Christopher Lee - For The Love Of Sara

“What happened to your father, Sara?” asked Jill.

“Jill,” interrupted Grant. “He was killed in a car crash last year,” said Sara.

Grant looked at her and thought how terribly lonely and vulnerable she looked. Gone was the precocious teenager and in her place was a frightened child. Grant put his arm around her and gently squeezed her shoulder. She looked up into his confused brown eyes. Their gaze was locked for a second, which seemed like eternity and in that moment in time, time itself stood still. He didn’t know what to say so he said nothing. Instead he released her and they walked on, making their way up the white cobbled stones.

Emma and Sara went to the gift shop while Grant and Jill went inside the chapel. Jill lit a candle and sat on a pew facing the altar. Emma came in and sat next to them.

“Where’s Sara?” asked Jill in a hushed voice.

“She won’t come in,” replied Emma.

“What do you mean she won’t come in?” Jill repeated.

“She says she hates churches and will never go in one. She’s a bit weird.”

“Never mind, Emma,” said Grant, hugging his daughter, “each to their own.”

They left the chapel and found Sara sitting by the well, drinking cool fresh water from the spout. She wore grey leggings which ended just below the knee and a baggy white Greenpeace T-shirt with a picture of a whale on the front. On her feet she had a pair of Reebok trainers – no socks.

“Is it safe to drink the water?” asked Emma. “The monks have been drinking it for centuries and they’re all right,” said Sara.

They found the other children playing a game of chase around the huge statute of Christ built to commemorate the Civil War. They stopped at a café and ate Menorquina ice cream.

“Where to now?” asked Tim.

“I know a nice beach,” said Sara. “It’s just north of here. We went the other day and hired a pedalo.”

“Pedalos are for kids,” chirped Ben, “have they got any jet skis?”

Grant handed Sara a map and she pointed out the location. The spot in question was on the north coast at Cala Tirane. Access was on an unmade road past barren fields enclosed by dry stone walls which had been battered over the years by the Tramontane – a vicious northerly wind which had torn away the topsoil of the former olive groves.

There were very few cars in the make-shift car park. The children scrambled out of the car and headed for the water. Jill and Grant unloaded the bags containing a picnic Jill had prepared.

Sara had been right about the pedalos. A sun-baked old Spaniard sat on a rickety deck-chair jealously guarding three gaily painted pedalos drawn up on the beach near his feet. Tim and Sally didn’t fancy it, so Emma and Sara sat in the front with Grant and Ben in the back, but Ben was insistent that he wanted to have a go at pedalling.

“That’s okay Ben,” said Sara, “You swap with me and I’ll go in the back with your dad.”

They exchanged places. Grant was enjoying the sea air as they set off, what he was not enjoying was the close proximity of Sara who now had her left leg pressed against his right thigh. There wasn’t much room in the back so nowhere to shift position. Grant tried to ignore it. He told himself that maybe it was his imagination, but after that sub-aquatic kiss, well…

“Head towards those rocks,” instructed Sara leaning forward between Emma and Ben. As she bent forward her left breast rested on the back of Grant’s hand which, in turn rested on his thigh. He could feel the heat of her body burning his knuckles. He daren’t move it. She sat back and the problem was resolved.

“I saw some caves out by the point,” said Sara. “It’s a great place to swim, loads of fish around the rocks.”

“The current looks a bit tricky,” said Grant. There was a clear channel of water flowing swiftly out to sea, like a rip.

“No it’s not too bad,” Sara lied, “I have swum there before.”

Ben and Emma stopped pedalling and allowed the craft to drift towards the rocks.

“Look, I can see the caves,” said Ben excitedly. “Can we get out and have a look?”

“If we can find a mooring,” said Grant. “Pedal towards that flat rock over there.”

Grant struggled to get the craft sufficiently out of the water so as not to float away. It was heavier than he had first thought. He finally managed it and sat exhausted on the rock beside it.

Ben was already clambering towards the cave with the two girls in hot pursuit.

Grant stood up to follow.

“It comes to a dead end,” shouted Ben. “No pirate treasure here.”

“Maybe if we go to the other side of the point,” said Emma.

“Yes, but we might not find anywhere for the boat,” said Grant.

“I’ll swim round and take a look,” said Sara.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” said Grant. “Perhaps we should go back.”

“Come on, don’t be a spoilsport,” laughed Sara and with that she plunged into the water. Grant waited for her to break surface, but there was no sign of her.

“Where is she dad?” asked Ben. Grant began to panic. He knew she was a good swimmer, but…

“There she is,” said Emma, pointing to her friend, now about thirty yards away.

“Look she’s waving,” said Ben, waving back. “What’s she saying?”

They couldn’t make it out, but then she disappeared under the water again.

Alarm bells gave a deafening ring in Grant’s head.

“She’s in trouble,” he said. “I’m going after her. You two stay here.” He launched himself into the water heading towards the spot he had last seen her. He could feel the current pulling him out towards the open channel. He saw her surface again, still thirty yards away being dragged out further. He swam faster and faster breathing only every ten strokes. He felt a surge of strength despite the burning in his chest. The current was running at its strongest now taking them both around the headland. Sara saw Grant coming towards her as she clung to the last reserves of her strength. Then it gave out and she slipped beneath the waves.

Grant dived and kicked hard. He kicked again towards her lifeless body as it floated five feet under the water. His arms clawed the water away as he propelled himself towards her limp form. Then he was upon her. His hands grabbed either side of her rib cage and he pulled her up towards the surface. He gasped for air as he came up. His left hand cupped her under the chin while he clawed at the water kicking towards the rocks. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing, but he knew her only chance was if he could get her back to the rocks. He kicked until his legs felt like lead weights and for a moment thought neither of them was going to make it, but then the heel of his foot hit a rock. He scrambled up and pulled her from the water. She wasn’t breathing. He arched her head backwards, clearing her airways, then, kneeling over her put a finger in her mouth to make sure she had not swallowed any seaweed. It was clear. Pinching her nose and holding her chin back he placed his mouth over hers and breathed hard. Her body contracted in a spasm and she wrenched spewing a mixture of seawater and puke over Grant. She coughed and spewed again.

“God I thought you were dead,” he gasped. “I thought you had drowned.”

She stopped coughing and pushed herself up to a sitting position. She looked like a drowned kitten.

“Nearly had it that time,” she said, “but still, I knew you’d save me.”

It was then the truth dawned on him.

“What! You did this on purpose. Are you mad? Are you completely bloody mad? We could have both drowned!”

His anger boiled over like a rolling broth.

“Is this some silly bloody game, Sara? Is that what it is? Well I’ll tell you now young lady, stop fucking with my life.”