Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination by Helen Fielding Page A
Authors: Helen Fielding
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p. 48 The following morning Olivia was up and dressed freakishly early. By seven-thirty, she was powering along the South Shore, determined to eradicate all foolish fantasies from her brain, to separate logic and desire, while giving her cheeks a pleasing healthy glow. It was windier than ever; leaves and branches had fallen from the palms, shreds of them were littering the road. A waiter was running after a tablecloth as it flapped away from him.
Out on the beach, the hoboes were starting to stir. One of them was staring in lewd delight at an oblivious beachside yoga class: seven girls on their backs, opening and closing their legs. She found herself following the same route as yesterday, telling herself she’d get a taxi back and have plenty of time to make herself pretty for breakfast.
She came to a stop when she reached the grassy island where she had met the old couple. She sat down on a concrete wall to look at the OceansApart, once more overwhelmed by its enormity. There was the bing-bong of a loudspeaker on the boat followed by an announcement. A seagull dived into the water for a fish. There was the usual dockside smell, petrol mixed with fishy odors and seaweed. The warm wind was rustling the surface of the water, little frothy waves lapping against the man-made rocky shore. People were on the balconies. She raised her spyglass to her eye, looking for Elsie and Edward’s cabin. There it was in the middle of the boat, third deck from the top. Elsie was sitting in a white wicker chair in a white bathrobe, her hair caught up loosely, robe fluttering in the wind. And there was Edward, also in his bathrobe, standing in the doorway. Lovebirds.
As she watched, a muffled boom came from deep under the water. Suddenly the whole monstrous edifice gave a lurch like a drunken stagger, then righted itself, creating a wave which surged across the calm channel towards her, flinging itself against the rocky shore. She heard shouts and more figures appeared on the balconies, peering over the side.
Instinct told her to get away. There were some prefab shacks two p. 49 hundred yards to her right, raised a couple of feet off the ground, and a steel storage container. She started to walk fast towards them. She was maybe twenty yards away from the steel container when there was a flash followed by a sound like a giant door slamming underground.
As she turned, a single large plume of water was rising beside the ship. She broke into a run, heading for the steel container, stumbling on the uneven ground. A siren started up. There were shouts, another siren, and then a blinding burst of blue light and a second boom, louder than anything she had ever heard. A great wall of hot air hit her, full of shards of metal and debris, flinging her forward onto the ground. Hearing herself gasping, her heartbeat banging in her ears, she dragged herself the final few feet towards the container. There was a gap underneath it, and she forced herself into it, wriggling to squeeze herself in as far as she could. She made a space around her mouth with her hands and breathed, trying to keep out the acrid smoke, trying to calm down, trying to shrink into herself to nothing, to hibernate like a tortoise in a cardboard box filled with straw.
As the sounds of destruction died down, leaving an unnerving silence, Olivia opened her eyes. Don’t panic, she told herself. Olivia had understood long ago how life can turn on a sixpence, in a fraction of a moment. Rule number one, the chief survival rule: never panic. Never let your mind be clouded by hysterics so you forget to look, forget to grasp what’s really going on, forget the obvious thing. She was looking through bitter black smoke towards the dock, where a huge fire was raging. It was hard to see, but it looked as though the water itself was on fire. She could dimly make out the OceansApart, which seemed to have been blown in two. One side was still horizontal; the other had reared up
p. 48 The following morning Olivia was up and dressed freakishly early. By seven-thirty, she was powering along the South Shore, determined to eradicate all foolish fantasies from her brain, to separate logic and desire, while giving her cheeks a pleasing healthy glow. It was windier than ever; leaves and branches had fallen from the palms, shreds of them were littering the road. A waiter was running after a tablecloth as it flapped away from him.
Out on the beach, the hoboes were starting to stir. One of them was staring in lewd delight at an oblivious beachside yoga class: seven girls on their backs, opening and closing their legs. She found herself following the same route as yesterday, telling herself she’d get a taxi back and have plenty of time to make herself pretty for breakfast.
She came to a stop when she reached the grassy island where she had met the old couple. She sat down on a concrete wall to look at the OceansApart, once more overwhelmed by its enormity. There was the bing-bong of a loudspeaker on the boat followed by an announcement. A seagull dived into the water for a fish. There was the usual dockside smell, petrol mixed with fishy odors and seaweed. The warm wind was rustling the surface of the water, little frothy waves lapping against the man-made rocky shore. People were on the balconies. She raised her spyglass to her eye, looking for Elsie and Edward’s cabin. There it was in the middle of the boat, third deck from the top. Elsie was sitting in a white wicker chair in a white bathrobe, her hair caught up loosely, robe fluttering in the wind. And there was Edward, also in his bathrobe, standing in the doorway. Lovebirds.
As she watched, a muffled boom came from deep under the water. Suddenly the whole monstrous edifice gave a lurch like a drunken stagger, then righted itself, creating a wave which surged across the calm channel towards her, flinging itself against the rocky shore. She heard shouts and more figures appeared on the balconies, peering over the side.
Instinct told her to get away. There were some prefab shacks two p. 49 hundred yards to her right, raised a couple of feet off the ground, and a steel storage container. She started to walk fast towards them. She was maybe twenty yards away from the steel container when there was a flash followed by a sound like a giant door slamming underground.
As she turned, a single large plume of water was rising beside the ship. She broke into a run, heading for the steel container, stumbling on the uneven ground. A siren started up. There were shouts, another siren, and then a blinding burst of blue light and a second boom, louder than anything she had ever heard. A great wall of hot air hit her, full of shards of metal and debris, flinging her forward onto the ground. Hearing herself gasping, her heartbeat banging in her ears, she dragged herself the final few feet towards the container. There was a gap underneath it, and she forced herself into it, wriggling to squeeze herself in as far as she could. She made a space around her mouth with her hands and breathed, trying to keep out the acrid smoke, trying to calm down, trying to shrink into herself to nothing, to hibernate like a tortoise in a cardboard box filled with straw.
As the sounds of destruction died down, leaving an unnerving silence, Olivia opened her eyes. Don’t panic, she told herself. Olivia had understood long ago how life can turn on a sixpence, in a fraction of a moment. Rule number one, the chief survival rule: never panic. Never let your mind be clouded by hysterics so you forget to look, forget to grasp what’s really going on, forget the obvious thing. She was looking through bitter black smoke towards the dock, where a huge fire was raging. It was hard to see, but it looked as though the water itself was on fire. She could dimly make out the OceansApart, which seemed to have been blown in two. One side was still horizontal; the other had reared up
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