Pat Barker - Another World

He stands on the beach now, barefoot, with the waves creaming over his feet, feeling how much older he is, inclined to be contemptuous of his younger self. Behind him are the slit eyes of the bunkers and he feels sand slip beneath his toes, the land squirming away into the sea, as the tide pulls back. When the tide’s right out, even further than it is now, it uncovers rock pools, and you can find things in them, little grey-green crabs hiding under the seaweed. He liked making them do things, switching them from pool to pool, or marooning them far up the beach and watching them try to crawl back. You squat down and look into the pool and it’s a bit like Jurassic Park — you’re like a dinosaur looking through a car window at the helpless squealing wriggling pink kids inside.

He wants to be with the others, it’s not much fun on your own. He wades back through the sea, knee-deep, it’s easier than struggling through the sand. It might look as if he’s paddling, but he isn’t, he’s just walking with his feet in the water.

They’ve moved closer to the sea. Mum and Miranda are building a sand castle with a large moat round it, though they’re wasting their time, anybody can see the tide’s going out. Jasper’s fascinated. He wants to help, but when he tries, patting the top of a turret, it collapses and Miranda has to start again.

‘Just let him pat the bottom of the bucket,’ Mum says.

Miranda does as she’s told. Jasper squeals with delight.

‘I’ll get some ice-cream,’ Nick says. ‘Cornets everybody?’

He strides away up the beach. Gareth knows he’ll take a few minutes sitting on the sea wall, having a quiet smoke before he comes back. Might even sneak off for a pint, it’s been known.

Gareth finds an empty coke can, half buries it in the sand, about thirty feet from where they’re sitting, and starts lobbing stones at it.

‘Mind Jasper,’ Mum says.

He’s nowhere near bloody Jasper. Suddenly angry, he kicks sand in the direction of Miranda, who stops what she’s doing and looks up through the tangle of her hair. Something about her expression startles him. He understands suddenly that if Miranda did what she wanted she’d knock the sand castle over and jump up and down on the ruin. She’d scream and shout and kick sand into all their faces. She doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t do anything, but then she never does, only he sees her wanting to, and he backs away. She’s no right to feel like that. He’s the one who wants to smash things.

‘If you can’t play properly,’ Mum says, ‘just go away.’

Play. That just about sums it up. All at once the eyes are back, clustering on his head and neck. Look at Gareth playing sand-pies with his baby brother.

He turns away from Mum’s accusing look, Jasper’s stupid blue-eyed stare, Miranda’s sudden unexpected ferocity, and starts walking along the sand towards the cliffs.

‘What about your ice-cream?’ Mum calls after him.

‘Don’t want it.’

He keeps his head down, doesn’t look back.

The cliffs have warning notices with pictures of falling rock. He doesn’t care. He looks up, squinting into the sun, which is still fierce, and sees how, at the top of the cliffs, grass stems score the sky and seagulls soar far above with sunlight on their wings.

Cutting into the cliffs there’s a deep ravine, lined with wet ferns and mosses; a brown stream meanders between mossy stones out over the beach and down towards the sea.

Gareth starts to climb, clinging to the ferns, stepping from ledge to ledge, his feet wet on slippery stones. As he climbs higher the moss and fern give way to clumps of bleached grass, dry and pale as straw. He catches hold of a clump and stifles a cry of surprise as the grass cuts him. There’s a smear of blood on his palm which he squeezes to make more, then sucks away.

Further along a gull watches him with shameless naked amber eyes. He flaps his hand at it, and reluctantly, heavily, it takes off, sweeping down towards the beach, so that he sees its back and its stretched-out wings, darker than the underside, and he’s almost dizzy with the thought that he’s above the gulls. They’re flying below him.

The sound of the waves turning over on the shore comes more faintly here. The seagulls mew and yelp. He feels like one of them, crouched on the narrow ledge, with his legs dangling over the edge. It’s safe enough, as long as you keep still. But he’s surprised himself, climbing as far up as this. It’s not the sort of thing he usually does, and it opens a sort of door in his mind. If he can do this he can do anything.

He watches Nick carrying the ice-creams back to the family, stepping cautiously, the cornets clasped in his hands, looking down at them. He looks so small, so insect-like, toiling over the vast expanse of white, that Gareth feels superior. He doesn’t know I’m here, he thinks. He doesn’t know I’m watching him. And he feels a wriggle of excitement in his stomach. He leans forward and drops a pebble over the edge, watching it bounce once, twice, on jutting-out bits of rock before it hits the beach. They’re all eating ice-creams. He doesn’t care. When they’re finished he sees Mum and Nick lie down side by side, Nick’s arm thrown across her. Miranda wanders off towards the town. Jasper’s playing with his sand castle, blundering about, knocking it down.

Cautiously Gareth looks up at the top of the cliff, wondering if he could climb all the way up. But craning up at the blue-white sky makes him dizzy. He clutches the rocks on either side of him, but they crumble in his hands, and he feels more frightened than if he hadn’t tried to hang on to anything. He presses himself back against the cliff face, feeling sick and dizzy, knowing he’s gone pale. It’s nothing. After a while he’s able to look down again. It’s funny, looking up makes him go dizzy and looking down doesn’t.

He closes his eyes, feeling the cliff wall against the back of his head, and immediately a voice says in his ears ‘Skid marks!’ It’s like he’s turned into a Mama doll; except when he closes his eyes the voice doesn’t say ‘Mama’. That’ll be his nickname all the time now. As long as he goes to that school, and everybody who hears it for the first time’ll say, Why’s he called that? And she’ll tell them, the big fat ugly stupid slag’ll just fucking tell them. He wishes she was dead. He wishes he could kill her, but it wouldn’t be any use just killing her, he’d have to kill them all. He can’t even remember how many there were. He just hears the voices. Skid marks! Skid marks! Skid marks!

Miranda’s disappeared behind the dragon’s teeth now, Mum and Nick lie stretched out on the sand. Nick’s taken his shirt off and folded his arms on his chest like a crusader knight except that his feet aren’t crossed. Mum’s resting her hands on her stomach like she always does. Her face is broad and blind, obviously asleep. With Nick you can’t tell, but Gareth thinks he must be asleep too, he lies so still.

Jasper goes and stands over them, nudging Mum’s arm. When she doesn’t move he stands for a bit longer and Gareth can tell by the way his face screws up that he’s nearly crying.

Jasper squats down in the sand a little way from Mummy and Daddy, poking about with a lolly stick. The sand’s hard and damp here. Further up, where Mummy and Daddy are, it’s pale and silky. When you go from this bit to that bit you get the other sort of sand stuck to your feet. There’s another lolly stick further on, and when he gets that one there’s another, and he sees a castle with lots of lolly sticks on top.

Jasper’s wandered away from Mum and Nick now, he’s coming towards the cliff. He looks very small and pink, trotting along, like a piglet. It’s funny he doesn’t know Gareth’s there. Every now and then he stops and picks something up. At first Gareth can’t see what it is, but then realizes Jasper’s collecting lolly sticks. As he gets closer Gareth hears him chuntering to himself, the way he usually does when he’s playing. Doesn’t make sense.