A Trip to the Seaside
At fifty-nine, William Edward Harris found himself a widower. His daughter, Emily, urged him to move in with her after the funeral.
“Dad, come live with us. How will you manage alone? It’s too hard. Just for a little while, until you find your footing.”
“Thank you, love, but I’ll stay. Don’t worry about me. I’m not helpless—I can look after myself. What would I even do at your place? Stay with me a bit longer,” William said, his voice hopeful.
Emily hesitated. “Dad, James and little Thomas need me. Thomas is at that difficult age, and James is swamped with work… I have to go.” She hugged him tightly.
“I understand,” William murmured, patting her arm.
“Promise you’ll call if you need anything?”
“What would I need? I can cook, the washing machine works, and I can mop the floors. I learned it all while your mother was ill. Unless you think the place is a mess?” His tone carried a hint of hurt.
“Of course not, Dad, it’s spotless. I’m just worried.” She leaned against his shoulder.
“I won’t drown my sorrows in drink. Never fancied whiskey in my youth, and it’s too late to start now. Go on, don’t fret.”
And so it was settled. William packed a bag of treats for Emily. She lifted the heavy parcel, sighing.
“Dad, this is too much. We have everything.”
“Try refusing your mother. Take it—won’t hurt. The train will carry it, and James will meet you,” he grumbled fondly.
At the station, they arrived just before departure. The attendant checked Emily’s ticket, ushering her aboard as the whistle blew.
One last hug, a kiss on his stubbled cheek, and she was gone, waving through the window with teary eyes. William stood motionless, watching the train shrink into the distance. His heart ached. Alone now. He’d held himself together for Emily’s sake, but once the train vanished, the floodgates opened. People bustled around him, but he walked to the bus stop like a man lost in a desert.
“Oh, Margaret, how do I go on without you? Should I have gone with Emily?” At the bus stop, he decided to walk home, delaying the return to an empty house.
Slowly, he trudged down the dusty street, lost in memories of how he’d first met Margaret…
***
Back in school, Will had been smitten with Alice, a delicate girl with a dusting of golden freckles and copper hair. Even in winter, the freckles lingered. He called her “Sunshine.”
In their final year, Alice’s father fell ill with tuberculosis. Doctors advised a move to a warmer climate. Her parents sold their house and left for the south coast, where they bought a cottage.
At first, they exchanged letters. Will would stare out the window or scribble replies, promising Alice he’d visit next summer. His mother scolded him for neglecting his studies, but he barely heard her—his heart was already by the sea.
After his first year at university, he joined a summer work program to save for the trip, refusing to ask his parents for money. He returned in mid-August, tanned and thin, and announced he was leaving for the coast to see Alice.
His mother protested. “You can’t just turn up unannounced! Write first, ask her parents. A lot can change in a year.”
Mobile phones didn’t exist then, and landlines were scarce, especially in rural cottages. Forced to wait for a reply, Will cursed himself for not writing sooner. When the letter finally arrived, train tickets were sold out—both ways. The whole country, it seemed, had decided to spend summer by the sea. His trip never happened.
Angry at the world, he wrote Alice, vowing to secure tickets early next year. Their future was still ahead…
She never replied. Will sulked, snapped at his parents, wrote again and again—but silence.
Then, one rainy autumn morning, he collided with a girl on his way to the bus stop. Her bag tumbled into a puddle. He never made it to lectures that day.
They sat in a café, talking as if they’d known each other for years. Margaret studied nursing. Her soggy textbooks dried by the radiator.
“Did I make you miss anything important?” Will asked.
“Anatomy exam. The professor’s a tyrant—I’d have failed anyway,” Margaret said lightly.
Her dark eyes mesmerized him—deep as a well, impossible to fathom. At first, Alice still lingered in his thoughts, but she was far away, and this new love was right beside him.
His mother adored Margaret—quiet, steady, with a reliable profession. No fear entrusting her only son to such caring hands. Their love was calm and even, like Margaret herself. They graduated together, married quickly, and a year later, Emily was born.
Alice still haunted his dreams sometimes. He’d wake flushed and restless, but Margaret and Emily soothed him. Alice likely had her own family by now. No use dwelling. What’s done is done.
***
Back home, William refused to wallow. He stripped the black cloths from the mirrors, laundered Emily’s sheets, flung open the windows, and scrubbed the floors. The flat filled with city noises, no longer so hollow.
“See, Margaret? Managing just fine. Don’t you worry about me. We’ll meet again soon,” he murmured, glancing at her framed photo. He’d refused Emily’s offer to drape black ribbon over it. “She’s alive to me—right here,” he’d said, tapping his chest.
At work, his manager called him in.
“I know it’s tough. We’ve arranged a trip to the coast for you. Go, relax—it’s the off-season now, quiet, plenty of fresh fruit.”
“But I’ve already taken my leave,” William said.
“Take unpaid days then. I’ve approved a bonus—consider it recognition for your dedication.”
William booked a train ticket for mid-September and filed for leave.
He and Margaret had only been to the coast once, when Emily was five and constantly ill. A doctor recommended sea air to strengthen her. After the trip, she’d thrived. But then Margaret’s heart troubles began, and travel became impossible.
On the train, Will dozed and reminisced. “What if I run into Alice? See how she’s doing…” The thought flickered, then faded. “She’ll have her own life. No point dredging up the past.” Another idea took its place: “Retirement next year. Maybe sell the flat, move closer to Emily?”
His hotel room was spacious, modern, with a sea view. He visited Brighton, joined a few tours, but most evenings, he sat by the shore, watching waves lap the pebbles. He missed Margaret. It would’ve been happier with her.
One sunset, a petite woman stopped nearby. Though warm, she wore a thick grey cardigan, her hair tucked under a knitted hat. She reminded him of Alice. He longed to see her face.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? I come every evening. Never gets old,” he said.
No reply. Maybe she thought he was flirting.
“I live here. I watch the sunset when I can,” she finally said, eyes fixed on the horizon.
“And in winter? Still this lovely?”
“Depends. Storms often roll in.”
“You’re lucky to live here. This is only my second time by the sea.”
She turned slightly. The sunset painted her face gold, hiding any freckles.
“You seem familiar. Not that I’m trying to chat you up,” he added hastily.
She eyed him skeptically.
“My wife and I visited Bournemouth once. Were you ever there?”
“Excuse me,” she said abruptly, walking away.
The next day, he returned to the shore, scanning the beach. She never came.
Then a storm rolled in, and William watched from his balcony. The following evening, he spotted her knitted hat from afar. This time, she wore a raincoat.
He greeted her.
“You live nearby?” he asked after remarking on the storm.
“Yes. But I don’t rent rooms, if that’s what you’re after.”
“Look, I didn’t mean to scare you yesterday. Just thought I recognized you.”
She stayed silent.
“I’m William. Call me Will. And you?”
“Alice,” she said after a pause.
“Funny—I was in love with an Alice once. Nearly married her.”
“What stopped you?”
“Her father got sick. Tuberculosis. They moved here. I promised to visit, even worked all summer to afford it.”
She listened silently.
“My parents wouldn’t let me go. Tickets sold out too. Never made it.”
“Can’t blame them. I wouldn’t let my son travel alone either,” she said.
“Guilty feelings lingered. Broke my promise.” He paused. “Then I met someone else. My wife died two months ago.”
They stood quietly as the sunset faded.
Alice turnedHe smiled up at her, the sea breeze carrying the scent of salt and memories, and whispered, “It’s good to see you again, Sunshine,” before closing his eyes for the last time.
