Alex on the Edge

By Kate le Roux

17-year-old Alex is not impressed. He never has trouble getting girls to go out with him but this one is serious about the stupid friend zone thing, and it's not looking as if he is going to get her to change her mind. And if he wants to get to know Jill, he is going to have to hang out in her world, one he is pretty sure he doesn't ever want to be a part of. But when his own world comes crashing down around him in a way he could never have dreamed, Jill is there for him in a way no one else can be.

"Alex on the Edge" is a contemporary coming-of-age story set in South Africa. It contains no strong language, violence or sexual content, is faith-based, and is suitable for readers from thirteen up.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kate le Roux
• Release date: Apr 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781540134967

Kate le Roux

Kate le Roux lives in Cape Town, South Africa, where if she stands on tiptoes she can just about see Table Mountain from her kitchen window. She grew up on a diet of CS Lewis, LM Montgomery and Louisa May Alcott, and since being allowed into the Young Adult section at the local library at the age of thirteen she still hasn't really left. She spent a good number of years marking mostly horrible English essays and getting high school kids to act out bits of Shakespeare which she loved, leaving only to focus on being a mom to four crazy kids.

Book preview

PART I

1

Alex leant his head against the back seat of the car and closed his eyes. Man, he was tired of being cramped up in the car with his sister and her bad mood. He was seriously tempted to snap at her to stop moaning already, but his mother looked so tense that he sucked it up and kept quiet. The family had spent most of the day in the car driving to Marshall Bay from Cape Town, and although they had found the very smart house they were renting for the summer holidays and unpacked their things, now they were cruising slowly down the unfamiliar small town’s main road, looking for a restaurant that was open. He supposed that if Anna was as hungry as he was he could excuse some of her crabbiness.

"I don’t know why you had to choose such a backwater dump, she said from the seat next to Alex. If this place was any quieter it would be asleep. Like, in a coma."

Things get quiet on Sundays in small towns, said Pam Palmer, and Alex knew that his mother was holding back her frustration in the interests of the general peace, just as he was. It was never worth it to confront Anna when she was in a mood like this. Alex liked the look of the town; it was different, kind of quaint and shabbier than the popular seaside towns they had been to in the past. But Anna did not agree. She had not wanted to come here at all and she wasn’t going to keep quiet about it.

That’s just stupid. Anna leant back against the leather seat, her arms folded, her brow creased with irritation and self-pity.

Come on, Anna, said Alex, as they drove past a group of teenagers hanging out on the low wall of a parking lot, eating ice creams. It doesn’t look that bad.

"Well, no, there is a golf course, said Anna, sarcastically. Dad would never have wanted to come here if there wasn’t. And it’s all right for you, she said, turning to Alex, as her father slowed down in front of a place that looked interesting, only to find it was closed. You’ll just spend hours surfing and find some girl to go gaga for you like you always do. I’m going to be stuck at the house reading magazines with Mom. There isn’t even a mall."

Anna, said Mom, sounding tired and tense. Try to be positive, please. We’re on holiday. In the morning we’ll drive around and find some interesting shops. There must be something more than ... Ackermans. Alex thought he saw her shudder as they drove past a branch of the budget clothing shop, complete with a lit-up plastic Christmas tree in the window.

You can go to the beach, said Alex, trying again to lift the mood. And you won’t get bored in that house we’re staying in. There’s a gym, the pool, satellite TV ...

Anna snorted. "And not one of my friends, she said. I should never have come with you; I should have gone to Plett anyway. If we were in Plett I would be at a party right now. Not about to eat who knows what at Mike’s Chip Shack."

Ed Palmer had parked the car and it did seem as if dinner tonight was going to be at a chip shack, whatever that was. Anna slammed the door as she got out. Alex thought she was acting as if she was nine instead of nineteen. He looked around at the street and breathed in the smell of the sea in the air, and out of habit, ran his hand through his dark hair. A pretty little waitress, her hair bleached blonde and her bottom lip pierced, came up to them and offered them a table. As they sat down in front of dog-eared cardboard placemats that doubled as menus, Mom dusting off the bench before she sat down, the waitress looked sideways at Alex and winked at him. He gave her a half-smile, not wanting to be too encouraging. She looked a bit old for him, and a little too edgy in her short skirt and heavy black boots. But it was a good sign. He didn’t think it was going to be a problem to find a girl to hang out with. Maybe more than one. He had promised to play golf with Dad the next day, but he wanted to go for a surf first, and hopefully afterwards as well. There might even be some hot lifeguards at the beach. He had hooked up with a lifeguard the summer before, in Plett. Almost two years older than him, and gorgeous. She had said she didn’t usually like younger guys but that he was pretty enough that she would make an exception. He hadn’t told the guys at school that, although he had shown them photos. They were seriously impressed; they said she looked like Selena Gomez.

