A Trip to the Sea
At fifty-nine, William Edward Harris found himself a widower. His daughter, immediately after the funeral, suggested he move in with her.
“Dad, come stay with us. How will you manage here alone? It’s too hard. Just for a while, at least. Give yourself time to adjust.”
“Thank you, love, but no. Don’t worry about me. I’m not some feeble old man—I can take care of myself. What would I even do at your place? Better you stay here with me longer,” William said, eyes hopeful.
“But there’s Charlie and James to think of. Charlie’s at that difficult age, and James is swamped with work… I have to go,” Emily murmured guiltily, embracing her father.
“I understand.” William patted her hand.
“Promise you’ll call if you need anything.”
“Need what? I can cook, the washing machine does the laundry, I’ll manage the floors. While Margaret was ill, I learned it all. She just had to remind me now and then. Or do you think the place is filthy?” His voice carried a hint of hurt.
“Of course not, Dad. It’s spotless. Don’t be upset—I’m just concerned.” Emily leaned her head against his shoulder.
“I won’t drown my sorrows in whisky. I never touched the stuff in my youth, and it’s too late to start now. Don’t fret, off you go.”
And that settled it. William packed a hefty bag of treats for Emily. She lifted the weighty tote, sighing.
“Dad, why so much? We have everything.”
“You’d dare refuse your mother? Take it, it won’t go to waste. The train will carry it, and James will meet you,” he grumbled without malice.
They reached the station minutes before departure. The conductor checked the ticket, urging Emily aboard as the whistle blew.
One last embrace, a kiss on his stubbled cheek, then she snatched the bag, blinking back tears. She hurried into the carriage, waving through the window as the doors shut. William watched the train shrink into the distance, swallowed by the horizon. His chest ached with loneliness. He’d been brave while she was here—now tears came unbidden. Around him, laughter and chatter swirled, but he walked to the bus stop as if through a desert, blind to it all.
“Oh, Margaret, how do I live without you now? Maybe I should’ve gone with Emily?” Reaching the stop, he chose to walk home, delaying the empty flat.
* * *
Back in school, Will had been smitten with Rose—a slender girl with a dusting of golden freckles and fiery copper hair. The freckles never faded, even in winter. He’d call her his little sunbeam.
In their final year, her father was diagnosed with tuberculosis. Doctors advised a move south, away from the damp. Her parents sold up swiftly, buying a house by the Cornish coast.
At first, they wrote often. Will’s mother scolded him for daydreaming by the window or scribbling letters instead of studying for university entrance exams. He barely heard her. His mind was already there, with Rose.
After his first year, he joined a summer labour crew to save for the trip, refusing to ask his parents. He returned in August, lean and tanned, announcing at the door he was going to Cornwall.
His mother balked.
“Not alone! Write first, warn them you’re coming. Showing up unannounced—a year’s passed! Anything could’ve changed.”
No mobiles then, and landlines were rare, especially in country homes. Will wrote again, cursing his tardiness.
The reply came: train tickets were near impossible to get. Everyone had swarmed the coast that summer. The trip never happened.
Bitter at the world, he wrote Rose, vowing to secure tickets early next year. They had their whole lives ahead…
She never replied. Will moped, snapping at his parents, sending letter after letter. Silence.
Then, on a rainy autumn morning, he collided with a girl at the bus stop, sending her bag splashing into a puddle. He missed his lectures that day.
They talked for hours in a café. With Clara, it was easy, like they’d known each other forever. She was studying nursing. Her damp textbooks dripped on the radiator.
“Did I make you miss something important?” Will asked.
“Anatomy test. The professor’s a terror—I’d have failed anyway,” she said lightly.
Her dark eyes fascinated him—bottomless pools. At first, Rose still haunted his thoughts. But she was far away; Clara was here.
His mother approved. Clara was steady, modest, with a respectable profession. No fears entrusting his life to her. Their love was calm, like Clara herself. They graduated, married, and within a year, she bore Emily.
