We walk past a couple flying a kite, fairly unsuccessfully since there is no breeze to speak of. It’s Sunday afternoon and a few families are having picnics, an elderly couple are walking their two dogs, and yet no one has to share a patch of their sand. The sand here seems as infinite as the blue sky above. We watch a toddler, still in nappies, on her hands and knees playing in the sludgy brown mud. Before reaching the sea, there are pools of water to paddle in, but this child wants to do more than get her feet wet. She’s on a mission to get her pretty smocked dress dirty and thankfully her mother doesn’t seem anything like my own, positively encouraging her to have fun. I mean, what are washing machines for?
Whenever I see parents playing with their children, I long to be a mum. This feeling, this need in me, is strong. Milla doesn’t get it. She can’t think of anything worse than nappies and broken sleep. Yet, for me, the longing is visceral, and it’s only grown stronger since meeting Jamie. I crave a child that is a part ofbothof us. Both Jamie and I are only children, and while that has had its advantages, we’ve also missed being part of a larger family. Jamie once told me he fantasised about having a younger brother or sister, someone he could boss around. He also knows how I longed for a sister, and that it’s my fantasy to have a little girl.
‘One day, we’ll come here, withourbaby girl,’ Jamie says, as if reading my mind. ‘Even if that means we have to have forty boys before we have our girl, so be it.’
‘I’d rather we have one girl, straight off, not forty boys.’
He smiles back at me, sheepish. ‘So would I. So would our bank manager. So would the environment. But you get my drift.’
‘I get your drift. We could have a boy too,’ I suggest, ‘a younger brother.’
‘Yeah. I can see them now, in the back of the car, squabbling and driving us mad.’
‘They’ll keep us young.’ I watch the little girl giggling with her dad as he scoops her up into his arms and runs across the beach.
Finally, we’re only meters from the sea. ‘Feeling brave?’ he asks, stripping off with confidence. One of the many reasons I fell for Jamie is he’s not conscious of his weight or appearance, not that he needs to be, his job keeps him fit, but the last thing I want is a man who spends more time in the bathroom than me. He’s the opposite of vain and hates the gym as much as I do. A game of tennis and a bike ride is more our thing, or a walk in the park with an ice cream. He loves to eat, drink, dance, swim in the sea… He wades into the water effortlessly, as if it’s a warm bath. Bastard! But it’s his fearlessness, his love of life that makes me so attracted to him. I’m more cautious, timid by nature. They say opposites attract.
I dip a toe into the water. It’s ice-cold. ‘Maybe I’ll paddle,’ I say, knowing I won’t get away with it.
He throws me a look. ‘Once you’re in, it’s beautiful.’
Come on, Holly. With renewed determination I unbutton my denim shorts and take off my T-shirt. Jamie wolf whistles as I strike a pose in my red bikini, which hasn’t seen the light of day for years, and I’m now regretting that second helping of lemon meringue pie. I also wish I wasn’t quite so pale. My legs are as white as stone whereas Jamie has enviable olive-toned skin.
I step in cautiously. ‘Liar!’ I take another tentative step towards him, knowing I need to keep moving forward, I mustn’t stop or fuss or fret. I do not want to turn into my mother just yet. Be calm, cool, sexy in your little red bikini. The freezing cold water, now up to my thighs, is beginning to feel a little more bearable.
‘You can do it, Holly!’ he says.
There’s nothing for it. I dive in, immerse myself, before coming up for air, my breath stolen from me. ‘Fuck, bugger, shit!’ I curse. ‘Shit! Jamie! I hate you!’
He laughs.
‘It’s not funny!’ I say, thinking my heart is about to jump out of my chest. The water stings, like needles all over my body.
‘Keep moving, Holly,’ Jamie urges, ‘it gets easier. Follow me.’ As I swim alongside him, I realise he’s right. It is getting a little easier. My breath returns, the intensity of the cold recedes. I settle into the enormity of the sea, feeling free. I did it. I did it! I keep swimming, and in this moment, I realise that I couldn’t be happier. Right now, this space belongs to us alone. I am in the right place, with the right person. Suddenly I can’t stop smiling. I feel alive. I look up at the blue cloudless sky, the sun on my face, and quietly thank Jamie’s first wife, for being foolish enough to leave him. ‘I love you,’ I say, not caring anymore if I’m the one who says it first. Life’s too short.
‘What did you say?’ Jamie asks, swimming back towards me.
‘I love you,’ I say, knowing full well he heard, as we wrap our arms around one another.
I feel his touch, his skin, his salty lips on mine. ‘I should get you into the sea more often,’ he suggests with that wry smile that is becoming so familiar to me.
When he says, ‘I love you too,’ something inside me lights up, and stays with me, for as long as I can remember.
1
Eleven years later
‘May I come in?’ the policeman asks.
He refuses a cup of coffee. Or tea.
Maybe he wants a glass of water?
This can’t be about Jamie. Jamie’s fine. He left at five this morning. Crept out of bed without waking me up. He’s working on a project in Hampshire.
No, this couldn’t be about Jamie. Maybe it’s Mum? Or Dad? After the policeman refuses a cup of tea, coffee or water again, ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news,’ he says. ‘Your husband was involved in a road accident earlier this morning.’
He tells me Jamie was killed, outright, by a lorry driver, asleep behind his wheel. He wouldn’t have suffered any pain, the policeman reports.
