Emma and Rich were enthusiastic, looking like kids themselves in anticipation of an outing they were not in charge of. “This is so cool,” said Emma. “Thank you, Simon.”
“Tiny penguins,” marveled Cleo, perking up a bit from her Americano with oat milk.
Unfortunately, Simon did not stop while he was ahead. “There have also been recent sightings of a northern bottlenose whale, huge numbers of squid eggs, and sea gooseberries,” he said.
“What is a sea gooseberry?” asked Donna. “Sounds revolting.”
“They’re round, jelly-like blobs,” said Simon. “Though we’d have to paddle out in sea kayaks to be sure to see gooseberries.”
“No, thank you!” cried Donna.
“I feel like Queen Elizabeth,” noted Danny. “Remember, inThe Crown,when she goes to the Scottish Highlands with her corgis?”
“Of courseI remember,” said Donna. “That show is very complicated, but the costumes are top-notch. Diana’s outfits inspired many of my outfits for this weekend.”
“Donna, you’re an icon,” said Danny, which seemed to Sylvie like a bit much.
At Winefride, the owner of a local toggery shop was waiting to outfit them, assuring a thrilled Donna, Cleo, and Emma that, after the hike, the shop would ship all the British outerwear home.Donna beelined to the Burberry, selecting a check cotton gabardine trench coat with a matching bucket hat and boots. When Simon asked if she’d like bouclé ankle boots and a cashmere wrap to warm her up later, she cooed, “Oh, why not, Simon? And maybe some sunglasses?”
Rich said defensively that his family already had raincoats and boots, but Cleo said she couldn’t resist a smoke-blue, full-length coat from an Irish brand called Jack Murphy.
Simon greeted the Winefride warden, an older man named Barnaby, who offered to personally escort Donna along the cliff. Danny looked a bit put out, aggressively ignoring Cleo but happy to accept a new trench, fedora, and pair of Blundstone boots.
They set out along a trail as the sun came up, going single-file at times so no one would fall down the cliffside. The ground was wet and muddy, but the Irish Sea below was breathtaking. Simon walked quickly, switching between binoculars, two camera lenses, a pair of glasses on his forehead, and sunglasses around his neck.
“Ha! Bag the poo!” cried Guinness, pointing to a sign for dog walkers.
“So immature,” pronounced Penelope, rolling her eyes like a teenager.
“But kind of funny,” said Sylvie to her, gently.
“Yes, OK,” said Penelope, acquiescing to being a kid for a moment. “Kind of funny. Very British.” She ran to find the boys, Emma, and Rich, who were determinedly hiking along in the rain.
“Where’s your mother?” said Danny, peering at Sylvie from beneath his waxed cotton fedora. Cleo was hurrying to catch up with them.
“What?”
“Where is Donna? She was walking arm in arm with that old man and they’ve fallen behind.”
“I wouldn’t worry about my mother,” said Sylvie. “She takes care of herself, I promise you.”
“Well, she and I were talking about something important,” said Danny peevishly.
Sylvie shrugged politely and moved to Simon, who was crouching down at the edge of a cliff peering intently through his binoculars. “Syl,” he said, reaching out with the hand not holding his binoculars to squeeze her knee.
She scrunched down next to him, saying, “Don’t fall, Simon.”
“I’ve got you,” he said. “Sylvie, look.”
She fumbled with her new binoculars. When she peered through them, she only saw black. She realized her lens caps were on, removed them, but still only saw black. “I can’t see anything,” she admitted.
“Lengthen the eyecups,” said Simon. She unscrewed the part of the binoculars that met her eyes, elongating them, then peeked again and inhaled with wonder.
Below them, on the beach, she saw a large gray seal rolling on its back. “A seal!” she said.
“Look in the water.”
Sylvie moved the binoculars, refocused, and saw a tiny baby seal swimming, playing in the greenish waves. It paddled to shore, and used its fins to lurch across the sand to the bigger seal.
