15. Ryan
CHAPTER 15
Ryan
H eading from the crowded beach around the cove and away from view, I direct the ski towards the boat ramp, desperate to get out of this costume, which is itchy and hot as hell. After all the apprehension, anxiety and dread at playing the part of a man I never really knew growing up, the smiles of the kids made it worth it. The parents and community, the happiness, the anticipation, the eagerness, and the act of giving have all filled my heart with light and gratitude. It’s changed my view on the true meaning of Christmas and the concept of family beyond blood ties. And the possibilities of what letting your walls down and challenging your beliefs can lead to.
I’m so proud of myself, too, for the memories that have plagued me for all these years will no longer have a hold over me. The power my ‘parents’ had has been squashed. But most importantly, I’ve got the girl. One who’s staying in Point Perry. One who wants to spend more Christmases with me. One who’s?—
‘Ryan! Look out!’
Crunch.
Scarlett’s hands loosen from my waist. Where there was heat between our bodies, there’s now coolness.
Weightlessness.
A scream. A splash.
Cold. My eyes sting when I open them under the water. Saltwater fills my mouth.
Silence.
As my lifejacket tugs me upwards, I emerge from the water and am met with panicked screams. But not Scarlett’s.
The Jet Ski floats unmanned nearby. The shore’s about fifty metres away.
With frantic movements, I thrash about, fighting to free myself from the Santa pants and yank the coat off my arms, all the while keeping a sharp lookout for Scarlett.
There’s no sign of her anywhere. Shit. She must be under the water, but she had her life jacket on. I should be able to see her. Where is she?
The rapid thumping of my heart vibrates through my entire body.
‘Scarlett?’ I cough, blinking rapidly into the setting sun.
Next to the ski, a small tinny floats upside down, motor off.
With a massive kick, I surge through the water, ploughing my arms through the surface. Where is she? Where is she?
‘Help!’ Not Scarlett’s voice.
‘Scarlett? Where are you?’ Why can’t I see her? Fuck. Searching, my eyes scan the top of the ocean. Still nothing.
I unclick and remove my life jacket, suck in a deep breath and duck dive towards the ocean floor, opening my eyes, twisting around, searching in every direction. Legs thrash around near the edge of the boat.
As I emerged to the surface, I spot two figures clinging to the edge of the small boat near the stationary motor. They’re just kids, young boys, barely in their early teens.
‘Where are your life jackets? Who else was on the boat with you?’ I pass my life jacket to the younger of the boys, and he hugs it tight. ‘Where’s Scarlett? The lady on the back of my ski? Have you seen her?’
‘Sorry. Just us two. Didn’t mean … the sun. Couldn’t see … you,’ the older boy blubbers as he helps the younger one grip the boat.
Under the boat … She must be … Shit.
I suck in a deep breath and push under. And there she is, on her stomach, head submerged, hair floating out in a fan. My lungs burn as I hold my breath for longer. I manoeuvre around her, grab the shoulders of her life jacket and kick and pull simultaneously. She doesn’t budge. I let go and feel around her body, trying to pull her from whatever she’s stuck on. Her life jacket is caught on something.
There’s a claustrophobic tightening in my lungs. I need air.
I pop up in an air pocket between the seats and heave in a breath, gasp for another one, refill them.
I push back under Scarlett. My fingers fumble with the plastic clips as I desperately try to unclick the secure lifejacket. Eventually, all three come undone. Her arms slip free, and she slowly drifts downwards, causing me to tightly grip her armpits and propel us away from the boat with a single, powerful flutter kick.
Surging upwards, I break the surface and hastily gulp in a lungful of air. ‘Scarlett, can you hear me? C’mon, breathe.’
Gently, I flip her onto her back and press my fingers into her carotid artery. There’s a pulse—a faint one. A gash on the back of her head is spewing blood. Shit. I tread water, manoeuvring around her so I can support her head and neck. There’s no breath, no rising and falling of her chest.
