The Seaside Town
Evening settled over the small coastal town. Autumn hadn’t quite made itself felt yet, except for the thinning crowds of holidaymakers. William was the sort who disliked beach bustle and scorching heat, which was why he’d chosen October for his seaside trip. Still warm enough for a swim, but the nights were crisp and fresh. And there was another reason he’d come here.
He walked slowly, studying the street signs on the houses. He’d thought everything would come rushing back the moment he arrived, but nothing looked familiar. At the house he sought, he stopped, pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket, and checked the address. It was right—the same one—but where a single-story cottage once stood, there was now a two-story house with a peaked roof. Through the wrought-iron fence, he could see a well-tended garden with trees heavy with apples, pears, and plums.
William slid his sports bag off his shoulder, set it down, and wiped his sweaty face with a handkerchief. Deep in the garden, a woman was unpinning laundry from a clothesline. He saw her from behind. “Could her mother still be alive?” he wondered. Just then, she bent to pick up the laundry basket and turned to leave. William took a deep breath and called out:
“Excuse me! Do you rent rooms?”
The woman turned, studied him for a moment, then walked to the garden gate. Up close, he realized his mistake—she was around his age.
“Looking for a room?” she asked, squinting slightly as she examined his face.
“Yes. Some friends stayed here in the summer—they recommended you,” he lied.
“Bit late in the season, isn’t it?”
“Perfect for me. Can’t stand the heat.” William smiled. “So, do you have a room?”
“Take your pick—plenty free.” She lowered the basket and opened the gate. “Come on in. Door’s unlocked.”
He hoisted his bag and walked past her.
“Go ahead,” she prompted when he hesitated at the front door.
Inside, the spacious entry doubled as a living room—clean, bright, tastefully furnished, nothing like the cramped little place he remembered.
“Your room’s upstairs. I’ll show you.”
The wooden steps creaked faintly under his weight. There hadn’t been an upstairs before. Was this even the right house?
“Door to the right,” she directed. “How long are you staying? Not that it matters. Shared bathroom down the hall, but you’ll have it to yourself—other rooms are empty.”
William stepped into a cozy little room with a view of the sea, where a crimson sunset blazed over the water.
“Like something out of a fairytale,” he murmured, unable to hide his awe.
“Your friends mention the rates? Prices drop off-season. Meals are extra.”
“Fine by me.” He turned and smiled. “What should I call you?”
“Margaret. And you?”
“W… William,” he said, faltering slightly.
“Margaret. Could it really be her? She’s changed so much. What did I expect—that forty years would leave her untouched? Time changes everything. She doesn’t seem to recognize me.”
“Ever stayed here before?” Margaret asked, as though reading his thoughts. “The way you’re looking at me—I just wondered.”
“Never been in this house before,” he said, glancing around again.
“Will you be joining me for supper?”
“If it’s no trouble,” he said, searching her face for traces of the girl he’d known.
“None at all. Come down in twenty minutes.”
Alone in the room, William sank onto the bed—firm but silent beneath him. Forty years ago, he’d stayed downstairs in a tiny, cramped space. No upper floor back then.
“She doesn’t recognize me. Can’t blame her—forty years is a lifetime. Probably forgot I ever existed. Plumper now, older. Wouldn’t know her if I passed her in the street. Oh, Margaret, so much water under the bridge…”
***
He’d come to this little seaside town with two friends. His girlfriend, Emily, was supposed to join them, but they’d fought just before the trip. He’d seen her with another man—older, confident—and after a jealous scene, she’d refused to go. William was devastated, ready to cancel. What was the point of a holiday when the world had collapsed?
But his mate convinced him to get away, to heal his broken heart. The three of them shared one room—William, his friend, and the friend’s girlfriend, Sarah. In peak season, options were scarce. Feeling like a third wheel, William spent long evenings wandering the promenade, giving the couple space. Even at the beach, he kept his distance.
