Sebastien

It was all there – the sweep of low cliffs, the road, plunging towards the beach, the sand, tinged with red, dropping to the water's edge. Seeing it sent a ripple of disbelief across Carrie's skin. A broken line of rocks, touched with terracotta, reached into the turquoise blue of the Mediterranean.

Everything was there, just as it had been in her dream, the dream that had haunted her for the last weeks.

She'd never actually been to this cove – not in real life. She'd only seen it in dreams, but now it was lying, stretched away in front of her.

She couldn't take that in.

They'd only come across it by chance. They'd been driving out from St Raphaël, heading for Cap Roux, but as they came down the hill, Leo, her brother, had noticed the cove and pleaded for them to stop so he could try out his body-surfing.

Her mum had managed to park in a small gap at the roadside and the minute they walked back down the hill, she realised exactly what was going on. Now it was all sweeping over her again – the sound of the water, the shouts and laughter of the bathers and surfers, the cry of an outraged gull, the constant growl of passing cars. But somehow this wasn't like her dream. There was a volleyball pitch, about thirty metres from where they'd camped down. A group of boys were playing there – bronzed boys in speedos; bare-footed French guys, punching a ball across the net. In her dream there weren't any boys playing around the volleyball net. The pitch had been deserted, and she'd been wandering around the cove, calling, distraught, somehow lost, and… what had she been calling? She had a vague feeling it had been a boy's name.

It was freaking her out – to have dreamt something so clearly, something she now knew really existed – that wasn't natural – and the name? Why had she been calling a boy's name?

“Come on then girl – penny for them.”

She started.

Craig, her mother's latest boyfriend, was sprawled on a beach towel a few metres away. Her mum had already gone down to the sea, but Craig had stayed put, watching her.

Since her parents had split up, it was as if Mum had gone crazy with her choice in men. None of them lasted, but they all came from the same sleaze department, and for sleaze Craig was king. She didn't like the way he looked at her – as if he was undressing her with his eyes.

“What I'm thinking isn't for sale, Craig,” she said. “And if it was, I wouldn't tell you – no way, not even if you were the last person on earth.”

He gave a leering laugh, narrowing his eyes. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “I reckon you wouldn't want to tell no-one, because I've been watching you eye up those French hunks and their volleyball. Nice bit of meat, them boys, aren't they? All bronze and muscle, and them speedos, they don't leave much to the imagination. Good eye-candy, eh, girl?”

She winced, turning back to the boys and the volleyball. “Quit being so crude,” she snapped. “I can watch a volleyball game without going off into some sex fantasy, can't I? You're just warped.”

He laughed again. “Who do you think you're kidding? I've been watching you.”

She moved away, shuffling on her towel, so that her back was set defiantly against him, but then she stiffened.

With half an ear she'd been listening to the boys calling as they played. Just as she settled, she heard one of them shout above the rest. She'd noticed this guy earlier, because he looked African. He was shouting to one of the other boys on the far side of the net. “Pour moi… Sebastien. La balle, pour moi.”

… And suddenly she realised. That was the name she'd been calling in her dream. Sebastien. She was looking at a boy to the far right, now, as he reached out to punch the ball back, but the realisation made her shiver. “Bien, Sebastien,” shouted the African guy. He leapt into the air, slapping the ball over the net so that it smacked into the sand.

Now, though, Carrie's eyes were focused on the boy whose name she'd been calling. He was muscular and lean. His dark curls fell loose over his forehead. He tossed his head, flicking the hair clear. “Magnifique, Thomas,” he shouted.

By now Craig, the sea, the cove, the people on the sand and those playing in the waves were blanked from her thoughts. There was only one thing she saw. That was Sebastien, and the confusion went wild in her head.

At last Craig got up. “I'm off down to the kid and your mum, girl. You going to slip into something revealing so you can join us or what?”

She flinched. She couldn't figure whether her mother's boyfriend was a pervert, or if he did it to wind her up, but whichever, he always managed to hit the target. He could twist anything into some sick jibe, too. She just said: “I'm staying here – someone's got to keep an eye on our stuff,” and that was enough.

“Keep an eye on them boys more like, girl. I know what's going on in that pretty head of yours.”

This time she managed a grin. “Yeah? You wouldn't even understand the language, Craig. All the stuff that goes on in my head – it's so pure.”

“Get on with you. Pull the other one,” he sneered.

He staggered off down the beach while she moved closer to their pile of discarded clothes. Then she lay, watching as the boys leapt around reaching for their ball.

