Lifespan

“Seals don’t live that long, man”

“They can. I looked it up.”

“Are you sure you remembered the right figure? Is that in the wild, or in captivity?”

Ray tilted his head derisively, as if talking to a child. “Yes, dipshit, in the wild. I know how to read.” He took another long drag on the joint and passed it back to Ali, the embers at the tip the only light against the black blanket of waves behind the deck. “It’s been 12 years. If he was young when I saw him the first time, it’s pretty likely he’s still alive. Plus, I read that they come back to the same places over and over.”

Ali paused for a second, then asked “what for?”

“Seal business. Mysterious seal business. I don’t know, evolution? It doesn’t matter, the point is I think I can meet the same guy.”

Another pause. ‘How do you know it’s a guy?”

“I don’t know, he just felt like a guy. Guy vibes. You’re not focussing on the important part!” Ray inhaled again, deep, and waited for the spots at the edge of his vision to clear. Neither of them said anything. The rhythmic crashing of the sea felt very far away, quieter than the muffled laughter and music coming from indoors. Ray opened his mouth to elaborate, thought better of it, and looked at his friend. Ali was looking out to sea, absent-mindedly fiddling with his wedding ring and sweating slightly.

‘I haven’t been high in ages, man. I think I’m melting into the chair.”

Ray started to laugh, a surprised snort that left containment and bubbled over into consistent giggles. “Ali, man, forget I said anything. It’s nothing. Thank you so much for organising this, it’s so good to be with you and Jenny and the others again and I just…yeah. Let’s get you up and back inside. Can you move?”

Ali was laughing now too. It took him falling out of the chair for the revellers inside to come out and check on them both.

The summer between the first and second year of university had culminated in a sweaty, nervy week-long holiday on the north coast of Devon, where Ali’s family had a cottage. Seven excited 19-year-olds had been thrown into a hormonal cauldron of small-town freedom and minimal supervision for an entire fortnight, and had made the most of it with blurred evenings of drinking, clandestine hookups and public explosions, culminating in the most uncomfortable evening of board games that any of them had ever played. Jess and Femi had disappeared upstairs after she’d failed to guess an entire minute’s worth of clues for Saving Private Ryan during Charades, and Jenny and Ali were doing their best to mitigate a stewing confrontation between Izzy and Millie following unresolved vodka debt and a betrayal by hot tub handjob.

Even in late August, the wind forcing its way west along the beach was starting to bite. Ray was feeling it as he splayed out on one of the deck chairs round the back of the kitchen and goosebumps were forming on his bare legs, creating small ridges snaking up to his thin cotton shorts. He would ideally have gone to fetch a jumper to go over his rugby shirt, but that would involve going inside. It was better out here. Far less dramatic. Ray loved his friends and would come to frequently look back on this holiday as potentially the best he’d ever had, but he was still adjusting to the notion that actions had consequences and whenever their fun threatened to curdle into something more serious he simply removed himself from the equation. There was no guilt involved in this decision: Ray knew he was being self-centred, but rationalised that as pragmatic as opposed to selfish. After all, the goal of this trip was to have a good time, and he had to do what was necessary to facilitate that.

The cottage was nestled in a cove, the back door opening out directly onto a small pebble beach flanked by two rock formations that jutted out into the calm water and created a funnel into the wider ocean. The cliffs were low enough that during most of the day they had almost no effect on the cove’s light or weather, but as the sun dropped lower and lower in the evening the natural framing seemed to make the ruddy oranges and burnt golds even brighter as they illuminated the rock and spilled all over the water’s surface. It was that time now: still bright and warm, but the shadows crawling out from under rocks and empty beer bottles were growing longer and more confident. Ray listened to the waves and finished his second deck beer, mulling over a third. It sounded like someone inside was crying, so that third would have to wait. He squinted out over the pebbles to the water, watching the gentle breakers. It was so calm. He wasn’t especially confident in open water, and preferred to swim with company to assuage any nerves, but it did look inviting. His trunks were inside, but that presented a new opportunity to try skinny dipping for the first time. It was important to find upsides.

He made his way down gingerly, scrunching his feet up in a stiff Frankenstein-walk over the pebbles, wincing occasionally at the stabs in his soles. At a safe enough distance away from the tide he shed his clothes and stacked them in a neat pile, glancing back at the cabin first to check for company. It was a freeing experience to be stood completely naked out in the world: stripped down and at one with nature, reaching a hand out to his ancestors and embracing something dormant and primal. It also made him a little self-conscious, so he covered himself with the other hand at the front.

