Nathan’s passion for surfing reminded me of his father, and that had me feeling very worried . . .
BY BAILEY MORGAN
THERE you are, Nathan!” I waved but my son didn’t seem to notice me.
Maybe I ought to have worn a high-vis vest.
But I was walking across a Cornish beach, so I might look a little overdressed as I zigzagged between holidaymakers.
My son had decided to disappear today.
While I’d been out at work, he’d loaded his car and driven off, leaving only a note behind.
Gone surfing at the usual place.
P.S. I’m taking the summer off. I’ll be back in September.
He’d forgotten to add, “Surprise!”
I’d felt rather nauseous as I’d hurtled down the motorway in his wake.
Nate had recently finished at university.
He’d spent months at home hoping to kick-start his career.
He’d researched big companies so he could dazzle their representatives during interviews.
He’d even got his long hair cut.
As the months dragged by without any offers of employment, I’d feared this might happen.
His genes would win out.
I had met his dad on the very same beach he had fled to, you see, a long time ago.
Jim, his dad, had worn red shorts back then, his tanned chest bare, his hair a tumble of bleached blond curls.
I only had one fear in mind today.
I was afraid that my son would follow in his father’s footsteps.
He’d become a beach bum, a surfer dude.
“Hello, Nate!” I yelled again across the beach.
Nate focused on me just as I was about falling over him and his colourful surfboard.
“Mum? What are you doing here?”
“I found your note.”
“But I left that yesterday.”
“Oh, did you?” I replied. “Well, I had a late meeting.
“I stayed in a hotel last night. I called but your phone was turned off.”
Nate shrugged off that observation.
He looked as dark as a seal in his wet suit as he stared out to sea.
In profile he really did resemble his dad, with his pointed chin and up-tilted nose.
“The waves are great today. Do you want to come in for a swim?”
“No, I want to talk to you.” I squinted into the glare of the sun. You want to ‘take the summer off’?
“What does that even mean, Nathan?”
He started to shift from foot to foot.
“It means I don’t see why I can’t relax for a bit. I’ll stop hunting for a career and get a summer job down here to tide me over. I’ll . . .”
“Live off burgers and ice-cream?” I tagged on when he floundered. “Go to parties.
