Swept Away

Marilyn sits relaxing in in the bright autumn sunshine in her small but tidy garden. She closes her eyes better to hear the green woodpecker that lives in the woods behind the house.  Sometimes, just occasionally, it could be seen from the kitchen window on the lawn foraging for insects.  It was a beautiful sight.  Max loved watching for birds in the garden with her and listening to the distinctive calls of the various song-birds. 

They had just celebrated his ninth birthday earlier that day; but now everyone had gone home, and he was playing with one of his new toys - a table-tennis bat and a rubber ball attached to a pole stuck in the lawn that bounced back when you hit it.  She could feel the sun on her face, the welcome breeze that slightly ruffled her dress; and could hear the alternating rhythms of the woodpecker’s insistent search for grubs, and Max’s attempts to hit ball back and forth.

Life was good; well, as good as she had a right to expect.  There was no-one in her life now, apart from Max. Her mother had died recently, her father several years before. She had some good friends, but no men in her life.  Only Max.  It was all about Max now.

As she sat there, the interchanging sounds patterns of bird and bat, and the calming sensations of sunshine and the light wind sent her drifting almost towards sleep; her thoughts wafted back to an earlier time, nearly ten years ago, when the whole word was different…

At first, she could not remember who had first suggested a wedding before Christmas and then a honeymoon in Thailand.  It was probably Max, as she was pre-occupied with her doubts about the relationship and whether to proceed with the wedding.

She was in two minds because she had developed serious concerns about Max’s suitability as a long-term partner, and because she was still not quite sure that she was sufficiently heterosexually inclined to marry a man.

She felt at that point that she had simply drifted into a relationship with Max due to inertia; helped along by assumptions by Max and their friends and relations that this was meant to be.   There were worrying signs that he was self-centred and woefully lacking in empathy – possibly (now, looking back) even to the extent of being a sociopath.  It had started propitiously - a blind date organised by work colleagues. Max had been extrovert, amusing, confident, successful, financially solvent – and, very good-looking – and he knew it.  He had set his cap at her; had wooed her and made her feel special. Swept away.

Although most of their associates had seen them as a good match, and had encouraged her in the view that he was a “real catch” – two people had warned her about Max.  One was his best friend, and one was her mother.  It was fundamentally the same warning too; “look, I know he seems nice, he’s great company; but deep down he’s suspect, essentially unreliable – in the end it will all be about him, not you”, said his friend.

However, it was also true that he had been the first man to excite her since her largely same-sex relationships at University.

He had proposed, and she had asked for a few days to think about it; during which time everyone told her she was mad not to accept immediately – except her mother and Max’s friend.  But finally, she had decided that she should accept his proposal.  The arrangements had been made; a wedding in late December, then Christmas and New Year on honeymoon at the best hotel in Khao Lak.  However, in the months lead-up to the wedding she started to notice things; little things, but lots of little things – Max took less and less interest in her; her day, her plans, her job.  The shopping contained everything he liked, and less and less of her favourites.  He forgot their social appointments, stayed later at work, made plans to see friends without her.  She felt as if she was becoming an adjunct to his life, rather than a partner.  There was one day she thought he had come perilously close to violence.  She had deleted a week-old football match off the satellite box which he had already watched, without asking.  He was furious: “What the hell were you thinking?!” he boomed.

“But you’d already watched it”, she had retorted. 

“I wanted to watch it again!”  

Then he had actually smacked his fist into his open palm as he looked at her with something approaching hatred.  It was slightly frightening; but then it passed quickly.  The next day he came home from work with flowers; although he did not refer to the episode she took it as an apology – of sorts.

Then there was his sulking. There were times when it would appear that she had done something wrong, but she could not tell what on earth it was.  He would deny that there was anything wrong, but would not talk, would seemingly avoid her; once he even took his dinner from the dining room table up to the bedroom to eat it alone.  “What’s wrong?” she asked as he disappeared upstairs.  “Nothing!” he snapped, then added in a more conciliatory tone, “I just need some space”. Then it would pass, and he would be normal.

Despite these episodes, and the doubts they engendered, she failed to do anything about them; and failed to call off their wedding – perhaps she was imagining some of this stuff, perhaps it was just a phase…

They got married.  Nothing about the event, or Max’s behaviour during the day, gave her any more confidence that she was doing the right thing.  She constantly had to drag him away from old buddies, often female, to one of the traditional wedding rites and formalities where everyone was kept waiting for him. Everyone else seemed to have a good time; except Marilyn and her mother.  Max’s best man even jokingly referred to his earlier warning to her about Max in his speech. 

Then they flew off to Thailand. The hotel in Khao Lak was amazing.  They lazed, they swam, they made love, they eat, they drank…

On the second day she met Zoe.  Zoe had called to her across the pool:

“Marilyn? Marilyn! Is that you?! Oh my God!”

