She dreamed of the sea…
Every month, Emily tucked away a bit of her salary for a holiday. She’d dreamed of the sea all year. Once, long ago, her parents had taken her south, but she barely remembered—she’d been only three. After that, summers meant the countryside with her grandparents. No sea, just a shallow river where she could splash until her lips turned blue and goosebumps prickled her skin.
In Year 5, her parents sent her to camp. She hated it—the schedules, the rules, swimming just once a week. The countryside had been better: freedom, her parents visiting every weekend with treats. She never went to camp again.
Childhood memories were golden—scorching sun, children shrieking in the river, glittering spray. She remembered the smell of pondweed, the stiff grass baking by the bank, the warm dust like silk underfoot. Sometimes she dreamed of running down that road, her sun-darkened feet sinking into the dust, her parents walking toward her… She always woke with a racing heart.
When she was in Year 9, her father died of a heart attack. Her mother never recovered, just withered away. She visited his grave often, returning silent and sad.
Then her mother fell ill, shuffling around, listless. She stopped fixing her hair, stopped eating. Emily came home from school to find her in bed.
“Mum, have you been up at all? Have you eaten?” Emily fretted.
“Don’t want to. No strength,” her mother murmured through dry lips.
Emily cooked, shopped, cleaned, begged her mother to eat. Soon, her mother stopped getting up at all. The neighbour helped while Emily was at school. She was the one who called when her mother died, staring at the photo of Emily’s father on the wall.
Emily barely remembered her exams. Her neighbour helped with the funeral. She took distance courses, found work at the university. Round-faced, plump, she thought herself plain. Fad diets never lasted. By graduation, she accepted she’d never match magazine models—genes just weren’t on her side.
Men never seemed interested. “At the seaside, I’ll live on fruit and finally slim down,” she told herself.
Her boss refused summer leave.
“Think, Emily—no kids. Should I give you time off over a mum with two little ones? September’s better anyway—shoulder season.”
She agreed. What choice was there? She browsed hotels online, decided on flying—quicker, pricier. Bought a swimsuit, a light dress, imagined getting a wide-brimmed hat like in films. The sea filled her dreams.
One evening on the bus home, counting weeks until her holiday, a man sat beside her.
“Excuse me, how long to Babylon?”
She turned, met his pleasant gaze. “Not long. I’ll tell you when to get off. Are you visiting?”
“Just a mate. Said he lives near the shopping centre.”
“Which street?”
The man fished out a crumpled note. “Green Street, number forty-two.”
“I’m at thirty-eight!” Emily said, oddly thrilled.
“I’ll get off with you, then—you can point the way.”
She nodded, turned to the window.
“Lost touch after the army. His wife just had a baby. Nervous, honestly,” he mused.
“If he gave the address, he’ll be glad to see you,” she offered.
“He gave the address, but I lost his number. What if he’s away?” He sighed.
They chatted until their stop. Outside, she pointed to her building.
“I live here. Yours is just past it.”
“Could I get your number? Just in case.” He smiled, sheepish.
She gave it—harmless, she thought. Too handsome for her anyway. He thanked her, walked off.
Later, her phone rang—an unknown number. Half past eight. She answered.
“It’s me—from the bus. You gave me your number.”
“My *number*, not my phone,” she corrected, heart skipping.
“Thing is—my mate’s at his cottage. I rang, but it’s too late to go now. Hate to bother you, but…” His voice trailed, apologetic.
Her first thought: sheer cheek. A stranger angling for an invite? Then—maybe he liked her?
“Call a taxi. There’s a hotel near here.”
“Right. I’ll do that.” He sounded deflated. Static rustled.
“You alright?”
“Yeah. Just wanted to thank you.” The line went dead.
Uneasy, she called back.
“Fine. Come over.”
He arrived in five minutes. She’d barely swapped her tatty robe for a dress. Over tea, he told army stories—George, he said his name was. She laughed, then shared her own loneliness. His dad had died too.
They turned in at 1 a.m.—him on the sofa, her in her mother’s old room. She lay awake, replaying his intense gaze, listening for sounds.
The alarm woke her. She dressed quietly, put the kettle on, then roused him. Over breakfast, they left together.
“Where now?” she asked.
“Train station. Off to my mate’s.”
“There’s your bus—run!”
He sprinted, turned at the door. “Thanks!”
She watched the bus go, oddly deflated. Ridiculous to hope.
Work passed in a blur. That evening, no George waited outside. She dozed on the sofa, dreamed of the sea, calling soundlessly for her mother—
She woke panicked. Dark outside, the TV humming. Water didn’t soothe her nerves. Then she checked her savings—gone.
Five hundred pounds for her holiday—vanished. She tore the flat apart. George. It had to be. Silent as a ghost.
She called his number—disconnected.
Crying all night, she cursed herself. “Lucky he didn’t kill you,” a colleague said next morning.
At the station, a young PC listened, sympathetic. “The SIM’s ditched. Money’s gone.”
“Odd—someone like him with such a cheap phone,” she sniffed. “A whole year saving…”
Days later, the same PC knocked.
“Caught him?”
“No. The SIM was bought under fake pretences. He only called you. Be careful.”
“Never trusting anyone again.”
He flushed. “You’ll have your sea. And… someone.”
Not handsome, just sturdy. After George, that suited her. He stayed for tea, asked her to the cinema.
They married in three months. The seaside trip waited—she was pregnant by summer.
Two years later, they finally went. Watching her husband and little Arthur by the waves, Emily smiled.
*If I hadn’t dreamed of the sea, saved, been robbed—I’d never have met Tom. Now there’s Arthur. This is happiness. I always knew it was tied to the sea.*