He waded in up to his waist as fast as possible, gasping at the temperature and shooting out a series of ragged, huffing breaths before he was able to calm himself down. The needle-prick cold dulled as he got further in, sinking up to his shoulders in water that shone like a moving, breathing mirror, and he felt confident enough to start swimming. The beers were helping to ward off the occasional flashes of catastrophe his brain insisted on conjuring; rip currents, hypothermia, a heretofore undiscovered species of Devonian fish that exclusively ate penises. He swam out further.

Even 15 metres out it was so gentle that the sound of the waves had disappeared entirely. He swam further. A small group of seagulls circled above the right-hand cliff face and their cries bounced off the walls pleasantly. He swam further. The chill was pleasant now and he could it feel it in the muscles of his arms and legs with each slow stroke. What was it called when there were only a few seagulls? There weren’t enough up there for a flock, he was pretty sure of that. A group? Too boring. A company? Weirdly military. A shape?

A shape.

Directly ahead of him. Barely breaking the surface. Grey. Large. Sensation came rushing back instantaneously following the enormous spike of fear that rocketed up his spine, shooting straight past his rapidly plummeting stomach and close-to-emptying bowels, but he didn’t move. It went as quickly and smoothly as it had appeared. Every part of his body was screaming at him to flail back to shore, and still he didn’t move.

Ahead of him but further away and off to the left now: again. A slick, rubbery flipper, lifted almost in greeting. Fear gave way to confusion and a very intense urge to wave back. The curve of a fat, slick body followed and disappeared under the surface again, causing barely even a ripple. Ray laughed involuntarily and almost made himself jump at the sound, a high-pitched giggle with light mania scratching at the edges. The shape made its third appearance, mere feet away, and popped up head first this time to helpfully assuage any lingering doubts. Its long whiskers were lined with tiny droplets of sea water and its nostrils were opening and closing in a slow, beatific rhythm. There was a white spot on the top of its head, a flattened oval perched above a pair of enormous, dewy, deep black eyes. It yawned, squeaked out a snort, and disappeared again.

“Seal.” He mumbled it flatly, as if reminding himself to make a note of it later. “Seal. Seal. Seal! Seal!” Louder and more intense until he was screaming, drawing the name out into more than on syllable. If his friends had been there on the beach to hear, it would’ve sounded like he was introducing a live performance of Kiss from a Rose. Ray waved wildly back towards the house, treading water so inefficiently that he inhaled a wave’s worth of sea up his nostrils and turned his ecstatic yelling into spluttering, incoherent coughs. The seal resurfaced again, intrigued. Even through the choking the urge to reach out and touch it was overwhelming. No, not an it. A him, Ray decided. There was no need for visual evidence: he could tell his new marine mate was one of the boys. The kind of seal you could grab a casual beer with. It was time to extend an olive branch.

“Hey mate. Umm. You scared the shit out of me.”

Those huge black eyes blinked again. ‘Sorry about that,’ they seemed to say. They were getting somewhere.

“I’m Ray. That’s a person name. But it’s also a fish, I think? I don’t know what rays are classed as. We need to think of a name for you.”

That slick head and white spot slipped under the surface once more but Ray saw the shape of the animal under the water, beginning to circle his pale legs inquisitively before he could worry too much that he had caused some offense. Watching the seal glide around him as he kept himself afloat with the steady rhythmic kicks he’d been taught as a child, Ray was struck by a thought that seemed initially insane and then potentially profound: had he summoned his new friend here somehow? Had stripping off and returning to the sea activated some primal bond between man and beast, a reaching out across the expanse of time from hand to flipper to pull at the ends of evolution and unravel it, meeting again in the waters of life and saying “I remember you”? Or was he just buzzed, a little stoned, and slightly hysterical?

A little of column A, a little of column B.

“Where do the smaller plates go?”

“Where they’ve always gone.”

“Sorry, I forgot to pack my map of your holiday-home kitchen. Could you remind me?”

Jenny put her hands on her hips in a show of mock disapproval. “Turn it sideways and it might fit up your arse?”

Ray, stony-faced, called her bluff and started to drop his shorts, to loud protests from the rest of the room. She covered her eyes and gestured wildly to her left. “Sink cupboard! Cupboard above the sink!” Ray pulled his shorts up and bowed slightly.

“Thank you. Easy.”

“Ali was saying you’re planning a swim?”

Ray turned to the long, low table where the others were sitting. Millie was looking at him over the rim of a particularly large gin and tonic, one eyebrow raised in slight cheeky provocation. Ali shrugged and fiddled with a board game piece. It was oddly quiet.

“Yeah… I was going to. Maybe tonight. Maybe in the morning… Why?”

A nervous cough.

“Why are you all being weird?”

