The salty breeze swept over the shoreline as Emily’s mother sighed, watching her daughter bury herself in work. “You need a break, love. When was the last time you smiled properly? That spark in your eyes—gone. And that dreadful ex of yours? Good riddance!”
“I’m fine, Mum,” Emily replied, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s been nearly a year since the divorce. Little Sophie keeps me busy. Honestly, that girl’s wisdom is beyond her years—only eleven, yet she reads your magazines cover to cover.”
“Exactly why you both need a holiday!” her mother insisted. “Brighton’s lovely this time of year. No fancy resorts, mind you, but a cosy B&B by the sea. I’ll chip in.”
Sophie’s voice piped up from the hallway, “Grandma’s right! And maybe you could come too?” She grinned. “The sea air does wonders—just like water and sunshine for plants. We’ll come back stronger!”
“Goodness, where do you get these things?” Emily laughed.
“Your magazines, obviously. And school—if you’d noticed,” Sophie shot back.
With her leave approved, Emily bid her colleagues farewell at the London office. “Enjoy yourself, Em!” they chimed. “Find yourself a handsome bloke while you’re at it!”
Packing was a whirlwind—new swimsuits, sandals, Sophie humming an old tune: *”By the sea, she walked on the sand, he watched her go…”*
Emily frowned. “Where on earth did you hear that?”
“One of Grandma’s magazines.”
“Those are going straight in the bin.”
“You’d have to cancel the internet too,” Sophie teased.
“Cheeky! Now pack.”
Later, Sophie grew quiet. “Mum, Lily’s jealous. She’s never seen the sea.”
Emily’s heart ached. “Her mum’s struggling, love. Maybe one day…”
The night before departure, Sophie flopped onto the sofa. “What if you meet *the one*? You know—’a lace of foam upon the tide, and there he’ll stand…'”
Emily nearly choked. “What?”
Sophie giggled and darted off to bed.
The train ride to Brighton was lively, the countryside rolling past. Four years since their last seaside trip—anticipation fizzed in the air.
Their landlady greeted them warmly. “You’ll share the cottage with a gentleman—Oliver. Perfectly respectable.”
Emily barely registered it. “Come on, let’s swim before unpacking.”
The waves glimmered under the fading sun. Sophie squealed, kicking off her flip-flops and plunging in. Emily followed, admiring the delicate froth lapping the shore.
Back at the cottage, Oliver leaned on the porch, sipping lager. Sophie marched past. “Beer’s full of toxins, you know.”
Oliver chuckled. “Evening. And where’d you learn that?”
“Reading helps,” she declared, vanishing inside.
The next day, they explored the town, returning to the beach at dusk. Oliver waved from his lounger. “Evening, ladies.”
Sophie nudged Emily. “Look, it’s him!”
After a swim, Sophie produced a pomegranate. “Mum, we need a knife.”
Oliver obliged, amused as Sophie recited, *”The queen asked him to slice it in two, then sighed, then loved him true…”*
“You know Verlaine?” Oliver’s eyebrows shot up.
“Obviously.” She grinned, offering him half.
Walking back, they discovered they hailed from the same London borough.
That night, Sophie whispered, “It’s fate, Mum. He couldn’t stop staring.”
“Don’t be daft,” Emily murmured, though her thoughts lingered. *A man’s presence—steady, kind—was missing. Maybe…*
The days melted into shared laughter—beach trips, ice creams, late-night chats on the porch with Oliver, wine glasses in hand.
One evening, he took Emily’s hands. Warmth spread through her—until Sophie’s voice chimed: *”By the sea, where the lace foam plays…”*
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
“Too excited.” Sophie winked and vanished.
By holiday’s end, the unspoken truth hung in the air. Some flings fade with the tan—but not theirs. Three years on, Oliver’s laughter fills their home, and a baby boy, William, sleeps in Sophie’s old crib. Fate, indeed.
