Wyl Menmuir - The Many

He sees Ethan standing out on the foredeck and feels the wind as it races across the waves and through Ethan’s clothes and hair. As if he is aware he is being observed, or in answer to some silent cue, Ethan unbuttons his coat and lets it drop to the drenched deck, feeling the roll and the turn of the waves beneath the boat. Timothy watches Ethan as he lets the rest of his clothes fall and he stands still, making up his mind about something and it occurs to Timothy for a moment how similar he is to the other man. Ethan stands there still for a while longer and then climbs up over the crates that are piled in front of the wheelhouse, and up higher onto its small roof and he sways with the waves and the wind. He stands on the roof of the cabin and looks back towards the village. Timothy now realises he is seeing events not just through his own eyes but through Ethan’s, too, and as he does, the fragile boundaries that held together for a short while begin to vibrate and blur.

Ethan then dives down from the roof of the boat into the water and Timothy can feel in his dive a grace, an economy of action that harmonises with something deep within him, and he experiences the dive as though he is both within Ethan’s body and watching him from without.

The wind tugging at his clothes brings him back to the verge and he turns briefly towards the woman, who is looking out at the sea with an expression that he cannot read, but that is familiar to him. For a moment then she turns her head towards Timothy and meets his gaze. Her eyes impart something to him then, something that suggests she understands, and feeling wells up in him, so much so he feels he might be overwhelmed by it. The exchange between them is entirely silent.

Timothy returns his gaze to the sea for some time, looking for a sign of Ethan resurfacing, but there is nothing there now other than the abandoned boat amid the white peaks of the waves that spread out in all directions. When his eyes start to hurt from searching the waves, he shifts his focus once more to the Great Hope , and he watches it for a while as it bobs on the surface of the sea, aimless and without direction, before he turns away.

HUGE THANKS TO Nick Royle for guidance, expertise and kindness and for genius book recommendations; to Nikita Lalwani and Sam North for early support and encouragement; to the fine writers on MMU’s MA Creative Writing for their insightful comments and feedback, and in particular to Zoë Feeney and Joanne Phillips; to the fishermen who put up with my questions about nets and catches and who shared with me their stories of the sea; to Kate and Jonathan for my retreat on the creek and the teams at Totleigh Barton and Lumb Bank for giving me the time and space to write; to John Oakey for the excellent cover and Dave Muir for the photos; to Chris and Jen at Salt for being publishers extraordinaire; to Bec and Chris for a singularly useful piece of writing advice (it’s ‘finish what you start’, in case you’re interested); and to Em, Lana and Tom, for everything.