Cornish Weekend

Cornish Weekend 1480 words excl. title

Ah! Peace! The breeze on my cheeks. The wind singing in the cords, the rush of the updraught, the buoyancy of the thermals over the cliffs. Just me. Alone. Alone up here. Swinging free. Solitude. Nothing better than solitude. Selfish? Maybe - but why? Nothing wrong with enjoying your own company. Absolute advantage on a desert island. OK then, I'm selfish. But isn't everybody?

Perhaps that was why it all had all gone wrong with Rebecca.

Rick pushed the thought away, checked his position and pulled at the right toggle to correct his course in the fresh south-westerly coming in from the Atlantic.

How wonderful is this! Free! Free from battling with mindless idiots in the office – even if only for the weekend. Battling the elements always preferable. This must be the best place to find perfect peace. Never occurred to me before and I've tried it all: mountaineering, scuba diving, fast bikes. Gliding came close. But here - no-one asking stupid questions; no-one interrupting my line of thought; no-one to be placated...and the climax of emotion between leaving the plane and the 'chute opening....something else!

But the thought wouldn't go away. It never did.

Rebecca always wanted to do things together - and we did in the beginning.

'You can't be alone in a relationship,' she'd said. 'Just lonely. And I am.' She'd cried then and left the flat.

Women. Weird. I'm better off without her. Too late now. Don't expect to see her again.

The wind had taken the 'chute away from the coast. Rick pulled the steering line harder and scanned the cliffs for the farmhouse.

No idea who's coming this weekend, Dan's WhatsApp just said - a reunion of the old crowd. Could be interesting to find out what they're all doing. Mind you, don't suppose anyone else'll be dropping out of the sky.

Who am I trying to impress? Will she be there? Do I really want to see her? Probably not. But, hey what the heck! After all, I am Rick the Fearless...Was. Have to keep it up. Life and soul of the party...although perhaps this might be a bit OTT.

Wow, quite a drop! Better concentrate or I'll miss the field behind the barn. The rocks and headland look different from up here. Used to know this coastline so well. Has it really been that long? That summer. Sea - Sun - Becca. What happened? We had everything. Perhaps that was the problem? But, Hey! Snap out of it. Rick the Fearless still has everything. A lifestyle to be envied.

The 'chute dropped.

Cripes, these air currents are a bit much. Concentrate, or you'll be in the drink. That's better! Back over the land but mustn't get too close to the hill. Where's the lane? Should be able to see it soon. Canopy's flapping. Steady...steady! Oh, yes. It was worth the extra to get the red silk. That's what bonuses are for...conspicuous consumption and all that. But Becca never thought along the same lines - she'd wanted something else - something more.

Stop it now, don't go there.

Right! The sun's flashing off a car. There's the lane, Not far to navigate this thing now. A red convertible. Looks like a Morgan.

Oh no!... James.

#

Rebecca braced herself in the bucket seat of the Morgan, wincing as it hit yet another pothole. She glanced at her husband's profile. James held the wheel in the approved racing manner but his hands gripped the leather with fierce tension.

She stretched out her suntanned legs in the foot-well, still not sure why she chose to wear the scarlet sandals this weekend.

They'll get ruined on the beach. Still, James won't notice. He never does. Rick always noticed what I had on. I miss that, and the excitement. Shouldn't have acted so hastily. Strange how things turn out really. At Uni you think everything is possible, you know everything, it's all there for the taking - then suddenly it's too late.

She swallowed, leaned into the headrest. Her hair whipped across her face making her eyes water. She sighed, looked up. A perfect Cornish summer day, like the old times, with the scent of wild roses drifting on the air and the foam creaming on the dark sea to mimic the outline of the headlands and coves. Rebecca stared into the perfect dome of the sky and noticed a speck of something bright, like a lone poppy in a field of cornflowers. She watched it drift.

Perfect – well, apart from the rest of my life.

She sucked in air through clenched teeth as the car shook again.

James is driving too fast as usual. Why can't we have a modern car, something comfortable, bigger, luxurious even? We could afford it.

“Christ! What an idiot!”

Valerian stems slashed Rebecca's face, cut into her thoughts, as the Morgan thumped into the verge A motorbike roared past. Too close. The car's engine stalled. James clutched the steering wheel, chest heaving.

“Bloody bikers. Think they own the road!”

She turned to him but said nothing.

Her husband's eyes were closed, knuckles white on the wheel. Rebecca watched, sighed. The time for talking things through, admitting weakness, sharing pain, was long gone.

James took a deep breath, struggling to block the images. Nearly seven years since the accident - but the memory still sprang with cruel claws. Vivid. Loud. He and Rick - racing as usual. The roar of their engines, screeching lorry tyres, glaring headlights; the thud as he landed on the tarmac; the scraping slide on his back armour towards the wall; and the strange hollow impact of his helmet against the bricks. Then blackness. He took another breath and tried to employ his therapist's techniques.

Focus on the positive. No looking back. Rick, of course never looked back. Rick just put stuff like that behind him, never seemed to give it another thought. Escaped with scratches and even kept the Ducati - after it was rebuilt. Wonder if he still has all his other macho toys? Always trying to prove something. God knows what - or why.

He stared at the smeared insect life-juices on the windscreen and, with a conscious effort, brought himself back under control.

Rebecca left him to it. She opened her handbag, pulled out her hairbrush and watched two herring gulls soaring into the clear blue overhead, wild and free. The red speck of a poppy had become a blob of colour, a scarlet canopy of silk above a tiny suspended figure, dark legs dangling. She screwed up her eyes against the glare.

Whoever was up there must be pretty fearless landing this close to the rocks, the cliffs and the sea. Fearless? When did I last use that word? Oh no!

James started the car, wrenched it into reverse and drove on more slowly. They were nearing the most exposed part of the headland and the turning to the old house. He kept his eyes on the road, not looking at his wife.

Bex is giving me the silent treatment again. Doesn't bode well for the weekend.

#

Rick fought to control the parachute as it dropped.

Cripes, the turbulence is a bit savage – this thing's not as manoeuvrable as I thought. Too near the lane. Can't afford to lose height now. Not here. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Oh well. What the heck. Haven't seen James in ages.

As the ground rushed up to meet him, Rick's boots bounced on the soft bag strapped to the luggage rack of the Morgan. His legs shot forward with the motion of the car as it veered across the road, making him fall backwards and sideways. The soft expanse of red silk caught and wrapped itself around the stunted thorns lining the partly sunken lane bringing him to an undignified rest on a prickly bed of twigs and vegetation in the ditch. He flexed his fingers, toes, tried to lift his head in the sudden silence. He could hear someone yelling.

James was yelling in frustration. After the strange impact, he had kept control of the car, if not of himself, but his door was rammed tight against the thorn bushes.

“Is Cornwall full of raving idiots?”

Rebecca opened her door, stepped out onto the churned grit in the precious sandals and stared back at the confusion of scarlet silk which leaped and billowed in the wind like a trapped creature. She walked towards it not daring to imagine, not daring to hope, what she might find.

As she neared the tangle of cords and parachute canopy she saw a man trying to free himself from the entwined mess of silk and webbing. He pulled off his helmet and his hair flopped in the sea breeze as he grinned up at her .

“Hi Becca. Neat sandals. My favourite colour.”