wrench back. “It’s okay!” he cheerfully smirks but I’m not sure I
can trust him. I saw a plug in his fingers, like a computer USB cord.
Without
warning he lunges at me and inserts the plug into my hearing aid. I struggle
for a brief second, then; well, it felt okay. I feel this man is trustworthy, I
cannot remember why I flinched; must have just made me jump. I should be getting
back to the caravan.
************************
“Morning
love,” my wife says cheerfully as I open the door, “where have you been?”
“I thought I
might take a stroll along the coastal path,” I inform her, “you know, just a
stroll.”
“Did you get
out of the park?” she asks.
“No, I was
tired and turned back at the gate.” I take my shoes off and thank her for the
cup of tea she hands me, jiggling on a saucer. I sit at the table and smile at
her. She smiles back.