They ate fish and chips served on mismatched plates, with limp lettuce and pink mayonnaise on the side. Anna asked how many times they reused the frying oil before they threw it out, but the waitress just raised an eyebrow and ignored her. Mom asked for a wine list; the waitress laughed and told her they had two kinds of wine – white and red. Dad ordered a beer, a Castle Lager, and Mom looked at him as if he had lost his mind. He shrugged, and said the place reminded him of his student days. There was a harassed-looking couple at the table next to them with a toddler who was crying loudly; Mom rubbed her temples and muttered something about small children in restaurants. Alex made a funny face at the kid, and she hid her face in her dad’s shoulder and peeped out again shyly. He made the face again and she smiled. He liked little kids; he hadn’t minded the crying.

Anna ate her food, drank a glass of wine and stopped complaining, at least out loud. She was still sulking when they got back to the house, burying herself in a pile of cushions on the couch with her phone. He didn’t get why she was being so negative. This place might be quiet, but he planned to be open to what it had to offer. He had no intention of wasting five weeks of summer holiday being bored.

He went to his bedroom and unpacked his bag, then picked up the remote from the table beside the huge bed and pressed a button. The curtains, which spanned an entire wall, opened to reveal an unbroken view of the beach and the sea, now eerily grey in the darkness. Not bad, he thought. And he had his own bathroom, all stainless steel and black tiles. He wandered downstairs to the huge living area, where Dad was already in front of the TV watching rugby highlights, and further down to where the lower level opened onto a garden, separated from the beach by a low fence. His new board was propped against the wall just inside the huge glass doors, ready for tomorrow. He knelt down and opened the zip of the cover, running his hand over the smooth fiberglass. He had wanted this board. All the crazy hard work last term had been worth it for this reward. Straight A’s for this beauty. For Alex, it was a fair exchange.

He walked down the garden and out of the little gate onto the beach. It was dark, but the moon and stars were out and there was some light coming from the houses. He sat on the sand for a while, watching the sea and listening to the waves roar, and thought that to be sitting on the beach by himself, at night, was quite a grown-up, poetical kind of thing to do. Unlike his sister he didn’t miss his friends. He had friends, lots of them, but he didn’t feel as if life was a waste of time without them. He could make some new ones. And find a girl. Maybe small-town girls were different to the girls he knew at home in Cape Town. Maybe he could meet someone he could really talk to, someone interested in more than fashion and celebrities. He was seventeen, not a kid anymore, and unlike a lot of his friends he thought about the future, about how he wanted it to be. He thought about it a lot. He had begun to look differently at the girls he knew, trying to picture what it would feel like to really connect with someone, to meet someone who could somehow see past the superficial and really want to know him. He lay back on the sand and looked at the stars, thinking that he might be getting a bit too poetical now. It was unlikely that he was going to find a soul mate in this little place. This backwater dump, Anna had called it. He would settle for less for now, for someone he could take behind the dunes and kiss, someone to take home to that pool and huge TV for a private party. Yeah – just that would be enough. For now, at least.

2

The early morning air was cool on Jill’s bare arms and legs, and the gentle salty breeze lifted the wisps of red-blonde hair that had escaped her ponytail. Simon had slipped his small hand into hers as they walked along the familiar narrow path through the bush towards the beach. At nine he was probably a little old for such shows of affection, but she had been gone at school for eleven long weeks and they had missed each other. The gentle pressure of his fingers felt as much like home as the sand that kicked up between her feet and her beach slops.

He walked in front, leading her as they neared the beach. As they emerged from the path onto the tarred parking lot, he whooped and broke into a run, past the dingy toilet block and the smart new coffee and ice cream van, the old towel around his neck almost flying off, the green and yellow garden spade he carried clutched to his side. Jill laughed and held on to her bag as he pulled her onto the rocks at the edge of the tar, the rocks that looked down over the sand and the sea. They stood there together for a moment, and she drank in the familiar vista – the grassy patch and the lifesaving clubhouse to her right, the endless expanse of the water, the large boulders scattered over the sand, the piles of brown kelp. She took a deep, satisfied breath. For now, for five weeks at least, she was home.

I thought this term would never end, Jill, said Simon, as they made their way down the steps, and found their spot close by, against a cluster of smooth rocks.  I was getting so bored. I wish Aunt Bert would let me come to the beach on my own.

