They lap against the beach, gently whispering, caressing, at first just the one, a blackbird’s call in the mist a beautiful unexpected chorus from somewhere unseen. It was the first call of the day, a wake up siren, it was also the first call for Polly and Carmen, their shift to save as many as possible, from the unseen fingers that probed at the eyes and clawed the lungs of the vulnerable. The gentle lapping was a warm welcome, a sign that they were noticed, first they saw her standing alone at the edge of the road, hands clapping together, eyes bright, cheek muscles flexed, mouth corners raised. A gentle ripple, that welcomed ushered them onward ever so softly. Then there were another two young boys, one clapping arms wide as the English Channel, face of a cherub. His friend jigging one foot to the other, the invisible ocean waves turning him to a kangaroo. The waves built pushing and pulling at the unkempt coastline, smoothing and soothing its balm caressing the jaggedy pointing fingers of rock that nature forgot to tuck in. Each wave followed by the hushing of parents that ever so calmly call the babe to sleep, the tide shushing as it pulls on shingle, drawing the infant to its bosom. Leaving the two boys they turn a corner, where the full force of the sea hits them, an elephant crashing into the side of the ambulance. “Oh my,” Polly looks at Carmen and then out of the windscreen at row upon row of beaming sunflower faces, each clapping and serenading. Now the waves are crashing, racing up the beach punching their fists into the sand. “Oh my indeed,” Carmen stares Tower Bridge eyebrows, polo mint mouth. They drive past, the beach of their bodies absorbing the exaltation. They are soaked through with salty praise and love, “this is like…this is like…I haven’t felt this since my wedding day,” Polly glances at her friend. There is no response, Carmen is waving out of the window, tears tracing down her cheeks, mingling with the clear and briny rills of applause. Momentarily she is in with them playing in the Ocean, feeling the warmth of each new wave as it breaks around her shoulders, strokes her face, soothes her heart. They turn one last corner riding the surf, the sound of the waves recede, a last hush hush, carrying them on a wave of gratitude to the lights of A&E. And back to the life saving business of bowls, scissors, ventilators.
Nineteen the Covid Diaries – Ripples