It was by the sea.
“You really need a break, how much longer can you keep working, Eloise? You don’t even look like yourself anymore—where’s that fiery spark in your eyes, that rainbow mood of yours that always rubbed off on everyone? So you divorced that…”—her mother muttered something unflattering—”good riddance, and no point moping about it.”
“Mum, I’m not moping. It’s been nearly a year since the divorce, I’ve moved on. Daisy keeps me busy. Honestly, my Daisy’s grown-up beyond her years—startles me sometimes with how wise she is, and she’s not even twelve yet. All because she’s hooked on those magazines you buy. She’ll read anything she gets her hands on,” Eloise replied.
They decided to escape to the seaside.
“Exactly—Daisy needs a break too. She’s a bright little thing, top of her class—let her unwind a bit. I reckon you two should head to the coast. No fancy resorts or package deals, mind, but a little B&B somewhere. I’ll chip in,” her mother insisted.
“Mum, say yes!” Daisy’s voice chimed in. “Especially since Gran’s helping. Hey, Granny, why don’t you come too?” she added cheerfully. “You know, Mum, water and sunshine feed the trees, make them strong. Same goes for us—we’ll soak up all that goodness.”
“Good grief, where do you get this from, Daisy?”
“Well, I read. It’s in Gran’s magazines. Plus, I do go to school, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Daisy giggled.
Eloise’s holiday was coming up, and she’d already decided—they’d whisk themselves off to the shore. On her last day in the office, she waved goodbye to her colleagues.
“See you, girls—so ready for this break!”
“Go on, Eloise, soak up the sun, splash about, and maybe find yourself a proper bloke!” they teased.
Packing began in earnest. A trip to the shopping centre for new swimsuits and shorts. Daisy, giddy with excitement, sang as she danced about:
*”It was by the sea, she walked on the sand, he watched her go…”*
“Love, where’d you get that from now?”
“Mum, I read it.”
“Those magazines are too old for you—I ought to bin the lot.”
“You forgetting the internet exists?”
“I’ll cancel that too.”
“Mum! That’s basically oppression,” Daisy laughed.
“Oppress yourself into packing, then.”
“Mum, Violet’s dead jealous we’re going. She’s never even seen the sea.”
“I know. Things are rough for them—her mum’s disabled, no dad around. Breaks my heart.” Eloise sighed. “Maybe one day, when Violet’s older, luck’ll turn for them. Then they can go together.”
“Yeah, but who knows when that’ll be,” Daisy murmured.
The night before they left, curled on the sofa, chatting about the trip, Daisy piped up again.
“Mum, d’you reckon you’ll meet *the one* there?”
“*The who*?” Eloise nearly jumped.
“You know—the love of your life! Like in that poem: *‘It was by the sea, where the lace foam curls…’* Maybe your fella’ll rise right out of it!”
“Daisy, what goes on in that head of yours? I’m not even—” Eloise threw her hands up.
“Alright, alright! Off to bed!” Daisy hopped up and vanished.
The train ride took a full day. Eloise and Daisy pressed their noses to the window, drinking in the rolling countryside. Four years since they’d last seen the sea—now joy fizzed in them like lemonade.
They reached the station by evening, found their B&B. The landlady greeted them.
“Here’s your side, dears. The other half’s taken by a nice young man—Oliver’s his name.”
“What’s that to us?” Eloise thought, settling in.
“Mum, let’s go to the beach!” Daisy tugged at her. “We’ll unpack later—maybe have a quick dip?”
Eloise agreed. The sea was just past the garden gate, gleaming in the dusk.
“Evening swim’s perfect—no risk of burning,” she said.
“Mum, it’s *gorgeous*!” Daisy babbled, kicking off her sandals and bolting into the waves. She shrieked with delight, darting back to peel off her shorts and t-shirt before plunging in again. The tide rolled in, frothy and delicate at the edges. Eloise noticed—the foam really did look like lace.
Darkness fell as they wandered back, glowing. On the porch, a handsome man leaned against the railing, sipping beer from a can. As they passed, Daisy announced:
“Beer’s full of toxins. Even heavy metals.”
“Evening,” he chuckled. “And where’d you pick up such wisdom?”
“Evening,” they chimed. Daisy added loftily, “Reading helps. And curiosity.” Then she floated inside, Eloise following.
Oliver smirked to himself. *Was worried this’d be dull. But with a neighbour like that? Never.*
Next day, Eloise suggested an outing.
“Let’s explore first, hit the beach later. No point roasting by noon.”
“Deal! Recon mission,” Daisy agreed.
By sunset, the shore was quieter. There sat Oliver on a lounger, shades on, gazing at the horizon.
“Mum, look—our neighbour!” Daisy nudged.
They approached. He spotted them.
“Evening. I’m Oliver. And who might you lovely strangers be?”
“Daisy. This is my mum, Eloise,” she blurted.
“Pleasure. Night swimmers, are you?”
“Just timing,” Eloise said, slipping off her cover-up and wading in, Daisy splashing after.
Oliver watched. He’d had his swim. They emerged, shaking off seawater, spreading their towel.
“Mum, I want a pomegranate,” Daisy said, pulling one from their bag.
“Love, no knife here. Wait till we’re back.”
But Daisy was already marching over to Oliver.
“Could you help us, please?”
“Delighted,” he grinned.
Daisy recited solemnly:
*”So simple it was, so sweet and so right, the queen asked him to split the pomegranate in two, gave half back, and oh, how the page boy burned…”*
“Blimey. You know your Dowson?”
“Course,” Daisy beamed. “Have some!”
“Ta.”
Walking back, Daisy chattered nonstop. Turned out—same hometown.
*Coincidence*, Eloise thought.
In bed, Daisy whispered:
“Mum… fate, yeah?”
“What?”
“Saw how Oliver couldn’t stop looking at you. Even through those glasses.”
“Daisy, really. Focus on the sea, not matchmaking.”
But drifting off, Eloise mused: *No doubt, my girl’s everything. But a woman needs a steady arm too. Ours was always absent. A man about the house—a proper one—wouldn’t go amiss.*
The days melted like ice cream. Beach, cafés, strolls. One evening, Daisy conked out early. Eloise and Oliver lingered on the porch, glasses of English wine in hand.
“Eloise, you’ve no idea how much I’ve enjoyed this. Daisy’s a riot—quoting Dowson at her age? Mental.”
“She’s always got her nose in something,” Eloise smiled.
Oliver took her hands. She didn’t pull away. Then—
*”It was by the sea, where the lace foam curls…”*
“Daisy! Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Too restless. Air’s different here. And I’m parched.” She waved and vanished again.
The holiday wound down. All three knew—this wasn’t just chance. *Fate*, as Daisy said.
Some think holiday romances end when the tan fades. Not for Oliver and Eloise. Three years on, they’re still together—even have a son. Daisy named him Arthur.