Jill spread her towel and sat down, digging in her bag for the sunblock and Simon’s hat. You know she can’t do that, Squirt, she said, squeezing out a blob onto his hands. He rubbed his hands together and then over his pale, freckled face. You’re not old enough yet. Didn’t you get to the beach at all while I was at school?

A few times, he said, as he pulled on his hat and turned for Jill to put more sunblock on his back and shoulders. James brought me twice. No – three times, I think. He let me use his bodyboard. It was so much fun.

I’m glad, said Jill, pulling her peak cap out of her bag and putting it on, and rubbing sunblock onto her own arms and face. Even though it was early, she and Simon with their red hair and pale complexions had to be careful all the time or they would burn quickly in the harsh sun. Well, now I’m home so I can take you more often. What are you going to do with the spade? Dig a hole or make a castle?

I’m going to make a dam, said Simon, picking up the spade and going over to the trickle of water that ran down the sand towards the sea. And then I think I’ll try to catch some waves. He looked over at the gentle breakers.

I’ll help you for a while, said Jill. How about over there?

Simon dug and Jill knelt down, hauling sand with both hands and piling it where Simon wanted it. He was so happy and excited to have her home and to be on the beach, and it felt so good to be doing something that made him happy. If only Mum were here, she thought, the familiar pang of grief surfacing as it often did alongside her contentment. And if Mum were here, Dad would be too. But they weren’t. It was just her and Simon left now. It sucked that it had to be that way, but there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing except remember that you could miss your mother like crazy every day for the rest of your life, and you could be mad and hurt all the time that your dad had left you, and still be happy to be on the beach on a beautiful morning at the start of the summer holidays.

It's looking good, Squirt, she said, sitting back to admire what they had done. You’ll be able to have a swim in here soon.

Simon grinned and carried on digging. You can go and read your book if you want, he said. I can do the rest.

Jill got up and dusted the sand off her hands. I think I will, she said. She returned to her towel, stretching out her long legs in front of her and leaning back on the rock. The beach was still pretty empty except for a few retired people coming for their morning swim, and a few little kids running around with plastic buckets and spades. She took out her book and started to read, looking up every now and then to check on Simon. Once when she looked up she saw a boy from the church youth group in the distance. She recognised him at once even though he was far away. She put up her knees and tried to hide behind her book and her hat. She didn’t want him to see her. She had known him almost her whole life, and he had been a friend, she had thought, but the last time she had been home he had asked her out. When she had politely refused and explained that she was not interested in dating anyone at this point in her life, not even a guy as nice as he was, he had been hurt and upset. She had spent the rest of her time at home avoiding him, which had been difficult. Thankfully, he didn’t come close enough to recognise her, and she was relieved to see him walking away towards the next beach.

Jill felt tired of reading after a while and put her book down. Simon was still busy on his dam, and a few other curious kids had come to watch and help him dig.  She leant back on her rock and looked out at the beach again, which was filling up now as the sun climbed higher. People trooped down the steps with their towels and bags, their cooler boxes and beach balls and gazebos. A family claimed a spot right next to her, and began setting up a beach tent, arguing good-naturedly as they put the poles together. A retired couple she recognised emerged from the sea, towelled themselves off and headed up the steps to go home. A small boy, a heavy nappy jiggling between his legs, ran in front of her, squealing with mirth as his father chased him. Two girls in bikinis, perhaps a little older than her, spread out towels a little way away. One of them sat cross-legged, took a big clip out of her beach bag and began coiling up her thick blonde hair on top of her head. She took out her phone, shielding the screen from the sunlight as she scrolled, then turned onto her stomach to read a magazine. The other girl, her coffee-coloured skin flawless and her long dark hair smooth and shiny, rested her head on her bag, a magazine against her bent thigh.

Jill was used to seeing girls like this at the beach during the holidays. And although she was a practical, humble girl and her own contentment and gratitude ran deep, she couldn’t help but compare herself to them. These girls weren’t sitting on old towels that their great aunts didn't want in the bathroom any more. They weren't wearing their black school swimming costumes and hand-me-down shorts. They didn't have reddish hair in a messy ponytail stuck through a cap, and weren’t taking care of a little brother who was digging up the beach with a garden spade. They were beautiful, independent and confident – or at least it seemed that way to her. The feeling was not envy. Even at seventeen, she was mature enough to know that her happiness, and the peace and faith she had, were immensely valuable, and didn’t depend on what she looked like. She was, unusually for someone her age, happy to be herself. Yet she was still aware of an imbalance, a feeling that these girls were on a different plane of beautiful people somewhere above her. Somewhere that she didn’t belong.

