Free Out of Towners by Dan Tunstall

all.
    It’s getting on for half past three. The vodka has gone. I’ve had a lot to drink. More than I’ve ever had before. But it’s been over a long period. I’m a bit spaced out, but all in all, I don’t feel too bad.
    The sky is beginning to lighten. It’s a charcoal grey colour, with a slight amber glow on the horizon. Dawn isn’t far off. It’s too early for seagulls to be flying, but there’s one or two tatty specimens strutting about. The tide peaked a couple of hours ago and the sea’s going back out again. Pebbles are rumbling backwards and forwards as the waves lap at the shore. I give the fire a poke and chuck on another piece of wood.
    Everyone’s quiet now. Tired and pissed. George hasn’t come out with his everyone likes a drink line for ages. We need something to get us going. I’ve had another brainwave. I’m full of them tonight. I stand up and stretch.
    â€œCome on,” I say. “Let’s go and paddle.”
    Robbie furrows his brow.
    â€œYou’re kidding.”
    â€œNo mate. I’m serious.”
    All eyes are on me now.
    â€œCome on,” I say again. “How many chances do you get to paddle in the sea at this time in the morning?”
    Steph’s the first one on her feet.
    â€œI’m in.”
    Nikita gets up next.
    â€œI’m with you,” she says.
    I’m impressed with Nikita. She’s a tiny girl, not much more than five foot tall. She must only weigh eight stone. But she was knocking the alcohol back like a professional, and she’s raring to go even at this hour of the morning.
    Slowly but surely everyone else, even Robbie, starts peeling themselves up from the stones. As we crunch down the slope, the first sliver of the sun is appearing over to the left beyond the pier. About ten foot from the highest point the waves are reaching, we all sit down and start taking off our shoes and socks. Steph’s toenails are painted black like her fingernails.
    I roll up my trouser legs. This was my idea, so I’ve got to be brave. I’ve got to get on with it. I grab Steph’s hand and we take the last few steps, pebbles digging into the soles of our bare feet. Holding onto each other, we splash into the freezing sea, screaming at the shock, wading out for a while then turning to look towards the beach.
    The rest are holding back.
    â€œIn you come,” I say, grinning. “The water’s lovely.”
    George and Gemma are the first to follow, then Nikita, with Dylan and Robbie last to make a move. Finally all seven of us are up to our ankles. I try to take in all the details. The tiny lights along the pier. The sunrise. The stars. The beach. The stones rolling over my toes. It’s another one of those moments in time. The ones you’ll remember forever.
    Thirty seconds of standing in the Channel at this time in the morning is more than long enough. My teeth are chattering and my feet are going numb. I lead the way back to the shore and drop down, drying my feet with one of my socks. I toss the other one across for Steph to use.
    She smiles.
    â€œChris. What a gentleman you are. Who needs someone to lay a jacket over a puddle when you’ve got a pair of old socks?”
    We both laugh.
    When we’ve got ourselves sorted, we head for the fire. All the wood is gone now, and the flames have almost burnt themselves out. We sit and watch the embers dying down. It’s getting lighter and lighter as the sun drags itself into the sky, a huge orange semicircle reflecting in the dark water. I can still see one or two stars, the moon is sinking down towards the sea, and there’s a kind of mist rising up. It’s a weird time. The night is fading, but it’s not daytime yet.
    I look at my watch. Nearly four o’clock. We’ve all gone quiet again. The truth is, it’s time to go back to Wonderland. Everyone knows it. But nobody wants to be the one that says it.