Page 28

‘I got caught up in the whirlwind of attention I was getting,’ he sighs, deflating.

‘I liked what fame meant: the money, the admiration, the places it got you. I threw myself into relationships with people who made me feel important. They hadn’t known me when I was a goofy grom, fucking up on waves and wiping out.

They only knew me as a winner. A rich and famous World Champion.

I pushed away anyone who’d ever cared about me: Dad, all my old mates.

I shut them out, made them feel like they didn’t matter. ’

He shakes his head, still annoyed at himself. The old video of him and Ethan Anderson as a couple of grinning, surf-obsessed teenagers flits across my mind, and I wonder if he’s included in this group, if their former friendship fuelled the intensity of their rivalry.

‘I partied a lot, spending all my time with people who told me I was the best,’ he mutters.

‘People who didn’t ask me real questions about me or my future, because they cared way more about themselves and their own fame.

They all thought I was this successful, arrogant bloke with the world at his feet – and for a while, I was.

But I look back now and all I see is a scared little kid desperate to prove himself. ’

His eyes flicker across nervously to me, and I get a glimpse of the boy he was then, so lost and vulnerable, desperately trying to make his mark. An ache erupts in my chest. I have an urge to reach out to him, to take his hands in mine and tell him that it’s okay.

But I can’t. All I can do is sit on my board and listen.

‘The funny thing was, no matter how many competitions I won or big deals I got, I still wasn’t good enough.

I remained, at the core of it, a disappointment.

’ His throat bobs as he swallows. ‘I dimmed that sense of inadequacy with more drinking and drugs. And any time I was photographed pissed off my face or high, and it got splashed about the press, I laughed about it. I tried to convince myself I was done attempting to live up to someone else’s image of what I should be.

’ He hesitates, frowning at me. ‘I’m not trying to justify the way I acted back then.

I think I’m still trying to get to the bottom of it myself.

I want to understand why I became that person I don’t recognise anymore. Does that make sense?’

‘Yes. It does.’

He runs his hand through his hair, his fingers getting caught momentarily in the crisp, salty tangles.

‘All of that behaviour numbed the fears and anxiety that haunted me. The thrill of winning, the applause and acclaim – that’s addictive.

When everyone expects you to win, your self-worth becomes tied to it.

Like you say, you define yourself by the wins.

I had to keep winning. Otherwise, what was I?

Nothing. People wanted to spend time with me because I was a winner, that’s all I was.

Even the thought of losing, I couldn’t… cope. ’

Hanging his head, he exhales all the breath from his body.

‘Leo,’ I say, a lump in my throat as I worry he might crumple beneath these memories at any moment, ‘you don’t have to talk about this now. If you need a break, we can—’

‘No, it’s okay,’ he says, lifting his eyes to meet mine. ‘I want to. Your articles aren’t just about the athlete’s self-promotion, right? They speak to people. This might make someone out there feel less alone.’ He offers a sad smile. ‘That’s important.’

‘Yeah,’ I breathe, captivated by his gaze, ‘it is.’

We fall into silence as he gathers his thoughts, the rhythmic sound of the waves in the background rallying him to speak.

‘The thought of losing was one thing, but when it started happening…’ He grimaces as he trails off, working out the best way to put it.

‘Honestly? I was fucking confused. I was so arrogant, I thought it was a blip. So, I partied harder because I needed to numb the fears that were starting to come true. I was terrified . If I’d bothered to take anything seriously, I might have noticed that there was someone else getting better and better. Someone who put the work in.’

I hazard a guess: ‘Ethan Anderson?’

A muscle in his jaw twitches. ‘I’d never considered Ethan as real competition,’ he admits in a low voice.

‘I underestimated him. He was better at handling the sport mentally and physically, and he was determined to beat me. We’d known each other since we were groms but…

it got hectic between us. When he took the World Champion title the first time, it felt as though everything I was had been ripped from me.

I was nothing without it. But I couldn’t admit that to anyone; that would make it real.

’ He pauses and turns to look at me. ‘Do you ever feel like that?’

The question takes me by surprise. ‘Huh?’

‘Like, if you say something out loud, if you confide in someone, then you might fall apart. But if you pretend everything is fine, you convince yourself the problem doesn’t exist,’ he explains, studying my expression. ‘You ever feel like that?’

‘I… I don’t know. Maybe. Sometimes.’

All the time. All the fucking time.

He nods slowly. ‘Instead of blaming myself for my failure, I blamed Ethan. I hated him, and that hatred drove me off a cliff. I partied more to show the world that I wasn’t bothered; I was still the big winner they knew me to be.

I hung out with people who told me I was better than him as they poured me a larger drink and cut me a bigger line.

My motivation to compete worsened with every loss.

When Ethan won World Champion for a second time, I decided that was it for me.

It was all or nothing – and I was nothing. ’

He hesitates, shooting me a worried look.