Rose still visited his dreams sometimes. He’d wake flushed and restless, but Clara and little Emily soothed him. Rose must have her own family by now. No use dwelling.
* * *
Home alone, William refused to wallow. He ripped the mourning cloths off mirrors, stripped the guest bed, threw open windows, scrubbed floors. The flat hummed with city noise now, less hollow.
“See, Margaret? Managing fine. Don’t you fret. We’ll meet soon,” he muttered, glancing at her framed photo. He’d refused Emily’s black ribbon for the frame. “She’s alive to me, right here in my heart.”
At work, his director summoned him.
“I know it’s rough. We’ve arranged a seaside break for you. Go, relax—it’s the quiet season now, perfect for fruit and peace.”
“But I’ve used my leave.”
“Take unpaid. I’ve approved a hardship grant—call it a bonus for dedication.” A pat on the shoulder sealed it.
William booked a mid-September train ticket, filed for leave.
They’d only gone south once, when Emily was five and perpetually ill. A doctor prescribed sea air. After Cornwall, she’d thrived. But then Margaret’s heart troubles began—travel faded from mind.
On the train, he dozed and reminisced. “What if I saw Rose? Learned how she fared, if she resented me… No. She’ll have her own life now.” He shook it off. Another thought replaced it: “Retirement next year. Maybe sell the flat, move nearer Emily?”
* * *
The hotel room was airy, modern, with a sea view. William visited Penzance, joined tours, but most evenings, he sat by the water, watching lazy waves hiss over pebbles. He missed Margaret terribly.
One sunset, a petite woman paused nearby. Warm for September, yet she bundled in a thick grey cardigan, hair tucked under a crocheted hat. She reminded him of Rose. He longed to see her face.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? I watch every night. Never tires me,” he ventured.
Silence. Maybe she thought he was flirting?
“I live here. Come down when I can,” she said finally, eyes fixed on the sea.
“Even in winter? The sunsets still good?”
“Changeable. Stormy often.”
“Second time I’ve seen the sea. Believe that?”
“Why not? Some come yearly—we nod like old friends. Others prefer abroad.” She turned. Sunset bronzed her face, hiding any freckles.
“You seem familiar. Not a line—just a feeling.”
She eyed him skeptically.
“My wife and I holidayed in St Ives once. You ever there?”
“Excuse me.” She left abruptly.
Next evening, he scanned the beach. No sign. “Mad old fool,” he chided.
Then a storm hit. From his balcony, William watched the fury.
The following day, her hat bobbed in the distance. A raincoat now. He approached.
“You live close?” he asked after discussing the storm.
“Yes. But I don’t rent rooms, if that’s your angle.”
“I worried I offended you last time. Saying you seemed familiar.”
Silence.
“William Harris. Call me Will. You?”
“Rosamund,” she said after a pause.
“Funny—I loved a girl named Rose once. Nearly married her.”
“What stopped you?”
“Her father got TB. They moved here for his health. I promised to visit, even worked all summer for the fare.”
Rosamund listened.
“My parents refused. No tickets either. Never made it.”
“I’d not let my son travel alone either,” she remarked.
“Carried the guilt years. Broke my word.” A pause. “Then I met Clara. Married her. She died two months back.”
They watched the paling horizon in silence. Rosamund left without farewell.
* * *
Post-storm, the air turned crisp. Waves slammed the breakwater. Wandering the lanes, William heard shouts from a cottage garden. Rosamund argued with a slurring man.
“Tom’s back, pestering her for drink money,” a neighbour clucked, shopping bag in arm.
“Divorced twenty years, yet he comes like clockwork.”William rushed forward as the man shoved Rosamund, catching her before she fell, and in that fleeting moment, beneath the salt-tanged wind and the cry of gulls, he thought he saw—just for a heartbeat—the ghost of the girl he’d once loved, before everything faded to the quiet hum of the sea.
