The Gift
Margaret walked through her flat, checking everything was switched off, ensuring she was leaving it in good order. She loved returning to a clean home. Where was she even going from her little slice of paradise? What was the point? She lived as if she were on permanent holiday, doing exactly as she pleased. But if she didn’t go, her daughter would be upset. The seaside trip was her daughter’s birthday gift to her.
She sighed, wheeled the suitcase out of the flat, and locked the door with two turns of the key. She gave the handle a firm tug—just to be sure—then knocked on the neighbour’s door.
“Leaving already?” asked her neighbour, Joan.
“Yes, here are the keys.” Margaret reluctantly handed them over.
“Don’t worry, I’ll water your plants and keep an eye on things. You enjoy yourself—don’t fret over a thing,” Joan assured her. “You’re lucky with your daughter, buying you a holiday like this. My Dave’s only ever thinking about the next drink. Had a family, a place to live, lost it all…”
Margaret felt for her, but only now did it dawn on her—it might not be wise to leave her keys with Joan. What if her son let himself into her flat? Not that there was anything of great value, but still, everything cost money these days. And the thought of someone rifling through her things, touching her belongings, made her uneasy. She regretted not arranging for someone else to watch the flat. Too late now. And she didn’t want to offend Joan—she’d been a good neighbour for years.
Joan noticed the hesitation.
“Don’t worry, I’ll hide the keys—I won’t tell Dave. Go on. Everything’ll be fine,” she promised.
Margaret nodded and headed to the stairs with her suitcase.
“Safe travels!” Joan called after her before closing the door.
She walked to the station. No point taking a taxi for just two stops, and cramming onto a bus with a suitcase would only inconvenience others. Through the underpass, she reached the platforms just as a train pulled in. She walked along the carriages, searching for Coach 9. Found it. Best to wait here, no rushing later.
“What if the numbering starts from the other end?” Margaret suddenly fretted. “Never mind, the conductor usually announces it—I’ll have time to dash if needed,” she reassured herself.
A week ago, her daughter had turned up unannounced and said she’d bought her an early birthday gift—so she’d have time to prepare.
“You’re pregnant?” Margaret had asked.
A second child would be lovely, but the first was barely a year old. They were still knee-deep in nappies—too soon for another.
“No, nothing like that. I’ve booked you a seaside holiday. The train leaves on the 11th—your birthday—first-class. Here.” She handed her an envelope. “A week to get ready.”
“Alone? Without you? What’s got into you? On my actual birthday! What about guests? Dinner? No, I’m not going. Return the ticket.”
“Mum, I timed it so you wouldn’t spend the whole day slaving in the kitchen. I wanted you to have a proper break—the sea, the sunshine. When was the last time you were at the coast? Can’t even remember, can you? It’s from me and James. Do what you want—but I’m not returning it. If I get pregnant again, you won’t get a holiday for years. I picked a lovely guesthouse, right on the beach.”
What could she do? Grumbled, of course, about them making plans without her—then started packing.
And so, here she was at the station. These trips—especially alone—always brought more stress than joy. Would she miss the train? Who’d share her compartment? What would the place be like? At her age, stress wasn’t good.
When the conductor announced the train’s arrival—counting from the rear—Margaret relaxed. She’d guessed right. Soon, the horn sounded, and the train rumbled in. She gripped her suitcase, ticket in her other hand. Other passengers waited nearby.
The train rushed past, the last carriages slowing. Margaret half-expected it to overshoot, leaving her stranded—but it stopped with a jolt. The attendant opened the door right in front of her, wiped the handrail, and began checking tickets.
Margaret handed hers over first, boarded, found her compartment, sat down, and exhaled. Half the battle done—she was on the train.
The train lurched forward, gathering speed. The door slid open, and three young women bustled in, filling the space with chatter and laughter. Margaret stepped into the corridor to give them room.
Fields and woods rushed past the window, rivers glinting under the evening sun. July nights were short—barely dark before dawn. The girls passed her, still laughing, heading to another carriage. Margaret changed into her nightclothes and settled onto her bunk. The rhythmic clatter of the tracks lulled her to sleep.
She woke at a station stop, the announcer’s voice echoing. The sky outside was lightening. Her watch said 2:30 AM. A strand of blond hair dangled from the top bunk. The girls must’ve returned without waking her. Polite of them. She drifted off again.
Next time she woke, sunlight filled the compartment, the air thick. The girls were still asleep. Margaret slipped into the corridor, easing the door shut. The toilet was occupied—she’d have to wait.
“Off to the seaside?” A man with a towel over his shoulder asked.
“Where else?” she replied dryly.
She wasn’t in the mood for small talk—especially outside a toilet. She turned away, but he kept talking, asking questions. She remained silent, barely listening. Relief washed over her when the toilet freed up.
The girls still slept. She was parched. The attendant’s door was shut—probably fast asleep.
“No water. I checked. The buffet’s two carriages down. At least they’ve got proper tea,” the same man said.
“Are you flirting with me?” Margaret spun around.
“Why so sharp? Just talking—what else is there to do on a train? And if I were flirting, what’s the harm? Someone hurt you?”
“No one’s hurt me.” She brushed past him and retreated to her compartment.
She woke to the sound of people moving. The train had stopped. At first, she panicked—then realised passengers were disembarking for a break. She stepped out too.
“Fancy an ice cream?” It was him again.
Margaret glared.
“And if I do?”
“Wait here.” He darted off like a man with a mission, returning with a chocolate cone—her favourite.
“Hurry, it’s melting.”
She took a lick, eyes fluttering shut.
“My wife loved chocolate ice cream. Died two years ago. Visiting my son in London. Wants me to stay. But London suffocates me. Got my own place—a garden…”
“Aha, looking for a replacement,” Margaret thought but kept it to herself. He had bought her ice cream, after all.
“…they’ll visit later, on holiday. You alone?”
“Look. My life suits me. I’ve got my daughter, grandson—another on the way. Don’t get any ideas.” She boarded without another word.
Guilt gnawed at her. Maybe she’d misjudged him. He seemed decent—just lonely. She’d been too harsh.
Leaving the compartment later, she braced for another encounter. But he’d clearly taken the hint—now chatting with other women. For some reason, that stung.
Distant lavender hills shimmered in the morning haze. Endless fields of sunflowers and ripening wheat stretched to the horizon.
“Nearly there.”
She suppressed a groan—his voice again.
“I thought I made myself clear—”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to bother you. Take this.” He handed her a slip of paper. “My address and number. You’re a stranger here—I’m local. In case you need help. No strings.”
She took it without looking. Passengers streamed toward the exit. He disappeared into another carriage.
“Now I’ve hurt him again,” she thought, glancing at the note. **William**. A strong name—like him.
She disembarked last. No sign of William. Taxi drivers hawked their services. Most passengers waved them off, but Margaret approached one—a young man who looked a bit like Ed Sheeran. He drove her to the guesthouse.
After settling in, she headed straight for the beach. Barely 7:30 AM, yet it was already crowded. She kicked off her sandals and waded in, regretting not changing. Plenty of time for that. The sea stretched endlessly—sky and water merging at the horizon. Breathing in the salty air, she didn’t regret coming.
She bought a wide-brimmed hat and strolled the promenade for hours. Her skin bronzed; she felt healthier. She took a selfie in the hat and sent it to her daughter with thanks. The market became a daily stop—fresh fruit, sun-warmedOne evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, William appeared on the beach with a picnic basket, and Margaret—without a word—took his hand, realizing that sometimes the best gifts come when you least expect them.