All the time, weird thoughts were going on in her head. That name, Sebastien - this cove... She couldn't work out how it could be happening. She wasn't relaxed, yet her eyes stayed riveted on the boy whose name she'd been calling. It was all so unreal. Although, as the ball flew over the net, she had to acknowledge that something Craig said was near the truth. Those boys – especially Sebastien – were fit.

What guys looked like didn't influence her normally, but Sebastien – his muscular movements, the dark hair, the smile that occasionally flickered across his face, the way he moved…

She knew, though, the game would break up soon. The boys would be away, or else Mum and Leo would get tired of body-surfing, so the four of them would be back in the car, heading across the Corniche de l’Estérel. It didn't matter how weird this dream thing was, there was no chance anything could ever come of it.

Then Thomas sent the ball high. Those on her side of the net struggled to reach it as it curved way above them. It bounced towards her, coming to rest on Leo's clothes. But as she turned to reach it, she heard the shift-shift of bare feet on the sand. A shadow fell over her - one of the boys stood there. He wasn't as dark as the others. His neat-cut hair was quite fair, and he was wearing thinly rimmed glasses. She thought they must have cost a fortune. They were really stylish. As he smiled, he looked fetchingly guilty. “Excuse-moi, Mademoiselle, Nous sommes désoles. La balle – nous avons perdu le contrôle.”

She knew she ought to answer in French, but all she managed was a stifled gulp, and then, in her own language: “That's OK. No problem.”

The boy's smile widened. “You are English?” he said.

She nodded. By now any thoughts of giving him the benefit of her sixth form French had gone flying. “Yes,” she said. “We're here on holiday. We're staying at a place out by St Aygulf – the other side of Fréjus.”

The boy looked pleased. “I've been in England, yes? It's very lovely. A Londres – the guards, the Queen's palace and Big Ben, but it was cold – not sunny like it is here.”

She laughed. “Yeah, right. If we ever get weather like this, even for a single day, it's all over the National press.” Then she added, “I live in Oxford.”

“I know of Oxford,” he said. “It has a famous university, yes?”

She was still sitting on her towel, but that seemed rude, so she staggered to her feet, intending to hand the ball back. “It's a great place. You should see it sometime.” She held out her hand awkwardly, adding: “I'm Carrie.”

“Pleased to meet you, Carrie. I am called Pierre. Peter in English?” But behind him the others were getting restless. “Excuse my friends,” he said. He turned, calling across to them, “La fille, elle est Anglaise. Elle vit en Oxford avec le grande université. Elle s'appelle Carrie.”

They waved, shouting, “Salut Carrie,” and she saw Sebastien raise his hand, waving too, calling with the others.

“Perhaps we shall see you here again?” Pierre said. “We all have houses in this region. We often come here.”

After her initial confusion she was beginning to get herself together. She might be ready to give him the benefit of her French. Besides, it was the right thing to do. She didn't want to come over as one of those Brits who couldn't be fussed with other cultures – people who thought it their right for all and sundry to converse in the language of Shakespeare. “Je l’espéré, Pierre. Je pense que ce serait bien pour moi de vous revoyez sur cette plage.”

Pierre beamed. “Vous parlez française. Fantastique. Très bien, Carrie. A bientôt, oui?”

“Oui. A bientôt.”

As she watched him dart back to the others, his departing words swam in her head. “A bientôt,” he'd said. “I'll see you again soon… until next time.”

She was beginning to hope, perhaps, there might be a next time after all. She was willing Leo to keep Mum and Craig down in the water, but then Thomas called something and the boys gathered by the net. Things were breaking up. They moved away, just as Leo came dripping back up the beach, with Mum and Craig in pursuit.

“Why didn't you come down?” her mum demanded, throwing herself onto a towel, but Craig just laughed and winked.

“She had other interests, Dawn, didn't you, girl? They're packing up now I see, but I bet it was good while it lasted – all them semi-naked lads.”

“Craig, you are terrible sometimes," her mum said. She slapped him playfully on the wrist. "You're such a tease.”

It made Carrie grimace. How could her mother be taken in by this bloke? There wasn't anything teasing about him. She kept quiet though, because she was still watching the boys.

Sebastien and Thomas pulled on shorts and T-shirts. Then the two of them headed for the road, with the rest following.

