“Simon?”

She looked at him, a small crease appearing on her young forehead. He pulled her down onto him, wanting to forget the vision of that endless wave that, even now, echoed on the inside of his skull. She sighed and in the hiss of her breath he heard the swell breaking again on the glittering sand.

Back on the hot beach again, walking into the water, heading for the white horses on the horizon. Simon felt the tug of the undertow against his calves as he straddled his board. The shore seemed so far away out here, a distant smudge of golden sand and the hot glitter of sun on metal as the cars inched their way across the promenade.

He felt rather than saw the shadow rise beside him. The tall fin sliced through the wave and in an instant of melting panic he thought he saw the gaping jaws parting the waves in a frenzy of teeth and foam. But as his heart made a stuttering leap for his throat he realised the shape beside him was a dolphin, smiling through the water at him, its all too human eye fixed upon him, unblinking. Its rubbery side brushed against his leg and he looked down at those appendages, which suddenly seemed so out of place in this flawless element.

The dolphin looked at him, holding its place in the water.

“It’s your wave,” Simon said.

As his mouth closed over the sentence he looked back at the shore. Behind him the sea called, rolling endlessly. In front, the town looked like nothing but a mirage, shimmering on the horizon. He understood then, why the choices were made.

He reached out to the grey shadow beside him, knowing whom it was. All that he’d left behind on shore seemed as grey now, distant in the way that faded memories were. Time to choose now, to stay or go? The sun cast its golden glance over the scene, omnipotent, oblivious.

~~~

Strapping Lass

It was about six months after Moira had left him that he saw the girl. It was funny because only that morning as he’d got ready for work, he’d been thinking whether it was time to try again, move on, make a fresh start He’d come to the conclusion that perhaps it was a little premature. He was still vulnerable, after all. But then he saw her, and all his doubts fled in an instant. She was perfect.

It was in the canteen at work that she’d caught his eye. He wondered that he’d not noticed her before. He’d found his usual table was taken up with a gaggle of nurses and so he’d moved to another, further away from the door. Thus he’d seen her, sitting alone, and looking out of the window at the hospital grounds.

It was her manner with food that attracted his attention. Unlike most chubby girls, she was unapologetic. She ate proudly, head high, obviously relishing what was on her plate. Like most chubby girls, she had a lovely mouth; the lips full and curvaceous, and at this moment, glistening with the oil from her chips. She didn’t have that furtive, almost sly method of eating, tucking the food away as quickly as possible, hunching her shoulders as if to keep people from seeing what she was doing. She chewed and swallowed and wiped her mouth with every sign of complete enjoyment.

He made up his mind in the decisive way that he had.

“Hello, I’m Barry,” he said, standing by her table. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

For all her confidence with food, she was shy; he could see that by the faint start that she gave, the slight rise of colour in her cushiony cheeks. But she didn’t say no, just nodded and gestured at the seat opposite her. He smiled into her beautiful blue eyes.

Her name was Daphne. She wasn’t a nurse – he’d assumed that by the lack of uniform – but worked in the administration department, dealing with patient files. Up close, he could see the pillowy swell of her bosom, the slight double chin. She wasn’t yet fat, not as such, but oh, such potential she had!

By the end of the meal, he’d obtained her telephone number and a date for dinner for Friday. As he said goodbye, and walked towards the kitchens to start his shift, he felt as if he were floating on air. What a project, what a thing to look forward to…he could scarcely wait to begin. Take it slowly, he warned himself. He’d rushed things with Moira and look where that had got him. Slow and steady wins the race.

After a month, Daphne and Barry were officially a couple. He’d asked her not to say anything to people at work but she didn’t have many friends there anyway, and no close ones. Dazzled by his generosity, the four course meals that he took her for, the presents he bought her, she would do anything for him.

“Here you are,” he said, presenting her with a set of satin lingerie.

She blushed with pleasure, took it and stroked it.

“You’re too good to me Barry, you really are.”

“Try it on.”

She did, giggling. He made her pose for him.

“It’s a bit big,” she said, twisting around to look at her rear view.

“Never mind,” he said. You’ll grow into it, he added mentally.

After three months, he asked her to move in with him. She gave up her little studio flat gladly and gave up her job, too, at his request.

“I’ll look after you,” he said, kissing her.

They still went out for dinner, but less often. Now, Barry liked to cook large, sumptuous meals at home and they ate them at the big oak dining room table. Barry gave Daphne second helpings, even if she didn’t ask for them. He fixed her large, sweet, sticky cocktails and bought her boxes of chocolates.

He came home one day to find her regarding herself disconsolately in the bedroom mirror.

“What’s wrong, sweet?” he said.

“Look at me,” said Daphne. She pinched at the soft rolls that cascaded down her front. “I’m enormous. I’ll have to go on a diet.”

“You don’t have to do that,” said Barry, feeling a jab of alarm in the pit of his stomach. He put his arm round her. “You’re beautiful. Anyway, you’re not fat. You’re just a strapping lass.”

Daphne shook her head miserably.

“I’ll have to do something,” she said. “I thought I could do the cooking for a change, make some light meals. You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to. I’ll cook your meals too. I can freeze them if it’s too much. There’s that big freezer in the garage we never use…”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” said Barry, hastily. He must remember to check the padlock on the freezer – it had slipped his mind, lately. He didn’t think there was anything still … there, but you never knew. “Anyway, you’re beautiful to me. Let me make you a drink and let’s watch a bit of television.”

A couple of days after that, Daphne came down with a bad cold. She sat on the sofa in the living room, watching daytime soaps and sipping a hot lemon and honey drink, which Barry had prepared for her. He’d added five sugars to the steaming liquid and had stirred it in well. Daphne said no more about cooking meals or dieting, and Barry inwardly rejoiced. He waited on her hand and foot and took time off work to cook her special, tempting dishes. In the kitchen, he grated a block of extra cheese into the lasagne. He emptied two cans of coconut cream into the curry dish he was making for tomorrow.

A month later, Daphne hadn’t yet risen from the couch. Barry brought her giant boxes of popcorn, huge torpedo-shaped bottles of fizzy pop, endless boxes of greasy fried chicken, nachos, burgers. He washed her and cleaned her and told her how beautiful she was, as she swelled like dough before him. She looked at him with love, a warm glance from her blue eyes; sunk like tiny, twinkling sapphires in the vast moonlike expanse of her face.

Two months later, Barry was in the kitchen making preparations, when he heard Daphne calling him. Her voice was barely a wheeze but he was so attuned to it, he responded immediately. He picked up the bag of doughnuts he’d bought that morning and took them in to her. He looked at her proudly. What a beautiful sight she was, filling the sofa from one straining arm to the other, a marquee of a cotton dress falling in soft folds over the mounds of her body. Her arms rested at shoulder height on the gigantic swell of flesh that extended from her chin to her thighs.