of water                                        page 2
	They were standing on a grassy hill looking down onto a little scrap of beach, just a few sand dunes and a lot of water, really, a useless no-man’s-land between the two elements. But no sooner were they all out of the minibus than Johnathan had closed the door, locked it, and was trudging off, down over the sand and the marram grass, a huge black bag with the words ‘SURF TO LIVE/LIVE TO SURF’ on it slung over his shoulder. Martha looked at him again, his curly head bobbing down the dunes. He was about the same age as her, late twenties, early thirties maybe, but he was unlike anyone else she had ever known. He was happier, more content, there was a glow of peace and contentment that just seemed to follow him around, like a halo or an aura or some such thing. Just by looking at him you could tell that this was a person who never woke up in the morning and wondered what the hell the point of getting out of bed was. Martha envied him that happiness. She’d do anything to be that happy, anything. Other people she knew had got married and had babies to make themselves happy, but that would never have worked for our Martha. She wanted something more.   ‘Oh, I’m so proud of you!’ Eileen had cornered Martha as they trailed behind, taking careful sidesteps down the sand. ‘When I accepted Jesus into my heart it was the happiest day of my life! Oh, it’s so good to see a young person like yourself doing something like this.’ Martha smiled.   ‘Of course I didn’t have any of this, I was baptised when I was a baby.’ She paused. ‘Your parents didn’t go to church, did they?’   ‘No,’ said Martha, ‘ they weren’t really religious.’ Eileen tutted, shocked. ‘Ah well,’ she said, ‘better late than never.’ The little party, seven or eight pensioners and Martha, climbed their way slowly, precariously, down the sand dune and towards the sea. The sun was out but it was still a cold day. Martha shivered. She was only wearing a thin swimsuit under an old jumper and a pair of faded jogging trousers. Johnathan had offered her use of a wetsuit, he had ‘connections’ at the surf club, but she had said no. She wanted it to be done properly, and somehow in a wetsuit it wouldn’t feel right. The sea did look cold though, the icy waters of the Pentland Firth not blue, but a blackish colour, dark and heavy and foreboding, as if a sea of doubt, not one of optimism. Martha stared out and not for the first time she wondered what she was doing here. She couldn’t think. By now Johnathan had reached the bottom of the dune, thrown down his bag, and was busy undressing, pulling off his Fair Isle jumper and his Cliff Richard T-shirt to reveal a ferociously hairy chest, like a wig or a small furry mammal. Funny, Martha thought, she’d never imagined him having chest hair like that.   ‘C’mon you lot, hurry up!’ God, now he was taking his jeans off. Martha had absolutely no desire to see Johnathan in his underwear. Instead she turned her head to look out across the Firth. God, it looked cold. Little breakers were crashing onto the shore with gangs of seagulls hovering above them. Even the gulls looked cold. When she looked round again Johnathan was pulling on a sleeveless purple wetsuit with the words ‘SURF MANIAC!!!’ scrawled all over it in green and yellow writing, squirming and turning as he forced himself inside the tight neoprene. He looked like a little boy trying to squeeze into his favourite pair of dungarees, refusing to acknowledge that he’s got three years too big for them.   ‘Hadn’t we better wait for the others?’ Martha was still standing on the dune, midway, neither halfway up nor down. As if she was scared to go all the way onto the sand, scared to take that final step.   ‘There’s no time,’ shouted Johnathan, ‘I’ve got to get the minibus back for six and it’s gone four already. I don’t know if they’re going to turn up in time.’ Martha stole another long glance at the gulls and then grudgingly trudged the last few steps down onto the beach.   ‘Right then, uh, could somebody zip up my back? Why don’t we sing a quick hymn and then I’ll take Martha out into the water? Oh, thanks Jackie, it’s a double zip you see. That’s it now. Thanks. I should have brought my acoustic guitar shouldn’t I? Oh well, we’ll just do it a cappella. How about He Lives? We all know the words don’t we?’ And without waiting for a response Johnathan began belting out - He Lives! He Lives! Christ Jesus lives today! - The others slowly joined in and Martha mimed along, silently mouthing what she thought were the right words - He Lives! He Lives! Christ Jesus Lives today! He walks with me, he talks with me, along life’s motorway! - She felt stupid. Everyone knew the chorus, but some weren’t too sure of the verses and eventually the song petered out, Johnathan stopping mid-verse when he realised no-one else was singing.   ‘Okay then, right, I’ll just say a short prayer for Martha and what she is going to do today…’ And they all closed their eyes and clasped their hands together as, standing there in that ridiculous wetsuit, Jonathan began a prayer. Martha wasn’t really listening, but she knew he was praying for her. Praying to God about her. The thought made her feel strange.   ‘… in Jesus’ name. Amen’   ‘Amen.’ Martha was staring at the sand, embarrassed to be the centre of attention.   ‘Right then, I’ll just take you out into the water then. Have you got your swimsuit on?’ Martha was miles away.   ‘Martha? You ready?’   ‘Oh, um, yeah, I think so.’ She began slipping off her jogging trousers.   ‘I’m so proud of you,’ said Eileen again. Martha smiled. She lifted her jumper over her head.