“Well that one isn't short of a bob or two, is he, girl?” Craig said suddenly. She shivered. He'd been eyeing her again. But it was what led him to make the remark that caused her to catch her breath, because Sebastien dug a key-fob out of his shorts' pocket, setting lights flashing on a white Porsche 911 Targa. It looked brand new. She watched as Thomas vaulted into the passenger seat, while Sebastien, in a more dignified manner, opened the door, settling behind the wheel. All the others crowded around, leaning over, going through the French ritual, kissing on both cheeks. Then, with a wave and a cloud of dust, Sebastien and Thomas were away up the hill, while the rest drifted back to their clothes.

It wasn't long before her mum told Leo to pack up, and they made their way across the beach. But as they neared the road, Pierre smiled, lifting his hand. She waved, while a couple of the others called, “A bientôt.”

“It isn't just the guy with the Porsche, then?" Craig said, quietly. "You're a bloody quick worker if you've got in there already, girl.”

It made her shudder. She resisted the overwhelming urge to do something violent to him - and they made it back to the car.

*

That night she had the dream again. It was different this time, though. She was on the beach. The rocks were there and the cliffs. The Corniche de l’Estérel swept down to the valley, but, instead of blazing sunlight, the cove was washed with a full moon and a Mediterranean night. The whole vista was tinged with an eerie blue. There was the slight surge of the sea, tipped with silver, with waves falling and swelling. Apart from the sound of the sea's motion, though, the whole cove hung in a menacing silence. Shadows dropped from cloaked recesses giving the inlet a brooding chill. There were no sea-birds, no call of children playing, no hum of chatter, nothing but the acned sand, bearing scars of hundreds of feet, and a sense of utter emptiness – a loneliness that could be felt.

In her dream this sense filled her, along with a feeling of despair and desperation. She knew she was crying. She was wandering across the beach, searching among the cliffs, clambering over rocks into an adjacent cove. The details of this second cove were as vivid as the first, and she called, over and over, “Sebastien, where are you? Sebastien, Sebastien.”

Eventually she meandered back to the cove with the volleyball net, drifting towards the water's edge, staring at the vast expanse of sea. What she felt was more stark and bleak than anything she'd ever felt - a world of desolation.

It was calling Sebastien's name that woke her. She tossed, hot and sweating, while the voice that had been lost in the silence of sleep suddenly found sound, ringing into her bedroom. “Sebastien, Sebastien.” She struggled with her eyelids. They were still heavy and wet with tears. Then like an animal escaping from a predatory swipe, she rushed to the all-embracing safety of full consciousness, sitting up, staring into the room.

Daylight was filtering through the curtains. It gave her an overwhelming desire to drive the darkness away, and she leapt out of bed running to the window, pulling open the blinds to let the low redness of the sun stream through.

From where she stood she could see the crowded pantile roofs of St Aygulf tumbling away towards the sea. They glowed with a red warmth that calmed her. It was as if, after the unreality of the dream, the sleeping town breathed an air of reassurance. She looked across towards the headland and St. Tropez. The Mediterranean was a dark blue, blissfully calm. White flecks of towns and villages dotted the coastline.

Slowly the panic subsided. But deep down, anxious thoughts nagged at her. If what she'd dreamt had just been a dream, she could have put it down to her own imagination. These dreams, though, weren't like that. The beach was real, and even though she'd never climbed over rocks into a second cove, she knew, if she did, that cove would be there, exactly like it had been in her dream.

What was happening to her? To be able to see, in dreams, things that she'd never seen in real life, and to picture them so vividly, to have called the name of a person she'd never heard of, and yet a person who she now knew existed, those weren't human qualities. She was having experiences that scientific logic would say were impossible – outside natural law. But she didn't want to possess powers that were outside natural laws. She, Carrie Louise Redman, was just a normal girl – as normal as any of her mates. Nothing about her was different, yet… it seemed, suddenly, everything was different. She'd seen what, in the past, would have been called 'visions', something foretelling an event where a boy had disappeared - and maybe something like that was really going to happen to this boy.

Now the fact that it was going to happen, mattered to her. She didn't know what to do. It could be, she had the power to save him from some terrible catastrophe. That was what all this supernatural thing was about – loading onto her a responsibility to warn him, to kind of – protect him. None of this was easy for her. How could she go up to a complete stranger, telling him she'd had a dream and knew he was in danger? She'd look a total idiot.

She was confused and uncertain. She pushed open the window to allow the air in. The morning's coolness took some of the fire out of her confusion. But she needed to talk this through with someone; someone who could share the change in her. Nothing she'd experienced up till now gave her the ammunition to cope with it on her own.