She dreamed of the sea…
Every month, Emily tucked away a bit of her salary for a holiday. For the past year, she’d longed for the sea. Once, long ago, she’d been to the coast with her parents, but she barely remembered—she’d only been three at the time. After that, summers were spent at her grandparents’ in the countryside. No sea there, just a shallow river where she could splash about to her heart’s content, until her lips turned blue and goosebumps covered her skin.
In Year Four, her parents sent her to a summer camp. She hated it—strict schedules and no freedom. They only swam once. The countryside holidays were better. Her parents visited every weekend, bringing treats. After that, Emily never went back to camp.
In her memories, childhood was scorching white sun, children shrieking in the river, rainbow sparkles in the spray. She remembered the smell of pondweed and prickly grass drying under the burning sun. And the warm, silky dust on the road.
She often dreamt of running barefoot down that road, her tanned legs sinking into the dust, and her parents walking toward her… Then she’d wake with a pounding heart.
When Emily was in Year Eight, her father died of a heart attack. Her mother never recovered—she withered, visiting the graveyard often, returning silent and sad.
Then her mother fell ill. She shuffled around the house like an old woman, hunched over, as if all her strength had left at once. She stopped fixing her hair or wearing makeup. Emily often came home from school to find her in bed.
“Mum, have you been up? Did you eat?” Emily would ask anxiously.
“Don’t want to. No strength,” her mother would murmur through pale, dry lips.
Emily cooked, shopped, cleaned, and coaxed her mother to eat a little. Eventually, her mother stopped getting up at all. No pleas or tears could lift her. A neighbour looked in while Emily was at school. It was that neighbour who called the school to say her mother had died.
Emily didn’t remember taking her exams—if she even did. Her mother passed just before the end of term, her eyes fixed on her husband’s portrait. The neighbour helped with the funeral.
Emily enrolled part-time at university and got a job there. She was round-faced, a little plump, and thought herself plain. She tried every fad diet—lasted two days before binge-eating. By graduation, she accepted she’d never be as slim as the glossy magazine girls. Wrong genes.
Maybe that’s why boys weren’t interested—though no one called her fat. “At the seaside, I’ll live on fruit and finally lose weight,” she dreamed.
Her boss at the firm where she worked after uni refused her summer leave.
“Think about it, Emily. You’re single, no kids. Who should I prioritise—you or Natalie, with two little ones? Exactly. Put in for September. It’ll be the perfect season.”
Emily agreed. What choice did she have? She browsed hotels online. Flying was pricier but faster. She bought a swimsuit and a light summer dress. At the coast, she’d get a wide-brimmed hat—just like in films. She dreamed of nothing else, even at night: now she ran not down a dusty road but along the sea’s edge.
One evening on the bus home, counting the weeks until her holiday, a man sat beside her.
“Excuse me, how long to Babylon?”
Emily turned. He was handsome.
“Not long. I’ll tell you when to get off. Are you visiting someone?”
“A friend. He said he lives near the shopping centre,” he replied, studying her.
“Which street?”
He fished a crumpled note from his pocket. “Green Street, number forty-two.”
“I live at thirty-eight,” Emily said, inexplicably pleased.
“Then I’ll get off with you, and you can point out his place. First time in this city.”
She nodded and turned back to the window.
“My mate got married, had a daughter. Haven’t seen him since the army. Nervous,” he mused.
“If he gave you the address, he’s expecting you,” Emily offered.
“Gave me the address, but I lost his number. Didn’t warn him I was coming. What if he’s gone away?” He sighed.
They chatted until their stop. Crossing the road, Emily pointed to her building.
“I live here. His is two houses down.”
“Could I have your number? Just in case.” He smiled, slightly awkward.
Emily recited it. It meant nothing, bound her to nothing. She was sure he’d never call. Her mother had said to choose someone her own level—this man was too handsome. He thanked her and walked off.
Yawning in front of the telly later, her phone buzzed with an unknown number. Half eight. The man from the bus? She answered.
“We met earlier. You gave me your number,” came his warm voice.
“My number, not my phone,” she corrected, heart fluttering.
“Thing is, my mate’s at his holiday home. I reached him. But it’s too late to go now.” A pause. “Not sure what to do. Hate to burden you.”
Emily froze. Was this sheer cheek? A stranger angling for an invite? Or… did he like her?
“Call a taxi. The driver will take you to a hotel,” she said carefully.
“Right. I’ll do that.” He sounded deflated. Rustling.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Just wanted to thank you.” Click.
Uneasy, she imagined him stranded—no money, no contacts. She didn’t owe him anything. Yet… She redialled. He answered instantly.
“Fine. Come over.” She gave her flat number and hung up.
He arrived in five minutes. Emily barely had time to swap her tatty dressing gown for a decent dress. Over tea, George—that was his name—told army stories about his friend. Emily laughed. Then she shared how she’d been left alone. George sympathised—his father had died too. They turned in after midnight, George on the sofa in the living room, Emily in her late mother’s small bedroom.
She lay awake, replaying his intent looks, his stories. Silence from the other room.
Her alarm jolted her awake. She grabbed her dress—not her gown—washed, dabbed on makeup, put the kettle on, then woke George. After breakfast, they left together.
“Where now?” she asked.
“Train station. Off to my mate’s holiday home.”
“There’s your bus. Run!”
He sprinted. At the doors, he turned. “Thanks!”
She watched the bus go. She hadn’t expected him to leave so fast. What had she hoped for? She didn’t know. Glum, she boarded her own bus, pitying her unlucky life.
Approaching her building that evening, she half-expected George to be waiting. No. Deflated, she napped on the sofa where he’d slept, dreaming she ran along the shore, screaming for her mother—no sound came.
She woke uneasy. Heart pounding. Dark outside, the telly flickering silently.
She washed, drank water—still restless. No more sleep. She checked her secret stash. Gone. She turned the wardrobe inside out. Five hundred quid saved for her holiday—vanished.
Panic swamped her. No sea now. All those sacrifices. And for what? Letting George stay? Was it even his name? Why hadn’t he gone to a hotel? Planned it from the start. She hadn’t heard a thing. She rang his number—disconnected.
She sobbed all night, cursing herself.
“Stop crying, Emily. He could’ve killed you. Be glad it was just money. Report it,” a colleague urged.
Emily left work early for the police station. Between sobs, she recounted the theft. A young officer listened sympathetically, handed her water. Her teeth clinked against the glass.
“Calm down. The SIM’s likely trashed. The money’s gone,” he said.
“I noticed—someone so handsome, with such a cheap phone,” she wept. “A whole year saving for the sea…”
“Foolish dreamer. Serves you right,” she thought on the bus home. For a second, she thought she saw George outside—but the bus sped past.
Days later, the young officer visited.
“Did you catch him? Get my money?”
“No. The SIM was bought a week ago—not by him. Your ‘friend’ spun some tale about a stalker. He only called you. Be wary of strangers next time.”
“I’ll never trust anyone again.”
He looked at her kindly. “You’ll have your sea. A husband. Love. You’re…” He reddened.
Not a looker, stocky, ordinary. Unlike handsome men—who brought trouble, Emily now knew. She offered tea. Leaving, Dan invited her to the cinema. She said yes.
Three months later, they married. The seaside trip waited till summer—but by then, Emily was pregnant. Too risky.
They finally went when their son, Oliver,They stood together on the shore, the waves lapping at their feet, and Emily realised she’d found more than the sea—she’d found everything.
