Footprints in the Sand

                                                                                      

Footprints In The Sand.

I groaned and dragged myself from the shallows of the lagoon up unto the soft white sand of the empty beach. For a moment I lay gathering my strength then with another groan I rolled over and sat up. A mile away the sea still boiled white as it pounded and battered the coral reef surrounding the island. There was no sign of the Lady Jane, the two-berth yacht we had hired in Vila. No wreck upon the outer reef, no wreckage floating in the turquoise lagoon or washed up along the shore. Even worse there wasn’t any sign of Will.

We’ d been island hopping at first around the Shepherd Islands, then we had moved north to the Santa Maria Islands and were on our way back when the storm hit and drove us way off course. The storm had lasted for three days, and in the mountainous seas there was nothing we could do but batten down the hatches and pray that there was a God who could save us. Then just before dawn this morning we were driven onto the reef and I lost sight of Will, as we were both swept overboard.

Now here I was in the middle of an empty beach that swept for a mile in either direction, and all I could think of was Robinson Crusoe, lost and alone on a desert Island for twenty-eight years. How defeatist was that? Pull yourself together man, I told myself, get on your feet and go and look for Will. But that was the other problem wasn’t it? What if I found Will and he were dead or what if I didn’t find him at all? Oh, God stop it!

I turned to my left, which put the sun behind me and began to walk along the hard sand at the waters edge. I had been walking for an hour with the never-ending beach unreeling before me, when I spotted the footprints that led from the waters edge and off along the beach. My heart rose, my friend Will was alive and in all probability had set out in search of me. Thank God, I thought selfishly, if this was as I suspected a desert island, at least I wouldn’t be on my own.

When I came across Will’s blue backpack lying abandoned sometime later, I couldn’t help but look inside. Ever since I had met Will on the beach at Brisbane three months ago he had kept the content of this bag a secret. If I expected to find his secret inside, I was disappointed, all it contained was a slightly damp tee shirt and an equally damp pair of shorts both of which he had been wearing when he was swept overboard. I was puzzled. Why on earth would he risk his life saving the backpack from a sinking yacht if all it contained was a change of clothes? There had to be more to it, but for the life of me I couldn’t think what.

The answer to the puzzle came later in the day when I caught up with him. The beach had finally ended in a jumble of rocks and I was scrambling over these when Will’s voice called from behind, ‘Hello, Sailor.’

I spun around and wished I hadn’t. A fully made up Will sporting a blonde wig and wearing a little red dress, smiled provocatively down at me from where he posed on a convenient outcrop of rock. Oh God, I do hope that this isn’t a desert island, after all.

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