“You need a break, Vicky—how long can you keep working like this? You’re not yourself anymore. Where’s that spark in your eyes, that infectious cheerfulness you always had? So you divorced that…” Mum muttered something unflattering under her breath. “Good riddance, no point moping over it.”
“Mum, I’m not moping. It’s been a year since the divorce—I’ve moved on. And Lily keeps me busy. Honestly, she’s way too clever for her age. She’s only eleven, but half the time she sounds like a grown-up. Probably because she’s always got her nose in your magazines. She’ll read anything she can get her hands on,” Vicky said with a sigh.
They decided to whisk themselves off to the seaside.
“Exactly—Lily deserves a break too. She’s such a bright girl, top of her class. She needs to unwind. Why don’t you take her to the coast? We can’t afford posh resorts right now, but a little B&B would do nicely. I’ll chip in,” Mum insisted.
“Come on, Mum, say yes!” Lily’s voice piped up from the other room. “Gran’s helping out, after all. Maybe you could come too?” she added cheerfully. “You know, Mum, just like water and sun make plants strong, that’s exactly what we need—a bit of strength and health.”
“Good grief, where do you get this stuff, Lily?”
“From Gran’s magazines, obviously. And school, in case you forgot,” Lily giggled.
With her holiday leave approved, Vicky made up her mind—they were off to the coast. On her last day at the office, she waved goodbye to her colleagues. “See you lot in a bit—proper break ahead!”
“Go on, Vicky, soak up the sun, swim loads, and maybe meet a fit bloke while you’re at it,” they teased.
Packing was hectic. They hit the shops for new swimsuits and shorts, and Lily bounced around singing, *”It was by the sea, she walked on the sand, he watched her go by…”*
“Sweetheart, what’s that from? Where do you even get these ideas?”
“Mum, it was in a magazine.”
“You’re too young for those. I should bin them.”
“You forgetting the internet exists?”
“I’ll cancel that too.”
“That’s basically oppression,” Lily laughed.
“Come on, *oppressed one*, pack your things.”
“Mum, Emma’s dead jealous we’re going. She’s never seen the sea.”
“Ah, bless. Her mum’s disabled, no dad around… life’s not easy for them.” Vicky sighed. “Maybe when Emma’s older, she’ll have better luck and take her mum someday.”
“Yeah, but who knows when that’ll be,” Lily said glumly.
The night before they left, they curled up on the sofa, chatting about the trip—until Lily suddenly blurted, “Mum, d’you think you’ll meet *the one* there?”
“*The what?*” Vicky nearly jumped.
“You know, the love of your life. Like that line: *‘It was by the sea, where the lace-like foam…’* Maybe your prince’ll rise right out of it!”
“Lily Grace, what goes on in that head of yours?!”
“Alright, alright, bedtime!” Lily scampered off before Vicky could protest.
The train ride took a full day. They stared out at rolling fields, giddy with excitement. It’d been four years since their last seaside trip.
They arrived by evening, lugging their bags to a quaint guesthouse. The landlady greeted them. “This half’s yours, dears. The other side’s let to a nice young man—Oliver’s his name.”
“What’s that to us?” Vicky thought, settling in.
“Mum, let’s hit the beach *now*,” Lily begged. “We’ll unpack later—I need a dip!”
Vicky agreed. The sea was just past the garden gate.
The water was glorious. Lily kicked off her sandals, dashed in, then tore off her shorts and T-shirt to plunge back under the waves. The foam curled at the shore, delicate as lace.
Returning at dusk, they found Oliver lounging on the veranda with a beer. As they passed, Lily announced, “Beer’s full of toxins and heavy metals, you know.”
Oliver chuckled. “Evening. And where’d you pick up *that* nugget?”
“Reading’s educational,” Lily said haughtily, flouncing inside.
Oliver grinned. “Was worried I’d be bored. Not with *that* one around.”
Next day, Vicky suggested sightseeing first. “We’ll beach it later—less chance of burning.”
By evening, the shore was quieter. Oliver sat on a lounger, shades on, gazing at the horizon.
“Mum, look—our neighbour!” Lily nudged her.
He spotted them. “Evening. I’m Oliver. And you lovely ladies are?”
“Lily, and this is my mum, Vicky,” Lily cut in.
“Pleasure. You’re evening swimmers too?”
“Just timing,” Vicky said, heading for the water.
Later, Lily craved a pomegranate. “Mum, we’ve no knife!”
Undeterred, she marched over to Oliver. “Can you help?”
“Of course.”
Lily recited solemnly, *”So simple, so sweet—the queen asked him to split the pomegranate, gave half, then fancied the page…”*
Oliver blinked. “You know *Seventy*’s poetry?”
“Obviously,” Lily said, handing him a slice.
Walking back, they discovered they were from the same town.
Later, Lily whispered, “Mum, it’s *fate*.”
“What is?”
“Oliver couldn’t take his eyes off you—even in sunglasses.”
“Lily Grace, focus on *holidays*.”
But that night, Vicky wondered: *A child’s everything, but a man’s steadiness… we’ve missed that.*
The days flew by—beach trips, cafés, ice creams. One evening, over wine on the veranda, Oliver took Vicky’s hands. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve enjoyed this—especially Lily. Eleven and quoting poetry? Remarkable.”
Then Lily’s voice chimed: *”It was by the sea, where the lace-like foam…”*
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
“Too breezy. Also, thirsty.” She vanished again.
By holiday’s end, it felt meant to be.
Some holiday romances fizzle—theirs didn’t. Three years on, they’re sharing a home, with a baby boy Lily named Arthur.
