T A Williams - What Happens In Cornwall...

The others had decided to pile into a car and head for the north Cornish coast where the surf was supposed to be better and Sam and Becky were happy to let them get on with it. That afternoon, after a couple of beers at lunchtime, Becky decided she was going to have a lie down. As the temperature was quite warm, even if the sky was now almost completely covered by cloud, Sam decided to try her hand in the kayak that came with the house. She carted it down to the beach and set off at a gentle pace, gradually working her way round the bay. She was quite a long way from the shore when she realised she had got a problem. Or, rather, two problems.

The kayak was cutting through the water remarkably fast, considering she was only paddling gently. She was just beginning to work out that the reason for this was a strong current that had got hold of her, pulling her away from the shore, when the light changed. She glanced up and, to her horror, she saw a bank of sea mist rolling towards her. Frantically she turned the kayak’s nose towards the beach and started paddling hard as the fog closed in around her and she lost sight of the shore. In an instant, she found herself in a featureless grey world where the sea and the sky merged into each other, giving her the impression of being surrounded by cotton wool.

But her cotton wool surroundings were anything but cosy and comfortable. Suddenly, it felt as if the temperature had dropped by ten degrees. Looking down at the bubbles in the water beside her, she saw that the kayak was now moving backwards quite fast. Without being able to get her bearings on anything, it felt as though she was being drawn out to sea. She started paddling hard in the opposite direction, slowing the rate of backward movement, but not stopping it. She realised with a start that she was in a very dangerous situation. Nobody knew she was out here, so nobody was going to miss her until a lot later. She reached for her pocket and then remembered she had left her phone in their room, for fear of dropping it in the sea. She was all alone in the fog. God only knew where she would end up.

The sensation of isolation was so strong she felt a shiver of terror go down her back and tears spring to her eyes. With an effort, she dominated her rising panic and did her best to think logically. Just before the mist rolled in, she had probably been three, maybe four hundred metres from the beach. That wasn’t an insurmountable distance. If only she could get out of the grip of the current, she knew she easily had the strength to paddle back to the shore. In order to get out of the current, she had to go either left or right and try to cut across it, rather than face it head on. Acting on instinct, she swung the boat to the right and dug in.

She carried on paddling across the current for ages, losing track of time completely. Every now and then she had to stop and rest and, in spite of her exertions, she began to feel very cold. She knew she had to find land soon or she would be in big, big trouble. To make matters worse, a cold breeze was getting up and waves were beginning to slap against the side of the hull. She fought her fear and peered into the murk around her, unable to see more than a few metres. Then, she heard something. She stopped paddling and cocked her head to one side, concentrating hard. There was no doubt about it, she could hear waves breaking against the shore. Could it be she had got herself back to the beach? She dug her paddle in again with renewed energy, aiming the kayak towards the noise. Gradually, it grew louder and, as it grew, so did her hopes.

Then, abruptly, the mist before her thinned and she saw something, but what she saw was terrifying. She was heading straight for a rocky reef, around which the white waves hissed and sighed. She spun the kayak around and just managed to squeeze past the rocks without crashing into them. Looming high behind the reef was the dark outline of sheer cliffs. A wave of terror threatened to engulf her and she had to struggle hard to stop herself from crying out in panic. She was completely alone and totally lost. She gritted her teeth and took a few deep breaths. At least she now found herself away from the grip of the vicious current, so she allowed herself a few minutes’ rest, just dipping the paddle into the water from time to time to keep her out of reach of the rocks. However, within a very short time she began to feel very, very cold and this, more than anything else, spurred her into action once more.

She started off again, doing her best to run parallel to the cliffs, loath to lose sight of land, but dreading the prospect of another reef in her way. She paddled on and on, becoming ever more desperate, and then, just as she was beginning to feel very, very tired, she sensed a lightening in the backdrop and she let the waves take her. Another rocky outcrop swept past her, close enough to touch and then, amazingly, she bumped up against a vertical wall and a flight of weed-encrusted stone steps; man-made wall and man-made steps.

She could have wept with relief. She reached out with her hands and grabbed at a metal ring set in the wall, as the kayak scraped against generations of barnacles. Never had the sight of a stone wall been so welcome.

She clung to the rusty iron with both hands and rested her head on her arms. She felt tears coursing down her cheeks; tears of sheer relief that she had reached land. Suddenly, all her worries about her sporting career, her studies, her mother’s mental health and, above all, her relationship with Neil, faded into insignificance. She was alive and that was all that mattered. That, and the minor problem of hauling herself out of the kayak and onto dry land.

It took her a long time to get out of the boat and up the steps. She felt as if she were a hundred years old; slow, doddery and so, so tired. She slipped into the water twice and was soaked to the skin by the time she reached the top, the kayak somehow tied to the iron ring below her. She crouched on all fours for several minutes, breathing deeply and shivering with cold before she managed to summon the energy to raise her head and look around.

She was on a small jetty, set within a tiny bay. The jetty ended abruptly only a few paces in front of her and another stone stairway led up a sheer cliff face into the mist. Above her, a host of seagulls were calling and screaming, but the fog shrouded them from sight. But, amazingly, just to one side of her was something totally unexpected. She hauled herself to her feet, wrapping her arms around herself in a vain attempt to conserve some residual heat in her body, and squelched her way across the flagstones. When she reached the cliff, she stopped and stared. Set into the sheer rock face was a shiny, modern stainless steel door. She didn’t need to read the sign that said Adler Elevators to know it was a lift. Beside it was a very modern-looking keypad.

She reached over and pressed the biggest button, but nothing happened. She tried the other, smaller numbered keys, without success, but even through her befuddled haze she realised the lift wouldn’t operate unless she knew the code. Without it, she was stuck out here in the cold. She tried again and again and then, finally, resorted to beating her fists against the steel doors, hearing her blows echo around the little bay. She was on the point of collapse when, wonderfully, she heard a humming sound. The lift was in operation. Seconds later, the doors slid open and she found herself face to face with a serious-looking man with grey hair that was just beginning to go white at the temples. He was wearing a dark suit, with a collar and tie, like a very classy maître d’hôtel . He looked about sixty, but slim and fit with it. His eyes flicked across her suspiciously.

‘What are you doing here?’ His voice was far from welcoming.