This late in the afternoon, the pier was scattered with people. Old men sat in little picnic chairs, eskies by their sides and rods in hand. Small children with patient parents threw lines in, trying to catch the first bite of the day before the sun went down.
I sat with my feet dangling in the water, on a small jetty just underneath the pier, one of many, where boats dock. This one is deserted, and I’ve got the pleasure of being left alone as I assess my surroundings. The sun is setting, and I wish I had bothered to retrieve my sunglasses before leaving the house. I squint as I scan the beach.
Bassington Beach is one of those towns along Cape Cod that relies on the summer months; the population nearly triples with wealthy families with young children and nannies. Teenagers and college kids come for the break, using the bays further along from the main town as anything from volleyball and soccer fields to make-out spots and bonfire pits. A small town during winter and school time, Bassington has one supermarket, two petrol stations, the usual emergency services and a multitude of boutique clothing/jewellery stores, bike shops, restaurants, bars, cafes, pubs, eateries, ice-cream parlours…you name it, Bassington has it. All located centrally along the Bassington Boardwalk, which come nightfall will be jam-packed with people again.
The water is cold as my feet skim across its surface. It’s shallow enough that I can see the schools of fish underneath swimming by, as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
A group of teenaged guys stroll up the pier, all laughing and joking as if they were the only people in the world. I feel glad that I’m invisible on my little patch of wood, where no-one can see me but I can see the world.
My mobile phone vibrates loudly against the wooden planks, and I snatch it up before it falls down into the cracks.
‘DAD’ flashed up in bold print across the screen. I pressed the red button, sighing. I’d have to go back to the house some time soon, but I wanted to enjoy the serenity while it lasted. Back at Dad’s, everything would be chaotic and noisy, what with Matt and I having two months of luggage to unpack. Another sigh escaped my lips as I lean back on my hands.
Coming to my Dad’s for summer break was the worst idea in the world. Not only did he live thousands of miles away from my home in England, but it wasn’t as if I’d be spending the summer in a place like New York City or Los Angeles. Bassington Beach was tiny, compared to the big pulsing city life of London.
Any other time, in any other situation, I would have jumped at the chance of visiting my father. I loved him, and the divorce was one of the hardest things I’d ever have to go through. Being shipped to another continent because my mother didn’t trust me to take care of my younger brother for four weeks while she gallivanted off on her honeymoon with Husband No. 3. How the court had ruled my mother the best person to look after us, I don’t know. I’d rather live with my Dad, if he hadn’t decided to move back to his hometown.
I pulled my legs up and out of the water, standing up. Shoes in one hand, I shoved my phone in to the pockets of my jeans. At least here I didn’t have to worry about all the drama that was happening back home. And here, no-one was interested in dance. It was all volleyball, fishing, swimming and skateboarding.
Seagulls squawked overheard, scavenging for scraps of food left behind from beach. I strolled down the pier, the hard wood digging into the soles of my bare feet.
Screams and cheers cut through the air, and I turned around to see four guys running down the pier after a football. It rolled, full speed ahead, towards me before deciding to veer off to the other side. Nethertheless, one of them runs into me, pushing me into the railings. I fling myself to the side to try and avoid the clash, but our bodies meet and I grab the wooden railings with both hands. The boy mutters a quick sorry, picking himself off the ground and dashing off back to his friends.
I bring one hand to my chest, feeling my heart beating inside as I try and calm myself down. The pier vibrates as there’s motion, and I look to my left to see a tall boy jogging up to me.
“I’m so sorry,” he calls, as he reaches me. “Are you okay?” I look at him from the sides of my eyes, still clutching my chest. He’s about six foot, and I can’t really make out his face very well because the setting sun creates a halo of light around his body, blacking out his face. I can tell he has dark hair, and it’s all messed up. His hands are on his hips as he tries to catch his breath.
“One of your friends?” I ask, my voice sounding out of place next to his Yankee accent. He nods, an apologetic smile on his face.
“They’re a pack of animals. I can’t take them anywhere.”
He leans his arms against the wooden railings, and I notice that while he’s relatively skinny, he’s also quite muscley; I can see the definition on his arms.
“I’m Sam,” he says, looking at me with a lazy smile. His gaze turns down to where the ocean is lapping against the wooden poles, and his expression changes. “And I think that they may be your shoes.” He points down to the water, and I lean over the railings. A groan escapes my lips.
My gold ballet flats bob up and down in the water, clearly having a ball as the small waves push them further and further away from the pier.
“Shit,” I curse. I must of dropped them when the boy ran into me and I grabbed the railing. I stomped my right foot in agitation, before realizing that I had company. Sam looked at me with an amused expression on his face.
“What? They were really expensive shoes!” I justified, before realizing that talking to a guy about shoes was as useful as telling an Englishman that England would win the World Cup. I sighed, pressing my head into the chipped wood of the railings, watching as my shoes continued their journey along the pier.
“Hold on,” Sam spoke. I tilted my head to look at him. He took off his shirt, stepping out of his own shoes before climbing around to the other side of the pier. I stood up straight.
“What are you doing?” I asked curiously, knowing full well what he was about to do. Sam smiled at me, his knees bent. All that kept him from falling into the water was his hands.
“You want your shoes, don’t you?” Sam questioned, and I nodded. The next second, he dived perfectly into the water with a splash. After a few seconds, he came up for air, shaking the water out of his head.
“It’s freezing!” He laughed aloud, swimming over with long easy strokes to my shoes.
I broke out of my freeze, still a little gob smacked he’d dived into the ocean to get my shoes. Picking up Sam’s shoes and shirt, I ran down the pier, my feet slapping against the hard wood. Eventually I was on the beach, the cool sand sinking through my feet as I reached the water’s edge.
Sam was coming out of the water as I approached the lapping waves. The water swirled around my feet, washing away any of the sand that had stuck to my feet. His was very fit, I realized, checking him out. As if on queue, he ran his hand through his hair, water droplets shaking out around him. I felt my cheeks go red - what was this place, a set of Baywatch or something? I looked down the beach, expecting to see Pamela Anderson and the Hoff running in slow motion along the sand.
“Your shoes,” Sam said, holding the flats out to me as he came to a stop in front of me.
I took them from his outstretched hands, our fingers brushing together.
“Thanks, Sam,” I said, handing him his own items of clothing. I pushed my way through the sand as we walked back up the pier together. I was supposed to turn right, and he needed to go left, or so it seemed.
“I’ll see you around?” Sam asked, his shirt in his hand. I bit my lip. Romance was not on the cards for coming here, after everything that had happened back home, but I couldn’t resist answering him.
“Of course.”
I smiled and turned around, heading for my Dad’s house. Maybe this summer wouldn’t be so bad after all.
I am kind of a new reviewer so if I get something wrong I am sorry.