They had known each other as respective girl-friends of girl friends from Uni.  It turned out that Zoe was on holiday there alone recovering from a failed relationship.  Marilyn had always had a bit of a crush on Zoe, and her then girl-friend had teased her that the reverse was rumoured also to be true.  Max was perversely delighted – as it turned out, he had chosen that particular hotel near game and bird sanctuaries in order to go diving and photograph wild animals and knew that this did not really interest Marilyn.  Hmm, maybe it really was all about him then. 

Over the next four days Marilyn saw more of Zoe than she had spent with Max over the previous year and had much more fun.   Apart from that, all was normal until Christmas Day – it was party-time from breakfast onwards, and a lot of alcohol was consumed. Max had found a friend – another amateur photographer who had gone on most of the same excursions - and they were comparing photos.  Marilyn spent all day with Zoe and towards the middle of the evening, when passing a glass of wine, their fingers touched – it was electric, and she could tell it was the same for Zoe.

The next day she lingered over kissing Zoe good morning, and the response told her that she had not imagined it.  As Max set about arranged a diving trip for that afternoon with his new mate, she spent breakfast and the morning by the pool with Zoe.  They were like two nervous lovers.  There was an unspoken agreement that they were just happy to be with each other without sex - despite the opportunity - for now anyway.  It didn’t matter, she treasured every moment and was happier than ever.  Swept away. 

She had absolutely no idea what she was going to do after the holiday; every possible option terrified her equally. 

They had just had a mid-morning coffee by the pool when Max came up; “Hey there you two; come with me, there’s something really weird happening on the beach”.  They looked at each other; how weird could it be? But he seemed genuinely excited, and they wandered off with Max to the nearby beach just beyond a line of nearby palm trees, more to amuse him than out of any real interest. But when they got to the beach they could see that what was happening was truly bizarre.  The sea appeared to have receded some 500 yards or more – way further out than was the norm even at low tide.  They just stood there open mouthed trying to work out what was going on.

“What on earth…. What is it Max?  Max?”  

Max looked preoccupied looking quizzically at the scene; looking out to sea, looking around at the beach. 

“Look at that boat!”  He pointed at a boat about half a mile out to sea bob up on an unfeasible wave and capsize.  It still made no sense to her, but Max must have worked out what was happening. 

“Run, run; back to the hotel – fast!” he said, as he turned and ran.  Around them were dozens of people; most of them just stood there dumbstruck watching the strange sight, but soon others started to panic and run away.  That was enough to break the spell for Zoe and Marilyn – they obeyed Max and ran like hell for the hotel.

They went through the pam trees, past the pool and headed for the stairs up to the first-floor bar – all the while hearing an increasing noise of screaming, rushing water and objects being thrown around behind them, but not stopping for an instant to turn around.  Marilyn was wearing flip-flops and found that they severely hindered her progress, she stopped long enough to kick them off and run on in bare feet.  She followed Max and Zoe as they ran up the stairs and towards the hotel bar’s veranda away from the beach side of the hotel.  As they reached it, the wave hit them.  Marilyn had never experienced any sheer physical force like this.  She was hit from behind and all the breath was knocked out of her instantly.  She was thrown forward and down by the force of water and trapped against the railings; but Max and Zoe, just ahead of her, were thrown over it.  As the water passed over her head she struggled to breathe, and something hit her hard on the side of her head, severely disorientating her.  Through a haze of dirty water and flying flotsam, and her dress that had been thrown over her head, she struggled to catch a breath without swallowing water. She just managed to catch a glimpse of Zoe and Max grabbing and holding on to the railings from the other side. 

They looked at her desperately and both held their free hand up towards her – she struggled forward and pushed both of her hands out through the railings, she seized a hand and held on to it as hard, as tight, and for as long, as she could. By now she was subsumed with water and holding her breath – all the while holding her grasp hard, until she lost consciousness.

The next thing she remembered was waking up being attended to by a local man on the next floor of the hotel. After spluttering out lungs full of water, retching and getting her breath back she managed to raise up her head and look around her.  The prone inert body of Zoe was nearby being tended by two other people. Of Max there was no sign. Swept away.

In the dying warmth of the setting sun on that autumn day, she reflects on her ‘choices’ and on her recollections.  Could she have held onto Max if she had tried?  Did she reach for Zoe on purpose? Did she reach for Zoe subconsciously because she was so much lighter than Max, or because she loved Zoe more?  Or was it just that she had thrust her hand out and Zoe happened to be the one that managed to grab and hold on to it?

There were other questions in her mind too.  Had she known she was pregnant?  Did she act deliberately, or just out of sheer instinct?  She simply could not remember the details any more.  The harder she tried, the more difficult it got, and the more hazy her recollection became.  Sometimes she remembered it one way, sometimes another.  Either way, there was a constant nagging sense of guilt; she had effectively been responsible for the death of her son’s father - hadn’t she? 

She had never told anyone about her suspicions of her own actions, not her mother: not even Zoe.

They had met up a few times in the months afterwards; but nothing came of it - or could have come of it.  Zoe was grateful, but always looked at her slightly sideways, as if she herself was trying to work out what had happened at the hotel railings; and Marilyn simply felt too consumed by her perceived, or imagined, guilt to believe that she deserved any true happiness.

It was all about Max now. Swept away…