My legs are burning, my lungs are burning, but I keep kicking, churning them to stay afloat.
I pinch her nose, press my lips over hers and breathe into her lungs.
‘C’mon, Scarlett. Breathe. Damn it.’
Nothing.
When I check her eyes, they appear glassy. Her pulse is still thready. The longer she goes without breathing, the worse it will be.
The shore. Get to the shore.
‘Boys, can you swim to the shore? Come with me.’
The older one emerges from the opposite side of the boat, pulling along the younger one, who thankfully still holds onto the jacket.
‘You’ll be right. Stay close to me. It’s not far. You’re doing a great job.’ My legs are on autopilot, kicking furiously as I pull Scarlett to the shore. ‘C’mon, Scarlett. I can’t lose you. I’m sorry I didn’t see them. It’s all my fault.’
I huff another breath into her lungs.
Her lips are blue. I recheck her pulse. Still thready, but there.
‘Stay with me, Scarlett. Not long now.’ Her nonresponse sends my heart and head spiralling. I’ve done this to her. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper into her ear. God, if she doesn’t survive or has brain damage from not enough oxygen … and her Christmas will be ruined; it means so much to her.
I’m a Christmas curse. Always have been, always will be.
Nothing good has ever come from this shitty time, ever. This should be me not breathing. I don’t deserve to be on this earth.
I heave another breath into her lungs.
My body is stiff, cramping, and apart from the pounding in my head and the blood sloshing through my heart, nothing else seems to be working. As I’m hauling Scarlett along beside me, a wave ripple forms and splashes into my mouth.
Yelling. People are yelling from the shore. And splashing. The boys are okay, still near me. I won’t take my eyes from Scarlett to see, though. I hope Deb and Bronte are there with the ambulance.
My feet finally touch sand, and I dig my toes into the ocean floor to gain some traction, and I continue to haul Scarlett to safety.
‘Ryan? You with us, mate?’ someone calls. ‘Here. Grab my arm and let go of Scarlett. Tom and Curly are here and will get her onto the sand.’
‘No. I … need … need breathe for Scarlett. CPR.’
‘It’s okay, mate. Ambos are here.’
I nod, give in, latch onto Fabian. ‘Give her … breath. Please don’t … let her …’
Moments later, Fabian drags me onto the shore, and a commotion ensues in a blur. Jack ploughs into the water and, with Tom’s help, loops his hands under her shoulders and knees, taking her out of the water and onto the sand.
Rae runs to Scarlett’s side and drops to her knees, clutching her daughter’s limp hand.
Deb kneels at Scarlett’s head, placing the bag and mask over her mouth and nose, pushing a breath into her lungs. Bronte’s by her side, starting chest compressions.
Deb is reeling off questions: Who can tell me what happened?How long was she under the boat for? How fast were they travelling? Where’s Ryan?
‘I’m here.’ I hover, feeling useless. Too many people crowd Scarlett. Answer the questions. Someone wraps a towel around my shoulders. It’s happening in slow motion. Wish I could rewind the clock. It’s like I’m floating above, watching, unable to move.
Councillor Giles is clearing the gathering crowd, pushing them back. Sarge has taken the two boys aside, and they’re sitting morosely with their parents next to the police wagon, towels wrapped around their bodies.
It’s not long before they load Scarlett into the ambulance and, with the doors closed, they track across the sand and head to the hospital. I sway slightly and squeeze my eyes shut, unable to look at the retreating vehicle, knowing this whole situation is my doing, my fault.
‘Do you want a lift? You probably need to be checked out too?’ Tom steadies me with a hand on my shoulder and offers me a bottle of cold water, which I eagerly drink.
‘Nah, I’m okay. My wagon is here in the car park. I’ll just catch my breath and then head up to the hospital. Thanks again for your help.’
‘No worries, mate. You did a great thing in saving her.’
More like nearly killing her. That’s not the man I want to be. Not the man Scarlett wants to be with.
All I want to do now is go back into the ocean, sink to the bottom and be carried away by the tide.