The Wheeling Dipping Seagull by Brian Doswell (classic novels for teens .TXT) 📖

later he arrived and spread a towel on the sand. He was further away than yesterday but I was sure that it was him. I waited for him to settle, rehearsing what I was going to say. He looked towards me and then away again. Did he recognise me? A cloud of butterflies churned inside my stomach, it was not too late to run away.

He seemed to be watching a seagull; more than that, he was actually talking to it. The seagull came and went a couple of times and then landed and strutted along the sand towards him. I always thought of birds as timid creatures, it was almost as though this one knew him. It pecked at some seaweed and tossed bits towards him, playing some sort of game. He was engrossed with the gull, so I decided to take the bull by the proverbial horns and introduce myself. Somehow it was easier to cross the distance between us while he was not watching.


+++++

I suppose that I am a creature of habit. I always have the same thing for breakfast and I always leave the house at ten for my morning swim. I know that this routine is nonsense but it helps me to get through an otherwise lonely day. By ten thirty I was in my usual spot, eager to enjoy a few minutes of sunshine before the toe in the water stuff. It seemed as though there were fewer people on the beach that day, in fact my nearest neighbour was at least ten metres away. She sat, leaning against a folding beach chair, engrossed in a book. I was almost certain that it was her. She was on her own and, without the company of yesterday around her there was no animated conversation or gestures. Her hair was different. I fiddled around with my towel, nailing it firmly to the sand with a selection of extra large pebbles before settling down to get the sun on my back. I looked again towards the woman but she did not look back. She must be someone else. ‘C’est la vie.’

My wheeling dipping seagull arrived on cue, landed a few metres away and walked awkwardly along the sand towards me while I lay with my head cradled in the soft pillow of my elbow, watching and wondering how close it would come. I tried to stay as still as possible so as not to scare the bird away, but I sensed that it was not frightened of me. I wondered if seagulls were smart enough to recognise people or, more specifically, if this one actually knew me. Some of the bolder gulls have been known to steal ice creams from the hands of bemused children, but this was not one of those. She, I’m sure it’s a she, pecked once or twice at a remnant of seaweed, and then flicked small twigs of driftwood at me while twisting her head, a jet black eye glowering beneath an arched eyebrow. Then, with a languid stretch of her wings, she leapt effortlessly into the air, swooped low over my head and was gone.


ooooo

I padded silently, barefoot on the sand which perhaps explains why he did not hear me approach. On the other hand, the wretched seagull was not about to risk my arrival and decided to take to the air. I did not realise just how big seagulls are until this one flew straight at me as though she was warning me off. I suppose I ducked as the bird flew low over my head.

He half sat up and then saw me standing or, more correctly, bending over him. In complete surprise, he somehow managed to collapse into my legs. I tried to move but only succeeded in standing on his hand and then I think I kicked his head before totally losing my balance. It only took an instant but we ended up in a pile on the sand in much closer contact than I had originally planned.


+++++

I rolled over to follow the flight of the gull and found myself looking up into a towering female silhouette holding what I later came to realise was my lost towel. It was one of those moments when everything goes wrong. I had been totally absorbed in the seagull and completely unaware of anyone approaching silently, barefoot on the sand. In my moment of panic it was as though I had totally lost all concept of physical coordination. I tried to sit up but when I moved my hand to lever myself up, it landed on her foot, and so I moved it again, but now I was off-balance and I collapsed awkwardly against her naked leg. My face slid down the soft skin of her calf until it met the sand at her heel. I remember clearly the sweet perfume of suntan Factor 5 every centimetre of that slide.

In falling to my left, my right arm swung involuntarily up in the air at the precise instant that she bent over me. I swear that I had absolutely no idea of where her bikini top was at any time, but somehow my hand and the flimsy floral cloth connected. I continued to fall while she recoiled in surprise. The inevitable happened and the floral cloth parted company with a snapping sound that is now firmly embedded in my long term memory. The whole incident could not have taken more than a split second yet that very same memory retains a slow motion, frame-by-frame, record of each tiny instant.