Millie put the glass down, her face now softened with care. “We’re not. Nobody is. I don’t want to speak for everyone, it’s just… you don’t have to do things by yourself. We’re all here with you, for you. And I know you don’t want anyone causing a fuss, that’s not it either. I…” She laughed, exasperated at herself. “I’m not getting it right! We can help you look?”

Ray shifted. “Oh. Um. It kinda just has to be by myself. It’s not that I don’t want you all there, it just… I have to be alone. Because that’s how it was the first time. That sounds silly, but…”

They let him trail off into silence.

“I’m not delusional. It’s a bit of a joke, I get it, but it’s more than that too. The first time I saw that seal, whether you believe me or not, things were great. We were all together, most of us anyway, and we were young and fucking about and just free, right? That entire week I was just living moment to moment. Just in it, in everything, not a single conscious thought beyond…whatever the fuck, I don’t know.”

“Yeah, because we barely HAD thoughts,” Jenny cut in. “Just, like, caveman thoughts.”

Ali stumbled over his own chuckling to get his joke in. “Yeah, yeah, like ‘Food. Sex. Cocktails.’ That’s all!”

“Cavemen couldn’t conceptualise cocktails, what’re you talking about.”

“We don’t know that for sure! Cocktails wouldn’t leave archaeological evidence!”

“Guys!” Millie raised her voice just enough, teacher-style, to get them back on track. “Ray, do what you have to do. Things were simpler then, things are shit for you now. Or more complex, anyway. I know a wild seal isn’t gonna change that, you know that, we all know that, but trust me, we’re not making fun. I understand. Just be careful. Don’t swim too far out and don’t get too fucked up before you go in.”

“And don’t try to pet him,” Jenny added. “You need all your fingers.”

“Could be a great conversation starter for dating again, though.”

“We do love a scar. Animal attack is a good one, too. Dangerous but in, like, a noble way.”

“Only if you’re saving someone!”

“But Ray is saving someone. He’s saving…himself.”

Ray smiled and looked up at the ceiling, clasping his hands in mock prayer. “That’s the wettest thing I’ve ever heard.”

At 7:30 the following morning, he was attempting to shake off a hangover with those familiar pebbles jabbing into the underside of his feet once more. The sun had been up for a while already: he just hoped his friends hadn’t too. Something still didn’t feel right. The exact circumstances were different to that day 12 years prior, of course: tide patterns, weather conditions, a more noticeable gut. What he hadn’t counted on was his brain. He’d hoped to enter the waves again with a kind of empty clarity and was instead beset on all sides by the jittery, incessant occupations of adulthood. The flat viewings he had to see through. Meeting with the lawyers. His son. How his son was feeling, whether his son would understand, how angry or hurt he was. Maybe this was stupid. His life was more full now, and maybe it was worse for it.

Deep breath.

He plunged his whole body below at once and forced himself to stay there until the hundreds of needles pricking his skin simultaneously abated, pushing tiny air bubbles out with every restrained gasp. There was quiet, now: the pumping of his own blood against the muffled underwater drone. He kept his eyes shut, forming a natural sensory deprivation tank until he couldn’t take it anymore and burst up to the surface to take a long, shuddering gasp. The sun was behind him this time and he could feel the tentative morning rays on his shoulders, lightly burned from the day before. The tingling in his limbs felt more pleasant with each stroke further out to sea. Ray looked back to the shore, and no one was watching.

The surface was sparkling so much in the light that it almost hurt to look at. Ray squinted through the glare, trying to recall the exact patch of blue that he met the seal in last time. Would it recognise him? He was picturing a perfect reunion video, all crackling VHS quality picture and saccharine strings swelling as they raced towards each other and embraced, never doubting they would find one another again. Would he recognise it? It had never crossed his mind that he might not. Was the current stronger today than before? Or was he just in worse shape? Ray was shocked by the harshness of his own breathing and stopped swimming to tread water. He could just turn back. He’d tell the others he’d given it a go. It would be easy to give up. He’d got a lot more experienced over the years.

“No.” He said it to himself quietly, spitting out saltwater with it. “He’s coming. I know it. I know he’s coming.”

His head was throbbing and he said a sudden overwhelming urge to cry, which he swallowed as best he could. He wanted so badly to feel that primal connection again but he felt outside of his body rather than at one with it, naked and exposed and desperately, embarrassingly grasping at something that felt very far away. In the scheme of things, what was a little extra embarrassment at this point?

“HEEYYYY!”

The yell bounced off the cliff walls and span around the cove. Ray could hear the slight crack in his voice, over and over. A seagull squawked back.

“I’M BACK! I CAME FOR YOU!”

He waited until the echo stopped. Silence.

Waves.

And maybe.

A shape?

Ray kept as still as possible, and waited.