Catching Waves

Leaving mirror-signal-manoeuvre spluttering petulantly in the dust thrown up by her wheel spin, Caitlin swung her car sharply into the car park. Reg objected plaintively to the sharp angle, the veer that her battered Figaro relished, but ignoring his wide eyes she kept her foot down until she pulled into the first space she came to.  

Without drama, she reached forward and switched off the engine. Finally, she could stop. She prised the clinging fingers of her left hand one by one from the steering wheel. Cramp stretched languidly through her knuckles, reminding her of the bile-bitter day she'd had.  

She caught her eye in the rear view mirror. Divorced at 29. Well. That had never been the plan. Although she'd wanted it, she really had - had kept her head down and determinedly marched steadfastly through the blizzards of spite and misery and anguish ... still. She scowled at her reflection. Still, she felt like a failure. 'Loser' she mouthed at herself, snarkily, her lip curling.  

A subdued sigh caught her attention - Reg! Poor Reg, bravely bearing the fall-out from a broken home, the hapless victim of a failed relationship ... shaking the small car with some vigorous scratching, he managed to stop Caitlin from completing her triplicate in self-pity. She stretched round to the back seat and gruffly ruffled his ears. She couldn't afford to wallow; she had Reg to look after now - their baby, their pudding, their seven month old Doberman. Stump wagging at her attentions, he began looking from her face to the door, from her face to the door. The subdued sighing cranked up to a more vigorous huff-huff-huff.  

"You're right, Reg. It's time to go and find the others." 

Sliding out of the car with Reg shoving and snuffling his way past, she pulled her jacket close around her. She'd felt ten minutes worth of chic in the ¾ length sleeve jacket and shift dress she'd eased round her curves this morning but the lawyer led wrangles and now the chill evening air left her feeling unprotected and exposed. 

Reg bustled his way busily around the edges of the car park as Caitlin scanned the length of the beach in front of her. Her eyes settled on a small bonfire about a five minute walk away. Calling Reg to follow, she set off, heels clattering purposefully.  

Laughter and the sound of canned beats coming from a cheap stereo twirled around the soft smash of waves. Unsurprisingly, Heidi was stridently organising the others; "Jamie, don't play by the fire! Who's got the tin opener? Did anyone think to remember NAPKINS this time?" 

Reg gave Caitlin's arrival away, bounding up and diving into the pile of belongings to the left of the campfire, triumphantly emerging with a sassy travel pillow that soon became a valiant sparring partner.  

Within seconds Caitlin was surrounded by back rubs, shoulder squeezes, bright tight little smiles. And before long the kids had noticed her arrival too. 

"Alright Miss?" 

"Where you been, Miss?" 

"Adam belted Ross before Miss, y'should've seen it!"  

The drama of the divorce had woken Caitlin up to the fact that she had some good people in her life, not least her colleagues at the Pupil Referral Unit on Briny Drive. A secondary school English teacher for six years, she'd recently stepped sideways (backwards, her ex had felt) into a position at the local Unit, a last chance saloon for teenagers who struggled with the pressures of main stream education. She'd welcomed the change, grabbing her chance to teach rather than just contribute to someone else's thresholds and league tables. The job was rewarding and heart breaking in equal measures, the early days had left her feeling as though she'd been pulped by the seven teenage mangles that fell under her remit. However, she'd come to realise that she could do this job - better, that she was bloody good at this job. She was part of a close knit team upon whom she could rely, a team who had rapidly learnt that they could rely on her. And it was a handful from this team she'd chosen to meet tonight, eschewing the pleas from family and old friends, to come down here - to the seafront, the bonfire, the touch rugby, the hotdogs and eventually the sleeping bags.