**Forget Her, Mate**
Early on a Sunday morning, James was woken by a sound. Groggily, he grabbed his phone and stared at the dark screen—but then the doorbell rang again. He jumped up, threw on some clothes, and rushed to open the door. Everyone knows that when someone knocks insistently at this hour, it’s never for nothing.
“Oi! Been sleeping all day, have you? Not happy to see your old mate?” On the doorstep stood his uni friend, Tom Wilkins. “Gonna let me in, or what?”
“Tom? Bloody hell, what brings you here?” James hugged him tightly and dragged him inside. “Could’ve given me a heads-up, you prat. How’d you even find me?”
“Went round your folks’ place. Your mum gave me the address. She mentioned you’d divorced and moved here. Just passing through—booked my tickets this way to catch up. Show me where to sit.”
“Go on through to the kitchen. I’ll just freshen up. Put the kettle on!” he called, shutting himself in the bathroom.
When James entered the kitchen, a bottle of red wine stood on the table while Tom sliced up some cheddar.
“Hope you don’t mind—your fridge was empty. Starving yourself, are you? That’s what mates are for, making sure you don’t keel over,” Tom said, layering cheese onto crackers.
“Wine? First thing in the morning?” James turned the bottle to check the label.
“Who’s gonna stop us? Just a little something to loosen the tongue.”
They drank, nibbled at the crackers and scrambled eggs, and talked—reminiscing for hours.
Tom had married young, right out of uni.
“My father-in-law retired, so I’m running the construction firm now. Yeah, go on, be jealous. Oldest lad’s finishing secondary school, the younger one’s in Year 8. Life’s been good,” Tom boasted. “Heard about your split, though. Never found your ‘Assol,’ did you?”
“You remember that? No, never did.”
“Don’t tell me you’re on your own now.” Tom shoved the last bit of cracker into his mouth.
“Got my boy living with me. He’s at his mum’s for her birthday. Phoned yesterday—said he’d be back soon.”
Back then, his mates had tried to talk him out of marrying Emily. But James dug his heels in—because she reminded him of Anna, the girl they’d nicknamed “Assol.” Her son took to calling James “Dad” right away, and James had grown fiercely attached. But the marriage didn’t last.
Emily remarried almost immediately. Things turned sour between Sam and his stepdad—he kept running off to James’ place. Emily accused her ex of twisting the lad’s loyalty. Sick of the rows, James packed up and moved to Brighton.
“Sam stayed with me every summer. Emily had a new baby, so she wasn’t fussed. Once he finished school, he moved in permanently,” James explained.
“Blimey. Sounds like a proper soap opera.” Tom poured the last of the wine.
“Ah, it’s all settled now.” They clinked glasses.
“I’d hoped you’d find her, honestly. Never seen a bloke so smitten.” Tom sighed.
James stayed quiet. Lately, he rarely thought of Anna—but here was Tom, dredging it all back up.
At the station, they swore not to lose touch again. Back home, James dug out an old album and found Anna’s photo. He stared hungrily at it, dragged helplessly into the past.
***
Tom had begged his dad for the dodgy old hatchback, and the three lads road-tripped down to Cornwall to visit Freddie’s relatives. With uni still weeks away, why not make the most of it?
Peaches, grapes, figs—harvest was in full swing. The boys took odd jobs picking fruit. Extra cash never hurt, especially for students. They’d work through the morning heat, then bolt for the sea to cool off.
That’s where they spotted Anna—sitting alone on the shore, gazing at the horizon.
“Assol waiting for her Grey,” Tom joked.
And the name stuck. The others had steady girlfriends, but James had never been serious about anyone.
Tom and Freddie whooped as they plunged into the waves, leaving James behind. He approached the girl.
“Waiting for a ship with scarlet sails?” he teased.
She lifted her eyes—so full of sorrow, it killed his smile. She turned back to the sea. James sat beside her, hugging his knees. She might as well have been alone.
“Hear that?” he asked, listening to the tide.
“The sea’s talking,” she murmured.
James blinked. She’d said aloud what he was thinking. They sat in silence, just listening. His mates splashed and waved from the water. Reluctantly, he stood, brushing off his shorts.
“Best go. Tomorrow, same time?”
She glanced up briefly, said nothing. But she was there the next day.
Her name was Anna—the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. Yet every time he asked about herself, she stood and walked away. He caught up, wordlessly walking her home.
Her mystery drew him in. That evening, he lobbed a pebble at her window. She stepped out—wearing cutoff denims and a loose shirt, top buttons undone. He was done for.
They strolled the pier, her silent, him babbling to fill the quiet.
The sun dipped low, staining the sky tangerine-pink, softening her face in its glow. He wished he’d brought his camera. When she refused to look at him, he waded into the shallows and snapped the shot before she could turn.
That single photo proved she wasn’t a dream.
Every evening, they walked the shore. Once, he leaned in to kiss her. She didn’t pull away—but tensed so violently, he backed off.
She was a riddle he couldn’t solve. He lost weight, burned dark from days on the shore, sneaking back past midnight only to rise at dawn. His mates stopped joking when they saw his hollow stare.
Time was running out. He decided to confess. That lunch break, his exhausted friends skipped the beach. James went alone—but Anna wasn’t there. He sprinted to her house. The gate was locked. Another pebble at the window.
A stern-faced woman stepped out. “Clear off, or I’ll call the police.”
“Please—is Anna there?”
“Gone home,” the woman snapped.
“Where?”
“Where d’you think?”
“The address—you must have it. Please, I need to—”
“Forget her, mate. It’s for the best.” The door slammed.
That evening, he begged again. She ignored him.
They left the next morning—the clunker might break down any second. James barely spoke the whole drive. His mates assured him: If it’s meant to be, he’d find his “Assol.”
By term’s end, he met Emily. She reminded him of Anna—same slender frame, though her hair was darker. Already had a son. His parents warned him off, but he was convinced it was fate.
***
James cracked the kitchen window, lighting a cig as dawn pinked the sky. “Hope Sam gets back soon.” No point sleeping now—work in a few hours.
At lunch, Sam called. “Got a surprise for you tonight. Don’t be late.”
“Your mum’s coming?”
“Nah, you’ll see.”
Home that evening, Sam was chopping veg. A cake box sat on the table.
“Big plans?” James clapped his shoulder. “How was the trip?”
“Alright. Sit down—just, uh, brace yourself.” The doorbell cut him off.
“Dad, this is Lily. My girlfriend. Lily, this is my dad, James.” Sam frowned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
In the doorway stood a slender, nervous girl. For a heartbeat, James thought it was Anna—why was Sam calling her Lily? Then he saw the differences—Anna’s hair had curled slightly, her eyes sadder.
Over tea, Lily spotted the forgotten photo on the side.
“That’s my mum! We don’t have this one. Where’d you get it?”
Sam peered at it. “From his old album. My friend came yesterday—Lily, is your mum called Anna? Where is she?” James’ voice shook. “No, it can’t be. All these years… How old are you?”
“Nineteen. Why?”
“Dad’s thinking you could’ve been his daughter. Doesn’t matter—I’m not blood-related. We’re not siblings.” Sam grinned awkwardly.
“Don’t be daft,” James snapped. “Anna and I—nothing happened. I just need to know—”
“She died when I was three.” Lily set the photo down.
James sank onto the sofa, legs giving way.
“Dad—”
“Wait.” Lily sat beside him. “Mum married young. Got pregnant with me—”She never told me about you,” Lily said softly, “but I think she hoped someone would remember her like this—just a girl by the sea, before the world took her away.”