Kook. Chris Vick

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СКАЧАТЬ reckoned that, dopey as they looked, Rag and his “bro” might just be canny little business heads, and would probably buy or sell anything. If the price was right. And especially if what you were buying or selling was exotic herbs or surf kit.

      “He’s a virgin,” said Rag, slapping me on the back. I waited for the piss-take, but it didn’t come. Instead Ned was friendly, but kind of serious.

      “Okay.” He leant back, eyeing me up and down, measuring me up.

      “Weight, age, fitness, how much fat on you, how much muscle, how good at swimming are you, how many press-ups can you do, how flexible are you?”

      I gave him the answers, and I didn’t lie.

      “I’d say foam or pop out usually,” said Ned. “Starter boards with soft tops or a factory-made shape, but they don’t do you favours in the long run. I got a custom that might be good for you.”

      “Custom boards are hand crafted, Sam,” said Rag, waving his arm around the garage. “Every one is different, made for riders with different weights and abilities and for different types of surfing.”

      I had to admire the sales rap. I put a nervy hand in my pocket. Seventy quid. My life’s savings. Plus a tenner ‘borrowed’ from Tegan’s piggy bank.

      “You gonna do this, proper like?” said Rag. I nodded. “Then you need something that’s big and stable, but which still goes nice. Know what I’m saying?”

      A board had already caught my eye, a long one, sun-red, about eight, maybe nine feet long, pointed and thin, like a rocket, but thick.

      “How about that one?” I said.

      They smiled like I was a five-year-old asking to drive his dad’s new Porsche. Rag ran a finger up the board’s rail, with a dreamy look in his eyes. I’d seen Jade do the same thing with a board, the day I met her, and it seemed strange to me.

      “This, my friend, is a gun. A big wave board. This board is more than ten years old. It gets taken out twice a year, by Ned. If that. Put in a few years, hope you’re not busy when the storm hits, maybe you’ll get to ride a board like this one. There’s a few of these in sheds and garages round here, gathering dust, waiting for the day.” He snapped out of his daydream and got back to the business of selling.

      “How about Old Faithful?” Rag said to Ned.

      “That’s what I was already thinking,” said Ned. They got busy in the messy heap of boards and suits at the scrappy end of the garage. The board they pulled out was about a foot taller than me, yellow, wide, thick with three fins at the back. It was fatter, older and more battered than any other board in the place. Covered in dents and patches of fibreglass, where it had been dinged, and fixed.

      I could feel the sting of being ripped off already, but Ned looked at it like it was a work of art, something he really cared about.

      “We used to keep it under the lifeguard hut at Gwynsand. Anyone could use it. It’s good for small, good for big, good for learning, with enough rocker to be forgiving, but flat enough to glide. A nice all-rounder. Don’t go pulling air though.”

      It sounded good, even though I had no idea what they were saying. But the look of the thing told me the truth. I felt heavy inside. They were going to flog me a board they had no hope of selling to anyone else and take me for every note in my pocket.

      All the same, I took it off them, felt the weight of it. It wasn’t light but lighter than I’d expected from its size. I looked it over, and generally tried to look like I had a fucking clue.

      “How much?” I said.

      “Depends. You want a suit too?”

      “Maybe.”

      Rag patted his gut. “Before I graduated to the school of longboard, when I was all slim and lovely, I had this Ripcurl summer suit …” He dug into the mountain again and came out with a greying suit, with loose stitching and a couple of holes in it.

      “Try it on.”

      Now I knew this was a joke, as well as a rip-off. I stripped to my pants and put the suit on. Pulling and panting I squeezed myself into it. It took a while. It fitted, a bit too much, and it stank. If me doing this was anything to do with impressing Jade, I was beginning to feel I might have made a mistake.

      “It’s a bit tight,” I said.

      “Needs to be.” Ned gave me the board to hold, and they stood back to admire their work.

      “He looks ready,” said Rag.

      “He does.”

      Again, I wondered what Jade would say. Maybe nothing, if she couldn’t get the words out for laughing. I put the board down, picked up my trousers and took out the notes. Rag couldn’t see how much was there, but he looked at the green and purple and licked his lips.

      “You won’t tell Jade, will you? She’ll take the piss. I’ll tell her myself like … once I’m all right at it. Anyway, how much?” I said, swallowing. Rag pulled his gaze from the cash and looked at me square, serious.

      “A hundred and fifty. And that includes the suit.”

      “Oh, um, well how much just for the board?”

      “Well…” He stroked his chin, considering the price… then cracked up. “I’m just messing. You think I’d sell you a suit I pissed in a thousand times?”

      Ned put a hand on my shoulder.

      “We’re giving you this stuff for free, but one day we may ask you a favour. Cool?”

      “Cool,” I agreed, straight off, without thinking.

      “I’ll ask you one more time,” said Rag. “You’re going to do this, Sam, for real?”

      “Yes.” And I meant it. A grin spread across their faces. They stood back, looking me up and down, admiring what they’d made.

      “You’re a surfer now, Sam,” said Rag. “One less of them…”

      “…One more of us,” said Ned.

      They did a comedy high-five.

      

      MUM’S FACE WAS a right picture when I turned up with the board and suit.

      There was a row. Course there was. But I was determined.

      “It’s not safe,” she said.

      “I’ll be careful.”

      “Your father drowned at sea.”

      “Mum, we live by the sea. On the edge of the moor. СКАЧАТЬ