She dreamed of the sea…
Katie had been setting aside a bit of her salary every month for a holiday. All last year, she’d longed for the sea. Once, years ago, she’d gone south with her parents, but she barely remembered it—she’d only been about three at the time. After that, summers meant visits to her grandparents’ countryside home. No sea there, just a shallow river where she could splash about for hours, till her lips turned blue and goosebumps spread over her skin.
In year four, her parents sent her to summer camp. She hated it—too many rules, no freedom. They only let them swim once. The countryside was better. Weekends meant her parents visiting with treats. She never went back to camp after that.
Katie’s childhood memories shimmered with scorching white sun, kids shrieking in the river, rainbow sprays of water. She remembered the scent of pondweed and the sharp, sun-dried grass by the bank. And the warm dust on the road, soft as silk underfoot.
She often dreamed of running barefoot down that road, feet tanned nearly black, sinking ankle-deep in dust. And there, ahead—Mum and Dad, walking toward her… That’s when she’d wake, heart hammering.
In year eight, her father died of a heart attack. Mum never recovered, like a light had gone out. She spent silent, sad hours at the cemetery. Then she fell ill. She shuffled about the house, hunched over, as if all her strength had left at once. She stopped doing her hair, stopped caring. Katie often came home from school to find her still in bed.
“Mum, have you eaten?” Katie would ask, worried.
“Not hungry. Too tired,” Mum would murmur, lips dry and pale.
So Katie cooked, shopped, cleaned, and gently coaxed her to eat. Then Mum stopped getting up at all. Not even for the loo. The neighbour helped while Katie was at school—until the day she called to say Mum had passed.
Katie hardly remembered sitting her exams, if she even did. Mum died just before the end of term, staring at Dad’s portrait on the wall. The neighbour helped with the funeral.
Katie enrolled in uni part-time and got a job at the same place. Plump and round-faced, she thought herself plain. She tried every fad diet, lasted two days, then ate twice as much. By graduation, she’d accepted she’d never be as slim as the girls in magazines—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 slim down,” she imagined.
Her boss at the firm refused her summer leave.
“Be reasonable, Katie. You’re single, no kids. Who should I prioritise—you, or Natalie with her two little ones? Exactly. Take September. It’s the lovely season anyway.”
Katie agreed. What choice was there? She browsed hotels online, decided to fly—costly but quick. Prayed for good weather. Bought a swimsuit, a floaty dress. She’d get a sun hat there, just like in the films. The sea was all she dreamed of now. Even her night-time runs were along the shore, not dusty lanes.
One evening, on the bus home, she counted the weeks left till her trip. A man sat beside her.
“Excuse me, how long to Babylon?”
She turned. He was nice-looking. Polite.
“Not far. I’ll tell you when to get off. Visiting someone?”
“A mate. Said he lives near the shopping centre.” He studied her.
“Which street?”
He fished a crumpled note from his pocket. “Green Street, number 42.”
“I’m at 38!” Katie brightened oddly.
“Mind if I walk with you, then? First time here.”
She nodded, turned back to the window.
“Haven’t seen my mate since the army. He’s married now, got a kid. Nervous,” he mused.
“If he gave you the address, he’ll be waiting,” she said.
“Lost his number, though. Didn’t tell him I’m coming. What if he’s away?” He sighed.
They chatted till their stop. Crossed the road. She pointed to her building.
“I’m here. Yours is just past it.”
“Could I get your number? Just in case.” He smiled, faintly shy.
She gave it. It meant nothing. He wouldn’t call. Mum always said to match with your own sort. Too handsome for her. He thanked her and walked on.
Later, yawning at the telly, her phone trilled. Unknown number. Half eight. Then she remembered—the bus man. She answered.
“We met earlier. You gave me this number,” his warm voice said.
“You mean the number, not the phone,” she teased, pulse skipping.
“Turns out my mate’s at his holiday home. Got through to him. Too late to go now.” A pause. “I’m stuck. Hate to bother you, but…”
Her thoughts raced. Was this cheeky or flirty? A stranger hinting to come over?
“Call a cab. Plenty of B&Bs nearby,” she said carefully.
“Right. Yeah. Thanks.” He sounded deflated. A rustle.
“You okay?”
“Fine. Just wanted to say cheers.” The line went dead.
Uneasy, she pictured him stranded. Not her problem. Yet… She redialled.
“Come over, then.” She gave her flat number.
He arrived in minutes. She’d barely swapped her tatty dressing gown for a decent dress. Over tea, Jack—that was his name—told army stories about his mate. She laughed freely. Then she shared being alone. He understood; his dad had passed too. They turned in after midnight. She made up the sofa for him, took the small room where Mum had died.
Sleep wouldn’t come. She replayed his intent looks, his stories. No sound from the lounge.
Her alarm jolted her awake. She grabbed for her gown, then remembered Jack and pulled on her dress instead. Washed, dabbed on mascara, put the kettle on, then woke him. They breakfasted together, left the flat.
“Where now?” she asked.
“Station. Off to my mate’s.”
“There’s your bus. Run!”
And he did. At the doors, he turned. “Ta!”
She watched the bus pull away. Had she hoped for more? She didn’t know. Just felt sad she’d never see him again. On her own bus to work, she stared out, pitying her rotten luck.
That evening, approaching her building, she half-expected him by the door. No such luck. After supper, she dozed on the sofa he’d used—and dreamed she was calling for Mum by the sea, voice lost in the waves…
She woke, heart pounding. The room was dark but for the silent telly. Water didn’t calm her nerves. Wide awake, she checked her secret savings stash. Empty. Frantic, she tore the wardrobe apart. The five grand for her trip—gone.
Panic hit. No sea now. All that scrimping wasted. And inviting Jack? Letting him sleep near her savings? Why had he refused a B&B? Planned it all along. And she’d heard nothing. She tried his number. Disconnected.
She wept all night, cursing herself.
“Stop blubbing, Katie. He could’ve killed you. Be glad it was just cash,” a colleague said next day.
She went to the police, sobbing her story out. A young constable listened sympathetically, fetched water. Her teeth clinked on the glass.
“Calm down. That SIM’s in a bin by now. The money’s gone,” he said.
“Funny—a bloke that posh with such a cheap phone,” she sniffed. “A whole year’s savings. My seaside trip…”
“Serves me right, daft cow,” she thought on the way home. For a second, she swore she saw Jack outside—but the bus sped past.
Days later, the same constable visited.
“Did you catch him?”
“No. That SIM was bought a week ago—by some stranger. Your ‘mate’ spun him a tale about a stalker. Only called you. Be careful next time.”
“I’ll never trust anyone again.”
He gave her a pitying look. “You’ll have your sea. And a bloke. You’re…” He reddened.
Not handsome—stocky, ordinary. And after Jack, she knew better than to trust pretty faces. She offered tea. As he left, Dave asked her to the cinema. She said yes.
They married three months later. The seaside trip waited till summer—but by then, Katie was pregnant. Too risky.
They finally made it when little Archie was two. On the sand, watching her husband and son stroll the shoreline, she thought,
“If I hadn’t dreamed of the sea, saved up, been robbed—I’d never have met Dave. Now we have Archie. That’s happiness. Always knew it was tied to theAnd as the waves lapped gently at their feet, Katie knew that every twist of fate had led her exactly where she was meant to be.