She moved backwards to regain her balance and stood on my head which by now was virtually under her heel anyway. My face dug even deeper into the sharp gritty sand while she somehow managed to twist such that she fell on top of me. I flailed my arms again. I’m not sure if I was protecting myself or trying to save her fall but the end result was an embarrassing mess of arms and legs in an extremely intimate tangle.

If anything like that has ever happened to you, you will know that what follows is a long silence during which neither party moves, for fear of inadvertently touching the other, for fear of being misunderstood.

She was on top of me and obliged to make the first move which involved dragging her soft warm exposed breasts across my chest and sitting upright before moving any further. Fortunately the towel lay on the sand beside us and she was able to wrap it around her while struggling to her feet.

“Are you OK?”


ooooo

“I think so. How about you?”

We both started to apologise. I faltered, totally forgetting the string of witty comments I’d been rehearsing for the last hour, as I peeled my sun-oiled skin away from his. Only then did I realise that my bikini top was on the sand and not on me.

If I made a fuss I might lose the chance to strike up a conversation. This was the beach, topless sunbathing is very common around here. I had to pretend this was no big deal. Fortunately, I still had his towel in my hand. I held it up strategically while we swapped more inane comments. I explained about taking his towel by mistake and was about to offer it to him when I remembered why I was clutching it so tightly.

Quick decision: I handed him the towel and bent down to pick up my bikini top which I put back on as gracefully as I could in the circumstances.

I realised that he was watching me closely, which was what I wanted - wasn’t it? ‘Teeth and tits.’ echoed in my mind. I smiled and made just a bit more fuss than necessary as I adjusted myself into the bra cups, hoping that he would be the first to break the silence that had descended upon us.


+++++

“Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“You first.”

“No you.”

“I’m sorry”, she said again, “I took your towel home yesterday, by mistake, and came back this morning hoping to see you and return it.” She started to hand back the towel but then remembered why it was wrapped around her body.

I waved a hand, confident now that I had regained control of my errant limbs.

“No – please, keep it as long as you need.”

“There’s no need”, she said, bending to retrieve her bikini top. “Just give me a moment.”

Unashamed, she handed me the towel and replaced the flowery bikini top easing each breast into its cup with a practised hand.

I thanked her for returning the towel, it was a kind thought. It seemed obvious that the towel had been picked up with the palisade of bits and pieces, a simple mistake, no harm done.

What does one say at a time like that? “I was going to swim, would you care to join me?” God, I sounded so old-fashioned. Was that the best line that I could manage?

She nodded and we turned towards the water. Oddly, we both paused at the water’s edge and waved the obligatory testing toe at the surf before taking those silly knee-raising steps into the shallow water. I shall never understand why everybody does that when they know that they are going to get wet anyway.


ooooo

He said something about swimming and made a dash for sea. I followed him to the water’s edge but I don’t swim so I just stood there, kicking at the waves, while he plunged into the water. He called out to me and when I told him that I can’t swim, he immediately suggested that we go to the beach café for coffee instead.

I think that was when I realised that the butterflies had gone. I was back on my own ground, he did fancy me.


+++++

At knee depth, I dived forwards and started a brisk crawl into deeper water. After a few energetic strokes I looked over my shoulder only to see that she had stayed close to the shore line and was hugging her chest the way women sometimes do at the water’s edge. The action seemed strangely unnecessary considering her previous total exposure.

“Actually I can’t swim.” She mumbled the words as though she really did not want me to know, but I caught every syllable.

I made my way back to her side, “A coffee then; I must thank you for returning my towel.” At last I had managed to say something sensible.

She nodded, “Yes, I’d like that.” We turned to plod up the warm sand to gather our respective belongings. I picked up yesterday’s lost towel, eager to start the invigorating scrubbing process, but then I caught a hint of Factor 5 on the cloth and decided to save the moment. I used the other towel instead.


ooooo

We gathered our things and met at the top of the beach. I’m sure I