for the last time
It is still hard to imagine it as we’ve sipped our beer or wine and nibbling salt and vinegar crisps, waiting for food to cook on the barbecue. Hard to face the fact of our deaths when we feel so alive in the warm glow of day’s end. Hard to realize this is the last time any of us will listen to the soft splash of the waves on the shore – the sound of the sea moving back and forth, back and forth. Today has been like any of the other summer days I have spent here, surfing, swimming, sunbathing. It’s been just another summer day except for the knowledge that a volcano 2,000 miles way is about to collapse. That our fates were decided by cracks that appeared in its surface long before most of us were even born.
We have had our fair share of complaints sitting here, about the unfairness of it all. If the scientists had not made such a terrible mistake, if we hadn’t moved here to escape the smoggy dangerous city, if only we’d gone to visit friends as we’d planned … If, if, if … we’d be watching on TV like the rest of the horrified nation, instead of sitting here, with the cooling sand slipping between our toes, as the mournful gulls circle above us.
We keep wondering whether we were wrong to stay. Perhaps some on the road will make it in time. But those who tried, report sitting in solid traffic as cheese sandwiches congealed and engines overheated. They carried on until the point at which it was clear they would not be moving any further; turned round and ended up here, lured by the open air, sea, the promise of company.
I suppose we could still go home. Bolt the door, draw the curtains, and hide under the duvet. We could spend the time watching box sets of Star Trek or Friends, The Sopranos or House, Anything that helped us while away the time and pretend our world is not about to end.
And the wave will come for us wherever we are, and whatever we are doing. So I am glad we are here to face it. Tomorrow morning, nine hours after the collapse of Cumbre Viejo, the sea will draw in its waters with the deepest of breaths. It will retreat far down the ocean bed, revealing the inhabitants of the sea bed – bass, cockles, mussels, crabs and snails – exposed for a moment to the air. And we will know, then, that the wave is coming for us. A thousand feet of water racing towards us, condemning us to death.
It is still hard to imagine it, sitting here on this perfect summer night, the sun departed, the first stars beginning to light the darkening sky, that tomorrow this will all be gone. We will all be gone. So we try not to. Instead we will sit by the campfire, telling each other the stories of our lives. Hands held in the darkness. Offering comfort in the face of what is to come.
The night will pass slowly. Watch with us if you can. When morning comes, we will be gone
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Five other comments
Jake Marsden Silly bitch. You should have left. You deserve to drown
Alice Evans It’s very slow now. We’re hoping it will improve when we hit the dual carriageway. Singing silly songs to keep our spirits up . Glad you are not alone x
10 mins
Beverley Lewis Oh Poppy, you amaze as always. Will text you, perhaps we could chat?
3 mins
Finn Matthews. Lots of love, and ignore the trolls
2 min
The first wave of nausea hits me when I finish my post. I have managed, so far, not to think too much about tomorrow, but as I watch the red sun moving towards the horizon it occurs to me that this will be my last sunset. I am suddenly very aware of the thump of my heart, a heart that beats faster the more I think about it. Below me, I can see the glow of the campfire, and hear the murmur of voices above the swish, swish, swish of the waves, the squawks of sea birds. I should feel peaceful sitting here watching Venus rise in the pale blue sky, surrounded by the warmth that still lingers now the wind has died down. On an ordinary evening I would be feeling calm, happy, relaxed.
But this is not an ordinary evening. Now I am alone, I am hit with the full force of that. Nothing is typical tonight. My chest tightens and my breathing quickens. I try to focus on the sound of the waves, the rhythm of the water moving in and out. But it only serves to remind me of the wave that is to come. Breathe deep, I tell myself, breathe deep, but all I do is gulp the air so fast I cannot breathe. My vision blurs. I gasp and I gasp and I gasp – I am drowning in my fear. I cannot make it stop. The sickness builds up inside me until, all of a sudden, I cannot hold it in. I turn around in time to throw up in the bin behind me.
Throwing up helps. I breathe a little deeper, and then deeper still. Presently, I find I am able to stand up. My legs are shaking, but they are strong enough to take me to the clubhouse toilets where I wash my face and rinse my mouth. I gaze at myself in the mirror. I don’t look too bad, considering … I don’t let myself finish the sentence. I need to compose myself before I go back to the others. I don’t want them to see me reduced like this. I invited them so I wouldn’t be alone tonight, but now they are here I find myself wanting to be the person who holds it all together. I am not quite sure why. Perhaps I want to be seen as strong, because generally I am not. Or perhaps I am just seeking redemption. My reflection stares back at me, as it reasserts the deceptive mask of calm, the face that says all is well. It’s been a while since I’ve had to use this trick; I’m a little unsettled by how easy the habit re-establishes itself. I check myself in the mirror again. I look fine. It is time to go back.
At the top of the slope, I slip off my shoes. The path still retains the heat of the day. But when I cross to the sand, though the surface is warm, the granules are cool underneath. It’s a pleasant feeling, and one I won’t experience for much longer, so I take my time, making the most of it. The smell of smoke and sausages draws me back to the campfire where Yan has been busy in my absence.
‘Grub up,’ he calls and we obediently form a queue for food. I take a plate and plonk myself down by Nikki. Yan sits down next to me. We seem to have got through one bottle of wine already, so James opens another one, passing it round the group. I pour myself a glass and swill a mouthful of Rioja in my mouth, glad I brought the good wine with me. For a while, everyone is too busy eating and drinking to speak much, which gives me the chance to observe them discreetly. I’ve decided already that Yan is all right. More than all right. He’s mucked in, cooked and worked hard to make everyone feel welcome. It’s just a shame that I wasn’t imagining his interest earlier; he keeps giving me sideways glances when he thinks I’m not looking. It’s just as well it’s not just the two of us; it should make it easier, to avoid any moment that might signal intimacy, but it’s a nuisance. Why does life have to be so complicated even now?
Our most recent arrivals, Shelley and Harry, are sitting slightly apart from the main body of the group. I’m taking that in the way I’m sure Harry intends. He has made no bones about the fact he thinks we’re stupid to be sitting here, not trying to escape. I get the sense that she might be thinking otherwise, but she seems content to let him do all the talking, which makes me respect her less. Why are some women so content to walk in a man’s shadow? I’ve never understood that. Still, it doesn’t endear her to me. I move on.
Margaret. Now Margaret is a different sort of woman completely. Though she was flustered on arrival, after a cup of tea and a chat, she soon settled in. Now, as she sits with food on her lap, a plastic mug in her hand, she retains the authoritative air of the former civil servant, the person you can trust in a crisis. As if to confirm my thoughts, here she is offering to get some more tents from home later. She smiles at me and I immediately feel a rush of warmth towards her.
James and Nikki complete the circle. They are sitting quite close to each other. He is whispering something in