The air was thick with salt and the distant cry of gulls as Emily slumped onto the sofa, exhaustion etched into her face.
“You need a proper break, love,” her mother clucked, setting down a steaming cup of tea. “Honestly, when was the last time you smiled like you used to? That divorce was a blessing, and it’s high time you stopped moping.”
“Mum, I’m not moping,” Emily sighed, running a hand through her tangled auburn hair. “It’s been nearly a year since the split. I’ve moved on, and Lily keeps me busy. Though, honestly, sometimes I think she’s far too clever for an eleven-year-old. She’s always got her nose in your magazines—reads everything she can get her hands on.”
The idea struck like summer lightning. “We should go to the seaside,” her mother declared. “Lily deserves a holiday too—top of her class, that one. A change of air will do you both good. Now, I know you can’t afford any fancy resorts, but there’s a lovely little guesthouse in Brighton. I’ll chip in.”
Lily bounded into the room, her eyes alight. “Please, Mum! Grandmum’s right—we need this. The sea’s like medicine, isn’t it? Just like in those articles I read—sun and water make everything stronger.”
Emily blinked. “Good Lord, where do you get these things?”
Lily grinned. “Reading, obviously. And school, in case you’d forgotten.”
The decision was made. As Emily clocked out of her office in London, her colleagues waved her off with laughter.
“Go on, then! Get yourself a tan, a swim, and maybe even a bloke while you’re at it!”
Packing was chaos. New swimsuits, shorts, and Lily singing at the top of her lungs:
*”By the sea, she walked on the sand, he watched her go…”*
“Where on earth did you hear that?” Emily frowned.
“One of Grandmum’s magazines,” Lily said airily.
“Those are for adults, young lady. Perhaps I should cancel the Wi-Fi.”
Lily gasped in mock horror. “Mum! That’s a human rights violation!”
The train ride to Brighton was a blur of green fields and Lily’s endless chatter. The guesthouse was quaint, its owner a kindly woman who gestured to their quarters.
“You’ll be sharing the cottage with another guest—a gentleman. Quite respectable, name’s Oliver.”
Emily barely registered the information. “Come on, Lily. Let’s see the sea before sunset.”
The beach was golden, the waves gentle. Lily kicked off her sandals and sprinted into the surf, shrieking with delight. Emily followed, the water cool against her skin. The foam, she noticed, was delicate as lace.
They returned as dusk settled. On the veranda, a tall man sipped from a bottle of beer. Lily, ever bold, marched up to him.
“Alcohol contains toxic substances, you know. Even heavy metals.”
Oliver nearly choked. “Well, good evening to you too. And where did you learn that?”
“Reading,” Lily said smugly, before vanishing inside.
Oliver chuckled. “Well, this won’t be dull.”
The days melted into sunlit routine—beach trips, ice cream, laughter. Lily, ever the matchmaker, whispered one night:
“Mum, what if Oliver’s your destiny? Like in the poems—*‘By the sea, where the lace foam parts…’*”
Emily flushed. “Lily Grace Hartley, go to sleep.”
Yet, as she drifted off, she couldn’t deny the warmth in her chest. A man’s presence—steady, kind—was something she hadn’t realized she missed.
By week’s end, it was clear Oliver felt it too. They sat on the veranda, glasses of wine in hand, his fingers brushing hers.
“You’ve no idea how much I’ve enjoyed this,” he murmured. “Lily’s remarkable. Who else her age quotes Wilde?”
Emily smiled—until Lily’s voice floated from the doorway:
*”By the sea, where the lace foam parts…*”
“Lily! Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
“Couldn’t. The air’s different here.” She winked and disappeared.
Three years later, Emily and Oliver still laugh about that holiday. They live in a cottage by the coast now, with Lily and a baby boy—Arthur, named by his ever-dramatic sister.
Some say holiday romances fade with the tan. Theirs was written in the foam and the salt and the endless, shimmering sea.
