Nobody spoke. We stared at each other with hearts pumping blood fast through veins. All senses turned to ten. Each of us alert. Each of us massively alive. Norman gathered himself and took charge. He checked the boat. He asked if everyone was OK. We all nodded that we were. I think he was the most shocked out of all of us. He started the engine and turned us round to face Oakholme. He was keen to get us back to land. Jon asked him if that had been a Draupner-type wave. Norman said no, if it had been a Draupner-type wave we would all be at the bottom of the sea now. Still, he said, it was bloody big for the Irish Sea. Bloody big. As he sailed us back to shore, every few seconds he shook his head vigorously, shaking himself back to sense. All I could think about was how powerful the wave was that had pushed us up into the sky. And how helpless we were when it was happening. Part of me wanted me to rush back to land and cling to it and never let go. Part of me wanted to get straight back out to sea and sit and wait for ever for another wave like that.
It was only when Dad took Norman to the boot of our car and gave him the collection of wooden toys that conversation finally sparked into life again. Norman told Dad that he shouldn’t have, that it was too much, and Dad replied that he wanted to, and it wasn’t. And you could tell Norman was delighted. He held the toys up to the light, and opened and closed doors and spun wheels and said his grandkids would love them. Norman got ready to go then and we all said thank you and shook his hand and said our goodbyes. As he left he told Dad that if he ever wanted to go out again, to the same spot, or just for a sail, to give him another ring and to keep in touch. Dad said he would and part of me even believed him this time. It seemed like just the kind of thing Dad would enjoy – being on a small boat under an empty sky, miles from anywhere. And I could tell he liked Norman. He always liked people who made their point quickly and knew when to shut up.
We ate our sandwiches and crisps on a bench on the harbour and then Dad collected our rubbish and said we should be getting back. That news would no doubt be waiting. And it was. Just as we were settling ourselves into the car and readying ourselves for the return trip the phone in our freshly painted hallway was ringing out, startling an empty house. Half a minute later the red light started flashing, telling us we had a message. But we were still an hour and a half away from finding out that it was Mr McGrath at Duerdale Social Services. He was pleased to let us know that Mr Redridge had been approved as Jon Mansfield’s foster carer. Could he call when he got chance to arrange to sign the papers?