That was how he met Margaret. She swam away from the crowded spots, effortlessly cutting through the waves. They got talking, and he asked where she was staying.
“Local. Just back for the holidays, helping Mum with the garden.” She slipped a sundress over her damp swimsuit.
“Let me walk you home. Wait for me?” He scrambled for his clothes.
On the way, he asked if her mother rented rooms.
“Of course. Half the town does. How else to scrape by in winter? You stuck for a place?”
“Sort of. Sharing with my mate and his girl—awkward for everyone.”
“If you like, stay with us. I’ll talk to Mum.”
William agreed instantly, without even seeing the room. It was tiny, more expensive, but worth it. His friends protested, tried to make him stay.
“Got my reasons,” he’d said vaguely, and they dropped it.
Two weeks flew by. He barely thought of Emily. Why would he, with cheerful, smitten Margaret beside him? At the time, he’d almost believed he loved her too.
Once, he overheard her mother scolding her for staying out late with a guest, warning her to be careful. But every evening, they met by the sea, lying on the sand under the stars, kissing until dawn streaked the sky.
Before leaving, they exchanged numbers, promised to meet up—London wasn’t so far from Manchester, after all. Margaret ran alongside the train, waving until it pulled away. He nearly leapt out to stay with her forever.
The whole journey home, he lay curled on his bunk, aching for the warm sea, for Margaret, dreaming of their next meeting. It felt inevitable then. But as so often happens, promises made in passion mean little and fade fast.
Back home, Emily came begging forgiveness, insisting she’d only wanted to make him jealous. Then he noticed the delicate new ring on her finger.
“Don’t bother. I’m done,” he said.
“Want me to throw it away?” She twisted it off her finger.
University started. At first, he and Margaret wrote, even planned to meet, but William kept postponing. Then he married someone else.
That summer became a sweet, distant memory, dulled by time. Holidays with his wife meant Spain, Portugal, or his parents’ cottage. Then divorce… So many “then”s blurred together.
Now retired, alone, no wife or children, William had imagined that returning would rewind time, even briefly, back to those carefree days. But everything had changed—the town, himself, Margaret.
***
Twenty minutes later, William sat at the table, enjoying a hearty supper. Margaret served her homemade wine, which left him pleasantly drowsy. The seaside walk could wait till morning. Upstairs, he showered and sank into the lavender-scented sheets, lulled by the sound of waves.
At breakfast, the table was laid—Margaret had already gone out. He wandered the promenade until lunch, even paddled barefoot in the shallows. Too cold for a proper swim.
Over the meal, he asked why she lived alone.
“Not entirely alone. Daughter’s family’s in Bristol. Grandkids spent the summer here—coming back for Christmas. Son-in-law fixed up the house, added the top floor.”
“Husband?” William ventured.
She ignored the question, turning it back on him. After lunch, he offered to help in the garden, but Margaret refused outright. Left with nothing to do, he retreated upstairs for a nap that never came.
Staring at the ceiling, he wondered, “What am I doing here? Could’ve stayed elsewhere, just glimpsed her from afar. Who turns up after forty years unannounced? Could that daughter be mine? Maybe. But even if so, I was never there—no birthdays, no toys. She’s grown. What use am I now? Bloody stupid thoughts…”
Occasionally, he caught Margaret studying him. For a moment, he’d think she recognized him, then he’d fluster and escape to the sea.
“Spineless. Always were. Just ask her, talk properly. What’s there to lose?” But the conversation never happened.
Soon, it was time to leave. The weather turned, rain lashing the stormy sea. Autumn had arrived here too.
Margaret packed him fruit, jars of jam, even a cake for the journey. Guilt gnawed at him—forty years ago, he’d swept her up, then vanished. Now he’As the train pulled away from the station, William pressed a hand to the cold window, watching Margaret’s figure grow smaller until she vanished into the rain, and he knew this time, he wouldn’t return.
