**The Gift**
Elizabeth walked through her flat, checking the lights and making sure everything was in order. She loved returning to a clean home. So why was she leaving her little paradise? For what? Her life was already like a holiday—she did as she pleased. But if she didn’t go, her daughter would be upset. This seaside trip was Cora’s birthday gift to her.
She sighed, wheeled her suitcase out, and locked the door with two bolts, testing the handle to be sure. Then she knocked on her neighbour’s door.
“Leaving already?” asked Sonya.
“Yes, here are the keys.” Elizabeth reluctantly handed them over.
“Don’t worry, I’ll water the plants and keep an eye on things. Enjoy yourself and don’t fret,” Sonya assured her. “Lucky you, having a daughter like Cora—buying you a holiday! My Ben only thinks about his next drink. Had a family, a flat—drank it all away…”
Elizabeth pitied Sonya, but suddenly it struck her—was it really safe to leave her keys with a woman whose son might let himself in? Not that she had anything valuable, but every little thing cost money. And the thought of someone rummaging through her belongings? Unpleasant. She wished she’d asked someone else to watch the flat. Too late now. Besides, it would hurt Sonya’s feelings, after all the times she’d helped.
Sonya noticed her hesitation.
“Don’t worry, I’ll hide the keys. Ben won’t know. Go on, everything’ll be fine.”
Elizabeth nodded and headed for the stairs.
“Safe travels,” Sonya called after her before closing the door.
The train station wasn’t far, so she walked rather than fussing with a taxi or squeezing onto a bus with her suitcase. The underground tunnel led her to the platforms, where a train was already waiting. She paced along, searching for carriage nine. Found it. She’d wait here—no need to rush later.
*But what if the numbering starts from the other end?* A flicker of panic rose, but she dismissed it. *They’ll announce it. I’ll have time.*
A week ago, Cora had turned up and announced she’d bought her a birthday gift—early, so Elizabeth could prepare.
“Are you pregnant?” Elizabeth had blurted.
A second child was fine, but the first was barely a year old. Still drowning in nappies—hardly the time.
“No, I’m not. I’ve booked you a seaside holiday. Train leaves the 11th, first-class. Here.” She handed over an envelope. “A week’s plenty to get ready.”
“Alone? Without you? On my actual birthday?! What about guests? The dinner? No, I’m not going. Return the ticket.”
“Mum, I planned it so you wouldn’t be stuck in the kitchen all day like some factory worker. I wanted you to have a proper celebration—a reunion with the sea. When was the last time you saw the coast? Can’t even remember, can you? It’s a gift from me and Paul. Do what you want with it,” Cora said, hurt. “Don’t like it? Stay home. But I’m not refunding it. Might get pregnant soon—then the sea’s off the cards for years. I picked a lovely guesthouse, right by the water.”
Elizabeth had grumbled—angry they’d arranged it without asking—but in the end, she packed.
And now here she was at the station. These trips, especially alone, brought more anxiety than joy. Endless worries: *Would she miss the train? Who’d share her compartment? How would she settle in?* At her age, stress wasn’t ideal.
The announcement came—carriage numbering started from the rear. Good, she’d guessed right. The train roared in, and Elizabeth tightened her grip on the suitcase, documents ready. Others with luggage stood nearby.
As the train slowed, she fought the urge to chase it, terrified it would overshoot and leave her scrambling. But it stopped. The attendant at carriage nine opened the door right in front of her, wiped the handrail, and prepared to check tickets.
Elizabeth boarded first, found her compartment, sat down, and exhaled. Half the battle over—she was on the train.
Three chatty girls piled in soon after, filling the space with noise. Elizabeth retreated to the corridor.
The train sped up. Forests and fields blurred past, rivers glinting like mirrors. Summer nights were short—darkness barely settled before dawn crept in. The girls passed her again, laughing, and she slipped back into the compartment, changed, and fell asleep to the rhythm of the tracks.
She woke to an announcement—some stop in the night. The window showed pale sky; her watch read half-two. A strand of blonde hair dangled from the top bunk. The girls had returned without a sound. *Good*, she thought, and slept again.
Next time she woke, sunlight flooded the compartment, thick with heat. The girls still slept. Elizabeth tiptoed out. The toilet light read *occupied*. A man with a towel over his shoulder smiled.
“Heading to the coast?”
“Everyone here is,” she replied flatly, turning away, but he kept talking, undeterred. She ignored him, relieved when the toilet freed up.
The girls hadn’t stirred. Thirsty, she went to the attendant’s cabin—locked. Probably fast asleep.
“No water. I’ve checked. The restaurant’s two carriages down—decent tea there, not the rubbish they serve here,” the same man offered.
“Are you hitting on me?” she snapped.
His face fell. “No need for that. Just talking. What else is there to do on a train? Even if I were, what’s the harm? Had a bad experience with men?”
“None of your business.” She pushed past him.
Later, the train halted, passengers flooding out. She stepped onto the platform.
“Fancy an ice cream? That kiosk sells them,” said the familiar voice.
She glared at him like a buzzing fly.
“What if I do?”
“Hold on.” He darted off, returning with a wafer cone. “Quick, it’s melting.”
She licked it, eyes closing. “Chocolate. My favourite.”
“My wife loved chocolate too. Died two years back. Visiting my son in London now. He begs me to stay, but the city chokes me. Got a house, a garden back home…”
*Ah. Looking for a replacement,* she thought but didn’t say—he’d bought her ice cream, after all.
“…they’ll visit later, on holiday. You alone?”
“Listen. I like my life as it is. I’ve a daughter, a grandson, another on the way. Don’t get ideas about me.” She boarded, shame creeping in. Maybe he’d meant nothing by it—just a talker. A decent-looking man, too, but she wanted no entanglements.
Walking out later, she worried she’d see him again. He’d taken the hint, moved on to other women. Strangely, the thought stung.
Lavender hills shimmered in the distance, endless sunflower fields baking under clear skies.
“Here we are.”
She nearly groaned. *Him again.*
“I think I’ve made myself clear—”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend. Here.” He handed her a slip. “My address and number. You’re a stranger here—I’m local. If you need help, call. No obligations.”
She took it, barely looking. Passengers streamed out. He disappeared into his compartment.
*There I go, hurting him again.* She glanced at the paper—*William*. A solid name, like him.
She left last, scanning the platform. No sign of him. Taxi drivers touted for fares. She chose one who vaguely resembled Ed Sheeran.
Settled in the guesthouse, she headed straight for the sea. Only 7:30, but the beach was packed. She kicked off her shoes, wading in, regretting not changing. Plenty of time for that.
Breathing in the salt air, watching the horizon blend sea and sky, she stopped regretting the trip.
She bought a hat, strolled the promenade for hours. Her skin bronzed; she felt healthy, even pretty. She sent Cora a selfie, thanking her. Market visits became routine—fresh fruit, the scent of summer.
One day, cherries caught her eye—plump, near-bursting. The seller, gruff, named his price.
“That’s steep.”
“Try one. Worth it.”
“Too much.” She turned to leave.
“You’ve no idea the work that goes into these,” he snapped. “Don’t want ’em? Fine.”
“Lower the price. They’ll spoil fast.”
“Name yours.”
She recalled London prices—smaller, bruised cherries, bought without haggling.
“Half a kilo. I’ll pay your price.”
He took the money silently.
“Ted, change for five grand?” another man called.
Ted dug out notes, they swapped, and he noticed her watching.
“As she walked away with the cherries, her heart fluttered with the realization that sometimes life’s sweetest gifts come when you least expect them—like a second chance with a boy from her past, right where the sea meets the sky.