Jill picked up her book again, wondering to herself again why she was reading it. It was one of a fun series she had been reading through for some light entertainment during exams, about a boy called Percy Jackson, and was full of monster fights and corny jokes. But it made her laugh, and besides, she thought, glancing over at the magazines the beautiful bikini girls were reading, she didn’t think she would care much about the fashion tips and boy-catching advice in Glamour and Marie Claire.

Later, she was helping Simon towel off the worst of the sand caked on his legs when she happened to look past his shoulder at the sea and noticed someone walking out of the water, carrying a surfboard. He wasn’t wearing a wetsuit, just green shorts and rashguard, and he looked about her age. She did a bit of a double take and then laughed silently to herself. In her book, Percy had just popped out of the ocean after saving the world from a horde of evil sea monsters, and what she saw in front of her almost exactly matched the image in her imagination. She thought to herself that it would be really funny if, like Percy, he also had green eyes. As he walked up the sand he shook the water from his very dark hair and drew his fingers through it in a deft, practiced motion. Jill had spent a lot of her childhood on the beach, and she knew that most people were a little uncomfortable when they came out of the water. They were often self-conscious, eager to get to their towels to cover up or dry off. But this boy emerged from the sea as if he were calmly walking down a street. He looked like a rock star, never mind Percy Jackson. He was tanned and lean, and his hair fell forward in a perfect flick just like the guy in that boy band whose name she couldn’t quite remember, and instinctively she knew something: this boy belonged on that same, higher plane as the beautiful girls she had noticed earlier. The girls were still in the same spot, and she watched as he walked past them, acknowledging them with a subtle nod, a smile, a lifting of his eyebrows. He didn’t notice Jill at all, but then she didn’t expect him to. It’s a pity I can’t see his eyes, she thought, then picked up her bag and towel, reminded Simon to bring the spade and his slip slops, and started for the steps.

3

Alex watched his father drive off the tee. Ed Palmer focussed on the ball and adjusted his grip, his brow creased in concentration. Alex watched the motion carefully, noting how he locked his elbow, moved his knees and followed through. He hadn’t played much golf before. It was time consuming, time he didn’t usually have, and although he enjoyed the challenge of mastering a new skill he was only really doing this because Dad wanted him to. So far, his first day in Marshall Bay had not been disappointing. The surf this morning had been a good one; it wasn’t quite Misty Cliffs or J-Bay but it was all right, and he had seen a few nice-looking girls on the beach. Mom had, to her relief, found a Woolies Foodstore and had laid on a good breakfast before he had left for the golf club with Dad. Anna was still sulking. Now he was on the course with Dad and his friend Charles, who was grey and slightly overweight but a better golfer than Dad. There was the prospect of lunch at the club later, and another surf this evening. As Charles stepped up to the tee, Dad came over to the golf bag and replaced his club.

Did I mention to you that Charles is a doctor, Alex? A cardiologist, too. Dad pulled out a club and handed it to him. Try the two iron. I think that’s your best bet.

Alex took the club, looking at Charles with new respect. What Alex wanted most in the world was to be a doctor, a heart surgeon, to be that person standing on the brink of death, literally holding life in his hands. There had never been any fireman or astronaut dreams for him – just that one clear ambition. He had written ‘MEDICINE OR BUST!’ on the inside of his schoolbag, knowing that it was a goal he needed to keep firmly in mind if he wanted to get there.

I hear you’re planning to study medicine, young man, said Charles, peering down the fairway at his ball soaring towards the green.

I am. Great shot, Sir, said Alex.

It’s not a career for the faint-hearted, said Charles. He looked expectantly at Alex and Ed, who both half-laughed at his joke.

Funny, Charles, said Ed. How often do you drop that one?

Charles shrugged. No need for the ‘Sir’, Alex. You’re not at school right now. It’s good to know there are young people who still have ambition. From what your father tells me, you shouldn’t have a problem getting into UCT.

I hope not, said Alex. He stepped up to the tee and placed his ball. He stood still, holding the club for a few seconds, recalling the motion he had practiced, remembering his dad’s smooth swing. He swung, and the ball sailed out, the tee standing empty in the grass.

Not bad, said Charles. You have a natural swing. If medicine doesn’t work out you could always take up golf.

Alex smiled politely and slid the club into the bag. These old guys with their old jokes – did they know how dumb they sounded? This was one sport, though, where age and experience had an advantage over youth and talent. He shouldered the golf bag and followed the two grey-haired men across the grass, looking forward to lunch at the club. There were only three months until he turned eighteen. Maybe today he could even convince Dad to let him order a beer.

