By the Sea
“You need a break, love—how much longer can you work yourself to the bone, Emma? You’re not yourself lately. Where’s that spark in your eyes? That sunny mood you used to spread like marmalade on toast? So what if you divorced that…” Mum muttered something uncharitable under her breath. “Good riddance, and no use moping about it.”
“Mum, I’m not moping. It’s been nearly a year since the divorce—I’ve moved on. Besides, Lily keeps me on my toes. Honestly, that girl’s wise beyond her years. She’s only eleven, but sometimes she comes out with things that make me wonder if she’s been sneak-reading your gossip mags again.”
They’d decided to dash off to the seaside.
“Exactly! Lily needs a break too—she’s a clever little thing, top of her class. A bit of sun and sand will do her good. Why don’t you two pop down to the coast? I know fancy resorts are out of the budget, but a cosy little B&B would do. I’ll chip in,” Mum pressed.
“Mum, say yes!” Lily’s voice piped up. “Gran’s offering to help. Actually, Gran, why don’t you come too?” she added brightly. “You know what they say—sun and water make flowers grow strong. Well, we could use a bit of that ourselves!”
“Goodness, where do you get these things, Lily?”
“From Gran’s magazines, obviously. And school, in case you forgot,” Lily giggled.
Emma’s holiday was fast approaching, and the decision was made. As she clocked out on her last day before leave, she waved to her colleagues.
“Cheerio, ladies! Two weeks of bliss ahead.”
“Go on, Emma—soak up the sun, splash about, and maybe bag yourself a fit bloke while you’re at it!” they cackled.
Preparations began in earnest—suitcases stuffed, a frantic dash to the high street for new swimsuits and flip-flops. Lily bounced around, singing,
“‘By the sea, she walked on the sand, he watched her go…'”
“Lily, what on earth? Where do you get these lines?”
“Mum, magazines. Duh.”
“You’re too young for that drivel. I ought to bin them.”
“You’d have to bin the internet too.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“That’s a human rights violation!” Lily laughed.
“Come on, ‘human rights,’ pack your things.”
“Mum, Sarah’s dead jealous we’re going. She’s never even seen the sea.”
“Ah. It’s tough for them—her mum’s disabled, no dad in the picture. Life’s not been kind. Maybe when Sarah’s older, she’ll take her mum somewhere nice.”
“Yeah, but who knows when that’ll be?” Lily sighed.
The night before departure, curled up on the sofa, they chatted about the trip—until Lily dropped another bombshell.
“Mum, d’you think you’ll meet ‘the one’ there?”
“Who?!” Emma nearly toppled off the sofa.
“You know—love of your life, like in the poems: ‘By the sea, where the lace-like foam…’ Maybe your prince will rise from the waves!”
“Lily, what goes on in that head of yours? I’m not—” Emma flapped her hands.
“Alright, alright! Off to bed!” Lily scampered away.
The train ride took most of the day. Emma and Lily pressed their noses to the window, drinking in the rolling countryside. The last seaside trip had been four years ago—this time, excitement fizzed like lemonade.
They arrived at the station by evening, then hopped a cab to their lodgings. The landlady greeted them.
“Here’s your half of the cottage, dears. The other half’s let to a lovely young man—Oliver’s his name.”
“What’s that to us?” Emma thought, settling in.
“Mum, let’s hit the beach! We can unpack later—maybe even a quick dip?”
Emma agreed. The sea was just past the garden gate, glinting in the dusk.
“Perfect time—no scorching sun, just cool waves.”
“Oh, Mum, it’s gorgeous!” Lily shrieked, kicking off her sandals and darting into the surf. She emerged, shucked off her shorts and T-shirt, and plunged back in. The waves curled playfully around her ankles. Emma smiled—the foam really did look like lace.
Darkness fell as they trudged back, sandy and happy. On the porch, a handsome man sipped beer from a can. As they passed, Lily announced,
“Beer’s full of toxins, you know. Even heavy metals.”
“Evening,” he chuckled. “Where’d you pick up such wisdom?”
“Evening,” Emma echoed, while Lily added airily, “Reading. Broadens the mind.” She sailed inside.
Oliver grinned. “Was worried I’d be bored. With neighbours like these? Not a chance.”
Next day, Emma suggested exploring. “We’ll beach it later—no need to turn into lobsters by noon.”
“Deal! Recon mission first,” Lily agreed.
That evening, they spotted Oliver lounging on a deckchair, sunglasses shielding his gaze.
“Mum, look—our neighbour!” Lily nudged her.
They approached. “Evening,” Oliver said. “I’m Oliver. And you are?”
“Lily! This is my mum, Emma,” Lily blurted.
“Charmed. Evening swimmers, I see.”
“Just timing,” Emma said, heading for the water.
Oliver watched. Later, Lily piped up, “Mum, I want a pomegranate.”
“No knife, love. Wait till we’re back.”
Undeterred, Lily marched over to Oliver. “Can you help?”
“Delighted.”
Lily recited solemnly, “‘So simple, so sweet—the queen asked him to split the fruit, shared half, and sighed…'”
“Blimey. You know Siegfried Sassoon?”
“Course,” Lily beamed. “Have some!”
“Ta.”
Walking back, they discovered they were from the same town.
“Fate,” Lily declared that night.
“What?”
“Mum, even with those sunglasses, I saw how he looked at you.”
“Lily, really! Just enjoy the holiday.”
But as Emma drifted off, she mused: A child’s the most precious thing—but a sturdy bloke to share the load wouldn’t hurt. Her ex was barely home. A proper partner… that’s what they needed.
The days flew—beach trips, ice creams, lazy chats. One evening, wine in hand, Oliver admitted, “Emma, I’ve not had such fun in ages. Lily’s a riot—who else her age quotes poetry?”
Emma smiled. Then Lily’s voice floated from the doorway: “‘By the sea, where the lace-like foam…'”
“Lily! Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
“Too excited. And thirsty.” She vanished again.
As the holiday wound down, it was clear—this wasn’t just a fling. Three years on, Oliver and Emma share a home, and little Archie (named by Lily, naturally) completes the picture. Some holiday romances fizzle—theirs? Well, let’s just say the sea brought more than shells.
