Simi feels a new fear numb through her.

“Not seen.”

“They were at the meal.”

“Next to us, when we got up to leave the tables.”

“If they’re together, Fred and Bernard will be fine,” someone shouts.

Simi is not so certain. She remembers Sal helping her uncle to his feet. He had not been steady.

“We need to find them.”

 “Don’t worry, we will,” Rudd shouts.

“Hope they’ll be okay Simi,” says Marybelle, her hand on Simi’s arm. “They’re old soldiers so they should be fine.”

Simi pats the hand, but is not convinced. She turns back towards the doors, as keen as the others to catch a glimpse of the pair out in the storm. Bodies squeeze to either side, forcing her and Marybelle close to the tug and rattle of the glass as the wind tumbles through the tables outside. Suddenly, Simi sees a table fling towards them. It spins round, and then its corner smashes into the glass just beside her. As it does somebody screams and slams into her from behind. Simi falls, and tries to push herself up with her hands, but a sharp stab in one lifts the other straight up to Marybelle, who catches it and pulls her to her feet, dragging her towards the middle of the room.

As they squash back through the guests the gong rings out over the chaos, and Rudd yells out, urging all to come away from the glass. He shouts that they must stay inside, but not everyone agrees.

“We need to search man.”

“Let’s get out there.”

“We’ll go.”

Rudd pleads again. “This is not your average storm. This is a cyclone.”

“What?”

“A cyclone?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Who says?”

 “Nobody warned us …”

Rudd shouts more loudly. “This is the cyclone that’s just hit Beira. They said it might get here. May get worse.”

“How come we never heard anything?”

“Agh man, it’s just another storm.”

“No way. Beira’s drowned.”

“You never said.”

“Well …wasn’t much info out there …” Rudd shouts. “Should be over by morning.”

“By morning!” Groans fill the room.

“Meanwhile, we’ll get a search party together to look for Fred and Bernard,” Rudd yells.

There is another splintering crack, and more wind sweeps through at knee height. Rudd is still saying something, but Simi can barely hear him.

“… old bit of the lodge the safest … watch out … glass … working on the generator …”

A frantic banging twists in from outside, cutting Rudd short.

“It’s the walkway roof!”

“The lower end is lifting …”

Simi and Marybelle turn around, Simi stretching up to see over peoples’ heads. She just catches sight of a section of roof flapping wildly in the flickering light of the storm. Beside it another sheet lifts, and starts to peel back, then both rip free, and tear away into the night.

“Like washing from a line. Gone,” someone shouts.

Again bodies tiptoe, but there is not the rush forwards. All are wary of the glass. Simi’s nerves are scraped raw.

“Eish …”

“No …”

“We’ve got to find them!”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

“Come on Simi. We better move. Jambee wants us to go with him. Let’s get inside.”

Simi, happy to stand up, follows Marybelle to Jambee, who is like a breaker in the waves. They reach him, and push on towards the lights shining out from the lounge.

Overhead thunder cracks again, booming over the roar of rain on the roof. Marybelle’s voice, chiming like a bell on a high sea, is the only thing keeping Simi remotely calm. She clings to it as they tumble through the doors. They are barely inside when the lights go out.

Around them the crowd swirls with laughter and storm, as it moves deeper into the room.

“Everyone okay?” Rudd shouts.

“Fine!”

“Yes.”

“Lost my beer.”

“Great. Torches coming round now.”

Bright beams flick on around them, and in their light Simi sees laughing faces, energized by the electricity in the air.

“Are there a lot of storms like this?” she shouts into Marybelle’s ear.

“This time of year, yes. They’re amazing. Do you want to get closer?”

“No. I’m good here. Don’t want to …”

Simi feels Marybelle squeeze past her.

“Come on! This is a proper storm.”

Alarmed, Simi in a flash of torchlight, sees Marybelle’s bright pink top push back through the surge of bodies.

“Marybelle …” she calls out, but the top does not turn. “Marybelle.”

Simi turns around, hoping to see Jambee, but she cannot. With a stab of panic she realises she is alone in the storm-crazed crowd.

“Marybelle …” she calls again. “Marybelle.”

“I’m here.”

Ahead, Simi sees the slight frame of her friend, now half-turned towards her.

“Wait. I’m coming,” she shouts, elbowing her way through to Marybelle, now only feet from the glass doors.

Outside the sky flickers pale, silhouetting the last of the guests to come inside. They stumble in, laughing, and pull the doors closed behind them.

“I love these storms,” says Marybelle. “Can you see? Look over there.”

At first Simi sees nothing through the pouring rain, but in the judder of the next lightning strike, she sees what Marybelle has seen – the shimmering, silver lake that was once the swimming-pool.

“Is that the …? There’s the champagne.”

Simi swings round. Katania is just behind her, glaring out into the storm.

“The champagne’s still out there!” Katania turns back to face the room. “Tonderai! Tonderai!”

“Not seen,” a voice replies.

“They’re at the generator,” Rudd calls.

“There must be someone else. Any staff here?”

 “No.”

“You’re on your own Katania. Are you after a drink?”

Laughter rises briefly.

“It’s the drink I’m worried about. There’s champagne out there.”

“I’ll get it,” replies a male voice.

The room quietens, as a shape shoulders through towards the doors.

“Where is it?” the young man asks, as the crowd begins to follow his path towards the front.

 “There. Just by the corner of the building.”

“I see it,” he says, and pulls open the doors, the rush of wind shoving Marybelle sideways into Simi.

“Shut the doors, man!”

The doors slide shut, and all push forward, straining to catch a glimpse of the champion in the storm.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023