‘What is it?’ I ask, frowning.

‘You must be cold,’ he says, glancing back at the beach. ‘Let’s go in; we can talk about this somewhere else.’

‘I’m fine,’ I tell him firmly, well aware that if someone is interrupted at a crucial moment in the story, sometimes it’s impossible to get them back to where they were. ‘Carry on if you’re happy to.’

‘I promise I’m almost done.’

‘Leo, I’m fine ,’ I say, breaking into a reassuring smile. ‘Go on.’

He’s comforted by my expression, if a little unconvinced. But thankfully, he decides to listen to my instruction and after a heavy sigh, he speaks.

‘The day Ethan was announced as World Champion, I went to a party, got pissed and announced to whoever was listening that I was quitting surfing for good. I remember people cheered. They were all so fucked, they probably didn’t know why they were cheering.

’ He closes his eyes for a moment. ‘And I remember when I got home, I decided not to go to bed. I should go for one last surf.’

I inhale sharply. ‘That night?’

‘Technically, by now it was early in the morning. But yeah. I grabbed my surfboard and I went to Bells Beach. The weather was bad, the waves weren’t right.

I was drunk, I was angry and I was helpless.

I went against every gut instinct I had as I paddled out – one of the worst mistakes you can make in surfing.

’ He bites his lip, his eyes set on the rippling water ahead of his board.

‘The person who saved my life told doctors it was one of the worst wipeouts they’d ever seen.

They thought I was dead but they still pulled me from the water anyway.

I don’t… I don’t remember it. Any of it.

Probably a good thing.’ He holds up his wrist, pointing to the scar there. ‘The small memento l was left with.’

‘Oh my God, Leo,’ I whisper, before I can stop myself.

He brings his eyes up to meet mine. ‘When I woke up in hospital, I was so frightened. And humiliated. And racked with guilt about… everything. Mum and Dad were both there – Mum from London, Dad from Portugal. The incident and my hospital stay were kept out of the press, but still, not one of my so-called friends messaged during that time to check if I was okay. They didn’t even notice I wasn’t around. ’

‘What about the person who rescued you? Were they a friend?’

His frown deepens. ‘No. Anyway,’ he clears his throat and gestures to the beach behind us, keen to avoid the answer, ‘that’s how I came to be here.

I needed a change, an escape, so I flew home with Dad.

I could live here in Portugal with my dual-citizenship and Burgau saved me.

The longer I stayed here, the more I realised this is where I belong.

With some encouragement, Dad got me back on a surfboard. The ocean drew me back in.’

‘You’re connected.’

‘Surfing is a humbling sport,’ he tells me with a wry smile.

‘It can quickly remind you who’s in charge here.

You don’t get to control the swells or tides, or what the weather is going to be like that day.

You try to control what you can: your fitness, your mobility, your focus.

That’s all you can do. The rest of it is whatever that moment brings. ’

He gazes out to the ocean again, the weight of reliving his past lifting in an instant. With a light shrug, he’s back in the present and happy to be here.

I break into a smile. ‘You put that very nicely.’

‘Yeah? Poetic enough for you?’ he asks, raising an eyebrow.

‘Too poetic,’ I say, giving a dramatic sigh. ‘How am I meant to remember all these remarkable quotes? I’m going to need you to come over to mine so I can write this.’

‘If that’s what you need me to do,’ he says, his eyes locking with mine.

My breath hitches, flutters rippling through my chest. He’s joking. Probably. That was a joke. I should laugh. But not now, because it’s too late to laugh now and he’ll know I’m faking it. Shit . I can’t think straight.

‘You okay?’ he asks, while my cheeks burn. ‘You want to go in?’

‘I have one last question,’ I blurt out.

‘Just the one? I’m surprised. I really gave the story-telling my all.’

‘Okay, maybe a couple hundred,’ I admit.

‘That sounds more plausible.’

‘I’d have double that if you’d let me take notes.’

He chuckles. ‘ There she is.’

‘But one more question while we’re drifting at sea.’

‘As it’s only one…’

I take a deep breath. ‘Leo, it’s been a long time since you walked away from it all. So, why did you accept the invitation to compete at Bells Beach this year?’

Pressing his lips together, he considers the question.

Eventually, he answers. ‘Bells Beach was my home; it’s where I grew up and it’s where I gave up – if I can win there again, I can do anything.

It’s the only competition I’d come back for.

It’s a bit like you with the ocean. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.

’ He hesitates, his eyes flashing at me.

‘And this time, I want to be worthy of the bell trophy.’

I tilt my head at him. ‘So this is about proving something.’

‘My love and gratitude for the surfing community, yeah. And, if I’m honest with myself, I want to remember how it feels.’

‘To take part in a surf competition?’

‘To take part,’ he repeats, before a knowing smile creeps across his lips, ‘and to win.’