Later that afternoon, when the sun had dipped in the sky and the heat of the day had subsided, Jill and Simon took another stroll to the beach. They had spent the day making pancakes and Simon’s favourites, sugar cookies with jelly tots in them, and Simon had showed Jill his school report and his schoolbooks.

Miss Strydom likes me, said Simon, as they strolled down the path. She always lets me hand things out and gives me gold stars. I think she feels sorry for me because I don’t have a mom.

Well, you have an Aunt Bert and you have me, said Jill. I don’t think anyone needs to feel sorry for you, do you?

No, said Simon. But I wish Dad was coming this Christmas.

So do I, said Jill. After she said it she wasn’t so sure it was true. When Dad came back to South Africa for visits, Aunt Bert went to stay in Port Elizabeth with a friend, and Jill much preferred a relaxed Christmas with Aunt Bert than strained time with her dad. When they arrived at the beach the tide was quite low, perfect for bodysurfing.

Are you going to swim, Jill?

I think I’ll just watch you from the shallow waves, Squirt, she said. Don’t go in too far.

I don’t want to go too far, I want to catch a wave and come zooming back right up to your feet! said Simon. They put their towels beside a rock and Simon bolted off into the waves, screeching with delight as he ran, the water splashing around him.

Because of the low tide, Simon had to go quite far out to wait for the perfect wave to catch back to shore. Every few steps he turned around and waved to Jill, who stood in the shallow waves to watch him. Every now and then he would pick a wave he hoped would work, turn his back and leap into the water in front of it. Most of the time he got his timing wrong, and the waves would pass over him. Once he caught one almost half way back to Jill, and he jumped up and yelled something to her. She gave him a thumbs-up, thinking she really should get into the water with him. Someone needed to show him where to aim and how to hold his body so the wave would carry him up the beach. She felt an unwelcome stab of annoyance that Dad wasn’t there to do it; he had loved the sea as much as Simon did. But she really didn’t feel like getting into the water right then. Simon cheerily made his way deeper again.

Soon he was into the water above his waist, and Jill was about to cup her hands around her mouth and yell to him that he had gone far enough, when she saw that he was talking to someone, a surfer, on his way back to the beach. Jill watched as Simon, true to form, struck up a conversation with him. Of course, she couldn’t hear what they were saying above the noise of the waves. Simon was bouncing up and down, jumping high as each wave broke. The surfer was right beside Simon, leaning down to his height and showing him how to tuck his head down. A wave approached, and suddenly he put his hands around Simon’s waist and pushed him in front of the wave. Simon tucked his head in, and the wave took him. He caught it at exactly the right moment, and Jill almost jumped with excitement herself for the thrill her little brother must be feeling as he hurtled towards her. As he approached she could see his face more clearly, and Jill clapped her hands at his ecstatic expression as he skidded to a halt in the sand.

Shot, Simon! she said. That was amazing!

It was a MILLION times amazing! spluttered Simon, water streaming down his face. It was totally AWESOME!

That was a very kind surfer who helped you, she said.

He showed me what to do! said Simon. He stood up and turned towards the sea. Thank you! he yelled as loudly as he could. He turned back to Jill. I’m going to try AGAIN!

Jill looked out to see if the surfer was still there. He was making his way to the beach, and she lifted her hand in a gesture of thanks. He waved briefly, and as he did she realised she had seen him before. It was the boy from earlier, the one who had reminded her of Percy Jackson, although this time he was in a wetsuit. Wow, she thought, adjusting her previous judgement of him. He still looked as if he had just stepped out of a photo shoot, but he had taken time to talk to and help a little kid. She was impressed.

Later, when Simon was finally tired of swimming and they were on their way home, she noticed him again, sitting on the low wall near the showers, his wetsuit peeled off to his waist, his board leaning on the wall beside him as he drank from a bottle of water. He was talking to one of the female lifeguards, laughing at something she had said as he ran his hand through his hair and it fell, effortlessly, into its perfect flick. Jill and Simon walked right past him to get to the parking lot, but Simon was distracted trying to fasten his towel around his waist and didn’t notice him, and the boy didn’t look up. He must be another tourist, she thought. Someone from one of the big cities; maybe Joburg, but probably Durban or Cape Town if he was a surfer. If he was a local she would have noticed him before. Everyone would have noticed him; she had no doubt about that.

4

The next day Jill woke early again, still enjoying the wonderful feeling of being at home rather than in the dormitory at school.