The Beach

Jane was early.

This was intentional of course as anyone who knew her could testify that Jane was, always early.

The day was young and unspoiled and, in this moment, when the world was hushed and forgiving, Jane breathed in the cold sea-air and imagined all the possibilities the day could deliver.

She was standing on the solid ground of the seafront, just a few steps from the sand but her feet firmly planted and not ready to move forward.

She took in the scene, noticing the changes since she’d last been here. The promenade, the pier, the amusement arcades, had all experienced some cosmetic modification but it all still felt the same. It was home. Not her actual home, but where she felt most at home.

It was where they’d met, some 50 years ago, and it was where they’d go on to meet again and again through the years.

Simon was 15 when Jane had first noticed him. A lanky, awkward teenager who looked like he didn’t completely fit inside his own body, with knee bones, jaw bones and cheekbones all protruding out to the world as if trying to escape. These were, however, the characteristics, that were a reward for those cruel adolescent years, once the rest of his body had caught up.

Every summer, for 2 weeks, Simon would be forced to stay in the family caravan in Blackpool although once he’d met Jane, he hadn’t required so much cajoling.

He’d sat next to her at the Bingo hall on the seafront, one day when the sun had failed to show itself and instead the skies had opened up to deliver a cliched British summer’s day.

At 13, Jane was delighted to be playing Bingo and even more delighted to win a full house, and despite himself, Simon had been swept up in the drama of her win and choosing the prize, and her family had invited him to have fish and chips with them to celebrate.

He’d appeared to Jane, at first, as a boring, spiritless, stiff, who was of no interest to her, but they became friends out of convenience rather than intent.

The following summer, they’d shared their first kiss and two years after they’d met, they were in love. Long, laboured, love calls and letters professing their committment, kept them burning between summers.

He was 17 by then and had volunteered to drive his family on their annual jaunt to the caravan.

She had presumed then that she would be with him for the rest of her life. Promises were made and kept but many were broken and as often the case and foreseen by those who’ve gone before, their infatuation ended, albeit temporarily, when their summer holiday ended that year.

Jane buried her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket. It was cold by the sea and the sun hadn’t started warming the air yet. She felt for the piece of paper she’d put in her pocket earlier, with a date and time on, and once reassured of it, released it – pulled her hands out and rubbed them together to keep warm.

She thought about the years when they had seemingly forgotten one another. She had travelled the predictable path laid out for her by her parents. She’d had no choice in any of it. School, college, University, Job, married and then a family.

It was only then, that she’d gone back to Blackpool and this beach – with her husband and children and it was nearly 15 years after first meeting Simon, that he came into her life again.

It wasn’t the kind of accidental meeting she had fleetingly imagined or read about in romance novels. On the contrary, it was not romantic or secret. He’d called her parent’s house out of the blue to say hi and they’d arranged to meet up and introduce their respective families when they were next visiting Blackpool.

From that meeting, their families were forever entwined and connected. They moved on from old flame and true friendship was formed.

In time, Blackpool family summers made way for the needs of older family life and when their children no longer begged to holiday by the seaside, Simon and Jane had found ways to maintain their friendship through other means. Sometimes with their partners, but more often than not, without. By the age of 40, Jane knew that she had fallen back in love with Simon and when she was 41 she told him. It turned out Simon had never fallen out of love with her and the third phase of their affair began. Friendship re-imagined into infidelity.

Jane looked at her watch - 5.45 am. She looked around her. Down the beach, left, right. She held her gaze for a moment at a point in the distance. She imagined she could see something down by the pier and remembered back to a weekend away here, with Simon. They’d stood under the pier, hiding from the world, so scared someone would see them and they’d held onto each other so tightly. It was a to be their final meet. Their ultimate embrace. They’d agreed they wouldn’t see each other again unless it could be without regret and deceit.

Yet more promises made. A commitment to each other to come back here, today, at this time.

She wasn’t sure why they’d chosen this day. It had seemed like enough time could have passed for a different perspective or for their lives to have changed.

Jane committed to step forward. Onto the sand. It was soft and unsteady. She took deep breaths as she went. She’d waited for the day for so long. The anticipation had been too much at times. Her husband had met someone else two years ago, but she felt steadfast in her commitment to the meeting date.

The wind picked up and whistled through the gaps in her jacket.

It was the jacket of an old woman. She thought of herself through the years on this beach. From the swimming costume of her teenage years to the bikini she’d dared to wear in her twenties when her mid-driff was something to marvel at not hide. Then the more conservative one piece of her thirties when she’d sacrificed her mid-driff to her children.

Her hair was now silver, and she felt like an entirely different being to the woman from her imagination.

She re-adjusted her scarf and plunged both hands into each pocket. Her right hand felt the note with the time and the date.

The left, a letter. She felt the tips of the ripped envelope she’d torn open a week ago.

She rubbed it between her fingers, and she thought about the words written on the pages. In the week since it had been delivered, she had read it only once. She didn’t need to read it again. The address in the top right of the envelope had told her before she’d read the content, it was from Simon’s daughter.

Dear Jane, it had begun.

I’m so sorry to have to tell you, my father passed away this morning….

It had more details of course – how? Cancer. Where? at home.

Everything she’d needed to know was in it. Except she hadn’t wanted to know any of it.

The date was Saturday 12th March, and it was 6am. They’d arranged to meet at 9am. Under the pier. Jane walked on towards the shore. The cold wind from the Irish sea, sand blasting the skin on her face, causing tears to stream from her eyes. As she reached the water’s edge, she held on tight to both letters in her hands. She opened her mouth wide, and screamed as she walked into the sea.

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