Thursday, 9 June 2016

The Speed Boat

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Although these are all my own words, the idea came from a prompt from Lucy at this week's Roath writer's meeting. So the idea of a couple on a speedboat with a man showing off, is hers. The ending, from Today Sara... is all mine.
The water was choppy but Ryan insisted that it was perfect speed boat conditions. To be honest whether it had been choppy or calm, Ryan would have said it was perfect, he was determined to take the boat out come what may. He’d become addicted to speed, hooked on the adrenalin pumping through his body as he steered the boat through the waves and pushed the throttle to the limit. Sara was convinced he’d kill himself one day, either in the boat or in the car, but Ryan claimed he knew what he was doing, said he was always in control. To be honest Sara was at that stage in the relationship where she didn’t mind if he killed himself, the insurance was slightly more attractive than his middle-aged spread. She just hoped that he wouldn’t kill her too.
Today Sara was hanging on in the back of the boat for dear life. Her stomach flipped over and over as their vessel hit wave after wave; the little speed boat bouncing like a pebble skimmed across a lake.
Grey clouds were rolling in from the west and the wind was whipping up, the waves were getting higher and the warmth that had greeted them at the beach was a thing of the past. Goosebumps were appearing on Sara arms and her teeth were chattering.
“Slow down,” Sara shouted, “I want to put my jumper on.”  Ryan either didn’t hear her over the combined noise of the engine and the sea, or pretended he didn’t. The boat bounced on, roaring through the swelling waves.
Sara let go of the grip, slipped her life vest off, and reached for her jumper. It would only take twenty seconds or so, so she was willing to take the risk. She slipped the sweater on.  That was better, the woolly jumper was already having its effect on her trembling skin.
Ryan zigzagged the boat and hit another wave, Sara had the life jacket over her head, blinded and not holding on, she lost her balance, slipping on the wet surface she went tumbling into the increasingly angry ocean.
Later, back on shore Ryan, would say that he didn’t hear his wife’s screams, that he didn’t see her waving frantically from the sea. He claimed that he didn’t know exactly when she’d fallen over board. His tears seemed genuine to the sympathetic policemen. Everyone agreed it had been a tragic accident, it could have happened to anyone.

But, as Sara struggled to keep her head above water, she could have sworn she saw Ryan look around. As the currents dragged her body under, she was sure she heard his sinister, Sid James cackle and, as she began to lose consciousness she was convinced that he’d timed his manoeuvre to perfection; the perfect murder.  

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