**A Trip to the Seaside**
Edward William Clarke became a widower at fifty-nine. Right after the funeral, his daughter suggested he move in with her.
“Dad, come live with us. How will you manage alone? It’s too hard. At least for a little while.”
“Thank you, love, but I won’t. Don’t worry about me. I’m not helpless—I can take care of myself. What would I even do at yours? Stay here with me longer,” Edward said, hopeful.
“Dad, Harry and James need me. Harry’s a teenager now, and James is swamped with work… I have to go,” Emily replied guiltily, hugging him.
“I understand,” Edward patted her hand.
“Promise you’ll call if you need anything?”
“What do I need? I can cook, the washing machine works, and I can mop. I learned everything when your mum was ill. Is the place dirty?” His voice cracked faintly with hurt.
“No, Dad, it’s spotless. I’m just worried.” She leaned against his shoulder.
“I won’t drown in grief. Never touched whisky much when I was young, and it’s too late to start now. Don’t fuss—go on.”
And so it was settled. Edward packed her a hefty bag of treats. Emily lifted it with a groan.
“Dad, why so much? We have everything.”
“Try saying no to your mum. Take it—it’s not ‘too much.’ The train will carry you, and James will pick you up,” he grumbled, half-amused.
At the station, the attendant checked her ticket and urged her aboard—the train would leave any minute. Emily hugged him one last time, kissed his bristly cheek, snatched the bag, and hurried inside, eyes wet. As the doors closed, she waved, smiling through tears.
Edward watched until the train vanished into the distance, his heart heavy. Now he was truly alone. He’d been brave while Emily was here, but now the tears came. Voices and laughter surrounded him, but he walked to the bus stop as if through a desert, noticing nothing.
“Oh, Maggie, how do I live without you? Maybe I should’ve gone with Emily…” At the bus stop, he decided to walk home, delaying the empty flat.
The dusty streets brought back memories of when he’d first met Maggie…
***
At school, Ed had adored Tamsin—a slender girl with coppery hair and golden freckles that never faded, even in winter. He called her his sunbeam.
In their final year, her father fell ill with tuberculosis. Doctors advised moving to a warmer climate. Her parents sold their flat and left for the south coast. At first, they wrote often. Ed’s mother scolded him—instead of studying for university exams, he daydreamed or scribbled letters, promising Tamsin he’d visit next summer.
After his first year at uni, he joined a summer construction crew to save for the trip. He returned tanned and lean in mid-August, announcing he was going south.
His mother refused. “Write to her parents first! You can’t just turn up unannounced. A year’s passed—anything could’ve changed.”
Mobile phones didn’t exist yet, and landlines were rare in rural homes. Reluctantly, Ed wrote, cursing his wasted time. When the reply came, train tickets were sold out. That summer slipped away.
Furious at the world, he vowed to secure tickets early next year. But Tamsin never replied. He sulked, snapped at his parents, sent more letters—still no answer.
One rainy autumn morning, rushing for the bus, he collided with a girl, sending her bag tumbling into a puddle. He never made it to lectures that day.
Margaret—Maggie—was easy to talk to, as if he’d known her forever. She was studying nursing. Her wet books dried by the café radiator.
“Did I make you miss something important?” he asked.
“An anatomy test. I’d have failed anyway,” she said lightly.
Her dark eyes mesmerised him—bottomless pools. At first, he still thought of Tamsin, but she was far away, and Maggie was here.
His mother adored Maggie at once—quiet, steady, with a respectable career. Their love was calm, like Maggie herself. They married after graduation, and a year later, she gave birth to their daughter.
Tamsin still haunted his dreams sometimes, leaving him restless. But Maggie and little Emily soothed him. Tamsin likely had her own family by now. No use dwelling.
***
Back home, Edward refused to wallow. He tore the mourning cloths off mirrors, washed Emily’s sheets, flung open windows, mopped floors. The clean flat buzzed with city sounds—less empty now.
“See, Maggie? I’m managing. Don’t fret.” He glanced at her framed photo. He hadn’t let Emily tie a black ribbon on it. “She’s alive to me—right here.”
At work, his boss summoned him.
“I know it’s hard. We’ve arranged a seaside break for you—go relax. It’s the off-season now, quiet, with fresh fruit.”
“But I’ve already had my holiday.”
“Take unpaid leave then. I’ve approved financial aid—consider it a bonus.”
Edward booked a mid-September train ticket and filed for leave.
He and Maggie had only been to the coast once, when Emily was five and constantly ill. A doctor recommended sea air. Afterward, Emily’s health improved—but Maggie’s heart troubles began, ending their travels.
On the train, he dozed and reminisced. *What if I see Tamsin?* The thought flickered. *She’ll have her own life now. Let it go.* Another surfaced: *I’ll retire soon. Maybe sell the flat and move near Emily?*
His hotel room was spacious, with sea views. He explored Brighton, joined tours, but most evenings, he sat by the shore, watching waves lap the pebbles, missing Maggie.
One sunset, a slight woman in a grey shawl stopped nearby. Though warm, she bundled up. A crocheted cap hid her hair—but something about her reminded him of Tamsin.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? I never tire of sunsets,” he said.
She didn’t answer.
“I live here,” she finally said, eyes on the sea. “Come whenever I can.”
“Must be stunning in winter too?”
“Stormier,” she replied.
At last, she turned. The golden light masked her features.
“You seem familiar,” he blurted. “Not a line—I swear.”
She eyed him skeptically.
“My wife and daughter once holidayed in Bournemouth. Were you there?”
She left without answering.
The next evening, she didn’t come. He chided himself: *Losing it, old man?*
After a storm, he spotted her again—wearing a raincoat this time.
“Do you live nearby?” he asked.
“Yes. But I don’t rent rooms.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you yesterday.”
Silence.
“I’m Edward. And you?”
“Tamsin,” she said after a pause.
“Oddly, I once loved a girl named Tamsin.”
“What happened?”
“Her father got sick. They moved south. I promised to visit but never did.”
Her silence lingered.
“My wife died two months ago.”
They watched the sea until twilight. Then she left.
Later, passing a cottage, he heard shouting. Tamsin was arguing with a staggering drunk.
“That’s her ex,” a neighbour muttered. “Twenty years divorced, and he still comes begging.”
The man shoved Tamsin. She fell.
Edward barged in, shoving him aside. “Call an ambulance!”
“I didn’t touch her!” the man slurred.
Edward slapped Tamsin’s cheek gently. She groaned awake.
The man lurched forward, swinging a bottle. Pain exploded in Edward’s skull—he collapsed beside her.
He woke in a hospital bed. Tamsin hovered over him.
“You shouldn’t have interfered.”
“He could’ve killed you. Why let him come back?”
She left without answering.
Next day, she visited again.
“You could’ve died.”
“Then tell me—do you remember me? *Are* you ‘my’ Tamsin?”
“You’re mistaken.” She pulled free.
“Will you come back?” he called weakly.
Discharged early, Edward spent his last evening by the sea. He tossed a coin into the waves—a silly ritual.
Tamsin never came. Part of him wanted to find her, say goodbye. But would that betray Maggie? And was she even *his* Tamsin?
On the train home, regrets gnawed at him. He missed Maggie. *Shouldn’t have gone. Old fool.*
That night, pain seized his chest. He stumbled, collapsed. Lights blurred. Voices shouted.
He woke in white—Maggie stood over him, sorrowful.
*”I’m glad you came for me,”* he thought.
She vanished. A nurse adjusted hisAnd as the last whisper of his breath faded, Edward felt her hand in his at last, leading him home.
