“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

Rudd grins, and waves back as he walks past to check the glass doors off the verandah. He opens them slightly, and has a quick glance around the lounge area.

Quiet in here. And solid. Things turn bad, this is where I’m bringing everyone.

Feeling slightly calmer, he slides the big doors closed. He decides not to go back to the bar again, as he knows the new roof over the dance floor there, will be more hazard than shelter if the wind gets stronger.

He returns to find the guests still eating. As he looks around the tables Simi catches his eye. She looks worried, and he is about to try to signal some encouragement, when Marybelle leans in front of her to speak to Jambee.

She’ll be fine between those two. They’ll take care of her.

Rudd’s eyes move on.

Reckon we can manage this, just so long as it doesn’t turn into Beira.

He tries to map out a just-in-case plan, focusing on the most vulnerable. As he ponders, there is more glass-pinging from the top table, and Tim, urged on by others, gets to his feet.

“Hello … can you …”

His half sentence struggles against the wind, and thunder splits through the hills again. Its boom and echo drowns the words and leaves the fairy lights fainting.

“Speech,” a voice shouts.

“I bless the rains down in Africa … ” another sings out, joined by a rowdy chorus.

The words swell louder, as great barrels of rain tip over the verandah roof.

This is not good. We need to get everyone inside, before the lights go.

Rudd claps his hands.

“Apologies,” he shouts into the wind, “but we’re going to have to move you inside while we clear this …too much rain ….”

Another thunder crash explodes, cutting off his words. It’s closer this time, and in the grey freeze of light that follows Rudd sees bunches of guests getting to their feet, balancing one against the other. They jumble, laughing, towards the glass doors with Marybelle and Simi amongst them. Other guests remain seated, their singing getting louder and louder.

Rudd looks quickly for Fred and Bernard, and catches a brief glimpse of them before a group surges past, blocking his view. He moves quickly, hoping to reach the pair, but they are no longer where he thinks he saw them. As he turns to check behind him, he sees Tonderai and Innocence struggling to lift the cake off its stand, with rain pouring over the gutters beside them. Rudd rushes to help.

Another crack of thunder sounds directly overhead, and great gusts of wind swamp the tables in rain, snuffing out the last of the candles. Around the bar and dance floor the prancing fairylights blink their last. Rudd struggles to keep his feet, blindfolded by pitching dark.

 “Tonderai! Innocence! We need to get inside.”

“Yes … no … safe.”

“… now …”

The replies fracture back, and Rudd can just make out the blurry shapes of the two men, staggering with the cake between them.

 “I’ll get the torches,” he yells. “Can you try the generator?”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

Rudd’s heart pumps with the knowledge that there is not much time now. He watches the waiters rush to clear and deliver, then scans his eyes across the guests, searching for signs of concern, but he can see none. Even New Zealand Steve seems blissfully into his beer.

Then, as the last of the plates from the main course is carried towards the kitchen, the thunder arrives. Distant but definite, it drums closer, its scent gusting in on the wind, rich with static and wet earth.

Fear prickles up the back of Rudd’s neck and along his arms. It fizzes him with adrenaline. Unable to stay still, he decides to check on the bar area. As he strides around the edge of the lodge towards the dance floor, the wind hits him in the chest. It takes his breath, and flings it out into the darkness, leaving his lungs shocked and empty, waiting for the oxygen to come gasping back. Alarmed, Rudd abandons his mission and turns around, anxious to be back, close to the dining area and the guests.

He finds them as he left them, cheerfully seated and enjoying the moment, protected by the main body of the lodge. He listens to their chat, louder now against the thunder, and apparently unbothered by the static in the air. He reaches his spot between the kitchen and the tables, just as the wind forces its way around the building behind him. It flies in, and for a few short seconds it rips up chat, flaps fabric, tangles hair, and smashes empty bottles on to the floor.

Rudd moves quickly to help clear the broken glass. He and Tonderai are bent double, sweeping up the shards when the first of the rain comes in. It rattles across the verandah roof, lifting the laughter louder.

“This is it,” Rudd says.

“For sure,” replies Tonderai.

On the stage behind them the cake stand wobbles, but keeps its balance.

Rudd returns to his post once the broken glass has been collected. He tries to calm his mind, but it slips through his fingers, wet with the threat of flood and problems he still can’t imagine. He catches hold of it at last, and realises that he has not seen Simi for a while. His eyes sweep over the tables again, and he spots her, near the middle of the central row, next to Marybelle. She looks worried, but Rudd is reassured to see they are seated together.

He glances around the rest of the guests, and seeing no problems, decides to go and check that all the windows of the newly refurbished rooms have been closed. He hurries down past the swimming pool on to the lower walkway, and runs its length looking for anything that might be open. There is nothing. As far as he can see everything is shut, and the roof of the lower walkway is holding well.

Pulse tight, he turns and makes his way back up the stairs to his guests. As he reaches the verandah he is spotted by a young man on a nearby table, who raises his beer bottle in salute.

“Hey Rudd! Great meal.”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023