Up With the Larks Read Free Page B

feeling like the first creature to crawl
on dry land, looking around me at the awesome world I had
not truly looked at before. I hadn't had the time to look
before, or, if I had a rare moment to myself, the whirling
voices in my head – planning, worrying – kept me from
seeing anything.
    So there I was, dancing about in my shoes and socks and
nothing else but a goose-bumpy skin, still delirious with happiness.
Then I looked down the beach and in the distance saw
people walking along the sea's edge, coming quickly towards
me. It was time I got dressed.
    I came back to earth with a whoosh when I tried to get
back into my clothes. Not only was I wet, they were too, for
I'd left them too near the incoming tide. My flimsy, see-through
red knickers had nearly washed out to sea, floating in a rock
pool like an alien jelly-fish. I grabbed them and pulled them
on, but there was no way my tight wet jeans would go on to
my wet body, especially over the soaking shoes and socks that
I hadn't had time to take off. I didn't come out of the house
with a bra, but where was my sweatshirt? I couldn't find it
anywhere.
    Jake was barking again, trying to bully me into going back
into the water to play. A sudden horrific thought went through
my head. Jake had taken Amy's shoe once on the beach and
carried it into the water; he was a dog who always had to have
something in his mouth when he was larking around. Sure
enough, there was my sweatshirt, a big pink blob, floating out
to sea, too far away to retrieve.
    What to do? The walkers were approaching fast, and I had
to walk past them and through the waking village on my way
home. So I improvised. So what if my creative skills were no
longer needed at work, I said to myself, they're bloody well
needed now.
    As I walked past the post office shop on the harbour, a
heavy-set man with grey hair wearing a postman's uniform was
helping a lorry driver unload boxes of fishing tackle. 'Morning,'
I glittered at them, smiling brightly and quickly moving on.
'Lovely morning for an early swim,' I called back, catching the
looks of stunned disbelief on their faces.
    I might have looked strange, but at least I wouldn't be
arrested for indecent exposure, not quite anyway. Before I'd
left the beach, I had taken the belt from my sopping jeans,
tied it around my hips, and hung masses of green and brown
hunks of seaweed from it so they hung down nearly to my
knees. This hid enough of the sheer wet bikini panties to
prevent my immediate disgrace.
    As for the top half of me, I'd flung my jeans across my
shoulders, so that one leg was draped modestly, if a bit drippingly,
across each breast, tucking the flapping boot-legs into
the belt around my hips. I was so pleased with my attire that
I'd completed the outfit by placing dozens of shells in my hair,
which by that time was so tangled and curly with salt that only
a half dozen fell out as I made my way nonchalantly up the
street and home to my still sleeping family.
    I woke Ben with the news. 'We've got to move to Cornwall.'
    A few seashells fell onto his face and the duvet. I'd shed
the wet jeans but the seaweed was still clinging to me. Somehow
he wasn't surprised. Not by my appearance or by my announcement.
I guess he knew me too well.
    'Are you crazy or what?' Ben tried to sit up to see if I'd
completely flipped, but I was rolling about with him on the
bed trying to shed the seaweed. He was half shrieking at me
to get off as I was soaking him and half laughing hysterically
as I tickled him mischievously.
    'I've had an epiphany. We're moving to Cornwall,' I said
again.
    'Don't be daft.'
    'We've always loved it. The kids love it – it'll be a dream
come true for them, living near the sea. We'll sell up, move
here. To the South coast, our favourite place in the world.'
    'It's completely impossible, you know that.'
    'Nothing's impossible, Ben,' I muttered, stopping my tickling
and beginning some kissing.
    His voice got a bit huskier. 'And what about work, about
jobs?