They sat on the riverbank, watching ducks snatch bits of bread tossed by children mid-flight. Exams were over, and two months of freedom stretched ahead—no lectures, no tedious assignments, just endless summer.
“What are your plans?” the guy asked, his eyes fixed on the shimmering trail of sunlight on the water.
“Sleeping, reading, walking,” the girl replied smoothly, as if reciting a well-rehearsed answer. “What about you? Going home?” Her voice faltered, and she glanced at him with sudden unease.
“Nah. You know, I’ve always dreamed of the sea. Never been. My mates would come back sunburnt, bragging about shells and dolphins, while I… My parents never had the money. And after Mum died, well, the sea was the last thing on anyone’s mind.”
“We used to go to Cornwall every year when Dad was still with us,” she murmured, staring into the distance as if chasing visions of happier days. “Wait—do you even have the money now?”
“No. But I could borrow some.”
“From who? Half our mates are already on their way home, and the rest are blowing their leftover loan on end-of-term drinks. And you’d have to pay it back eventually,” Emily said, frowning at James’s sharp profile.
“Wouldn’t need much—just enough for train tickets and food. It’s warm there. ‘For every bush affords a bed and every board a spread,’” he quoted with a grin. “Can rent a place dirt cheap. I’ll work it off later. Just need time.”
“How d’you know? Peak season, nothing’s cheap. Mattress under a tree’ll cost a fortune. And how did that poem end, eh?” she chided.
“Christ, you’re such a buzzkill. What if I got the cash? Would you come?” James turned to her, catching the flicker of hesitation in Emily’s eyes.
“Doubt it. Mum would never let me,” she admitted honestly.
Just then, a duck flapped its wings, scattering the others. James and Emily watched as it glided away, triumphant with its stolen prize.
“Hold on.” James fished his phone from his back pocket and dialed. “Tom? Yeah, passed… Doesn’t matter, point is, I did. Listen, can you spot me two hundred quid?… No? How much you got?… Fine, whatever. You home tonight? I’ll swing by. Sorted. You in?” he asked Emily, tucking his phone away.
“You’re serious? All the direct trains are booked till autumn,” she said skeptically.
“We’ll hop rides, hitchhike. Admit it—you’re just scared.”
“I’m not scared,” Emily shot back. “It’s just… Mum won’t allow it.”
“Have you lost your mind? Running off with some boy? To the coast? Do you know the sort of girls who do that? Absolutely not,” her mother snapped, shaking her head for emphasis.
“Mum, I’m an adult. Don’t make me sneak out.” Emily’s voice wavered, tears welling.
“What did you just say? Run away from your own mother? For who?”
“I love him,” Emily whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
“Sweetheart, you’ve got your whole life ahead. Why rush? Finish uni, marry, then go wherever you like,” her mother sighed, exhausted.
Emily sniffled.
“You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you? I won’t have us part as enemies. Go. But promise me—if anything goes wrong, you’ll call.”
“I promise, Mum.” Emily hugged her tight, then pulled back, searching her face. “I’ll start packing? We leave tomorrow.”
“What? I thought you’d at least introduce us!”
“He’ll come by tomorrow. You’ll see. He’s a decent bloke,” Emily called over her shoulder, already halfway to her room.
Her mother rubbed her temples, torn between fear and resignation. If only her husband hadn’t left—Emily would never dare suggest this. But what could she do? Chain her to the house? The dishes clinked in her hands like a nervous echo of her thoughts.
At dawn, a sharp knock startled her. Emily was in the shower. The knock didn’t come again. Swallowing her dread, she opened the door—and froze. Standing there was a handsome lad with a backpack.
“Morning. I’m James,” he said, flashing a bright grin.
Her mind, fogged by sleepless worry, struggled to catch up.
“I’m ready!” Emily popped out, toothbrush in hand.
Her mother numbly gestured him inside.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be careful,” James said.
Before she could react, Emily dragged him to her room. Minutes later, they emerged, James shouldering her bag.
“Gotta go. I’ll call,” Emily said, kissing her mother’s cheek.
“Breakfast?” her mother blurted.
“Could we take sandwiches?” James asked politely.
Her mother rushed to the kitchen, returning with a packed bag.
As the door closed, she sighed. Hard not to like him.
“Where now?” Emily asked outside. “Mum liked you.”
“Good. To the station.”
Two days of hitchhiking, sweltering on roadside tarmac, fatigue gnawing at them—but when the sea finally appeared, they threw off their bags and trainers, sprinting to the waves, laughter ringing down the beach.
Days were spent swimming, tanning, wandering. Nights were for dreaming, sprawled on cool sand under a sky thick with stars. Their tiny rented room, stuffy and cheap, felt like a prison in comparison.
By the second week, joy dulled. Crowds grated. Even each other’s company chafed. Two weeks, inseparable—too much. Bickering started.
But at the station, when James left for his dad’s, all was forgiven. Emily clung to him, sobbing.
“Em, it’ll fly by. I’ll call every day.”
She kept insisting she couldn’t live without him.
“Listen. I can’t move in, mooch off your mum. No cash for a flat either. Just hang on,” James said, as if resuming an old argument.
At home, Emily dumped her bag, drifting through rooms like a stranger. She stuffed laundry in the machine, then sank into a bath, steaming and perfumed. Later, wrapped in a towel, sipping tea at the kitchen table, life almost felt good again.
“Emily! Look at you—so tanned!” Her mother hugged her, searching her face for damage. “You’ve changed. Grown up.”
“Just tired. It’s fine, Mum.” Emily forced a smile.
James called, but brief, clipped. He was working off the debt.
He returned thinner, late for term.
“Finally! I thought you’d quit,” Emily said, ambushing him after lectures.
“Had to finish the last shift. Got you something.” He pulled a velvet box from his bag.
Emily’s breath hitched. Inside were stud earrings, stones blue as the sea.
“You hate them?”
“No, just… unexpected.” She kissed his chin. “I’ve got news too. Not as nice. I’m pregnant.”
James stared. His silence prickled.
“You were on the pill, yeah?”
“Y-yes. Dunno how it—”
“Em, we can’t. I’d drop out in a heartbeat, but med school doesn’t do part-time. I promised Mum I’d finish. Let’s wait.”
Emily’s head dropped.
“Think about it. We’ve got no money, no place. Even if I worked nights, how long d’you think I’d last? You’d be wrecked. Your mum can’t babysit. We’d hate each other by week two.”
She hadn’t wanted a child either. But she’d hoped for… something. Joy, maybe.
Her eyes stayed dry when she looked up. James exhaled, relieved.
“It’s fine. You’re right.”
That evening, she told her mother, craving comfort she hadn’t gotten from James. They cried. Her mother arranged things—quick, painless. Lying awake, she wondered: if she’d said no to the trip, none of this would’ve happened.
Or would it have, later? Maybe no harm done.
But something between them frayed. Emily still loved him, yet avoided being alone with him. James grew frustrated.
“We agreed to wait. Wasn’t that your idea?”
“Yeah, but I miss you. Feels like you’re dodging me. Do you even love me anymore?”
Emily had no answer.
***
Years later, Dr. Emily Carter sat in the staff room, filling discharge forms.
“Dr. Carter, the father of that motorbike accident victim’s here. Asking for you,” a nurse said.
Emily set down her pen.
Two days prior, a student had been admitted—multiple fractures after a lorry clipped his bike. Spoiled, probably. Parents funding his uni life, buying him a flashShe walked out of the hospital into the crisp autumn air, realizing some paths were meant to diverge, and that was alright.
