A Trip to the Sea
William Edward Harris was fifty-nine when he became a widower. After the funeral, his daughter immediately suggested he move in with her.
“Dad, come live with us. How will you manage alone? It’s too hard. Just stay for a while, until you feel better…”
“Thank you, love, but I won’t go. Don’t worry about me. I’m not some frail old man—I can take care of myself. What would I even do there? You should stay with me longer instead,” William said, hoping she’d agree.
“Dad, Leo and James are there alone. Leo’s going through that difficult teenage phase, and James is so busy with work… I have to go,” Emily said guiltily, hugging him.
“I understand.” William patted her hand.
“Promise you’ll call if you need anything?”
“What would I need? I can cook, the washing machine does the laundry, and I can mop the floors. I learned everything when your mum was ill—she just guided me. Or do you think the place is dirty?” His voice carried a hint of hurt.
“No, Dad, it’s spotless. I’m not angry—I just worry about you.” Emily rested her head on his shoulder.
“I won’t drown my sorrows in drink. Never fancied whisky when I was young, and it’s too late to start now. Don’t fret—just go.”
That settled it. William packed treats for Emily to take home. She hefted the heavy bag.
“Dad, why so much? We have everything.”
“Try saying no to your mum. Take it, it won’t hurt. The train will carry it, and James will meet you,” he grumbled good-naturedly.
They reached the station minutes before departure. The guard checked the ticket and urged Emily aboard.
She hugged her father one last time, kissing his stubbly cheek. Flustered, she took the bag, hiding her tears, and hurried onto the train. As the guard shut the door, she waved, smiling through her tears.
William watched until the train became a speck and vanished. His heart ached with loneliness. Now he was truly alone. He’d put up a brave front while Emily was there, but now the tears came freely. Around him, voices and laughter filled the air, but he walked to the bus stop as if in a desert, blind to it all.
“Oh, Margaret, how do I live without you now? Maybe I should’ve gone with Emily?” At the bus stop, he decided to walk home, delaying the moment he’d face the empty flat.
Trudging down the dusty street, he remembered how he’d met Margaret…
***
At school, Will had been smitten with Daisy, a delicate girl with a smattering of golden freckles and copper-red hair. The freckles never faded, even in winter—just paled slightly. He called her his sunshine.
In their final year, her father was diagnosed with lung disease. Doctors advised moving somewhere drier and warmer. Daisy’s parents sold their flat and relocated to the southern coast, buying a house by the sea.
At first, they wrote often. Whenever his mother entered his room, Will was either staring dreamily out the window or writing Daisy a letter. In each one, he promised to visit her the following summer. His mother scolded him for neglecting university entrance exams, but he barely heard her—his mind was already with Daisy.
After his first year at university, Will joined a summer labour brigade to earn money for the trip, unwilling to ask his parents. He returned in mid-August lean and tanned, announcing he was going south to see Daisy.
His mother protested.
“You can’t go alone. Write first—warn them, ask permission. Don’t just turn up unannounced. A year’s passed—things might’ve changed.”
Mobile phones didn’t exist yet, and landlines weren’t common, especially in private homes. Will had to write another letter, waiting impatiently for a reply, regretting not writing sooner.
When the reply came, train tickets were nearly impossible to get. It was as if the whole world had conspired to spend summer by the sea. He never made it that year.
Resentful toward his parents and the world, he wrote to Daisy, vowing to secure tickets early next summer—they had their whole lives ahead…
Daisy never replied. Will sulked, snapped at his parents, sent letter after letter, but got nothing in return.
On a rainy autumn morning, rushing to the bus stop, he collided with a girl. Startled, she dropped her bag into a puddle. He skipped lectures that day.
They sat in a café talking. It felt easy, as if he’d known her forever. She was studying nursing. Her bag and textbooks dried on the radiator.
“Did you miss anything important because of me?” he asked.
“An anatomy exam. The lecturer’s strict—I’d have failed anyway,” Margaret said lightly.
Her dark eyes fascinated him—like looking into a bottomless pool. For a while, he still thought of Daisy, but she was far away, and new love was right here.
His mother liked Margaret immediately—modest, serious, with a respectable profession. She trusted her son to her care. Their love was steady, like Margaret herself. They graduated, married, and a year later, Margaret gave birth to Emily.
Daisy still haunted his dreams sometimes. He’d wake agitated but calm again with Margaret and Emily beside him. Daisy likely had her own family by now. No use dwelling. What happened, happened.
***
Back home, William refused to wallow. He tore down the mourning drapes, washed the bedding Emily had used, flung open the windows, and mopped. The flat filled with city noise, no longer feeling empty.
“See, Margaret? I’m managing. Don’t worry about me. We’ll meet soon,” he murmured, glancing at her framed photo. He hadn’t let Emily tie a black ribbon on it. “To me, she’s alive—right here in my heart,” he’d said firmly.
At work, his boss called him in.
“I know how hard this is. We’ve arranged a holiday for you—go south, relax. The weather’s perfect, and there’s fresh fruit.”
“But I’ve already taken my leave,” William said.
“Take unpaid time off. I’ve approved a bonus—consider it for your dedication.” His boss clapped his shoulder.
William booked a second-class ticket for mid-September and submitted his leave request.
He and Margaret had only been to the coast once, when Emily was five and constantly ill. The doctor recommended sea air to strengthen her. After the trip, Emily’s health improved. Then Margaret’s heart troubles began, and trips were out of the question.
On the train, William drifted between dozing and reminiscing. “What if I run into Daisy? See how she’s doing, if she resents me…” Then he chastised himself. “She has her own life—husband, kids, grandkids. No point dwelling.” Another thought replaced it: “Retirement’s next year. Maybe I should sell the flat and move closer to Emily?”
His hotel room was spacious, modern, with a sea view. He visited Brighton a couple of times, joined tours, but most evenings he sat by the shore, watching waves lick the pebbles. He wished Margaret were there—it’d be merrier together. “Oh, Margaret, how I miss you,” he sighed.
One evening, perched on a rock, he watched the sunset paint the sky orange. Each night’s display was unique.
A petite woman stopped nearby. Though milder than rainy London, she wore a thick grey cardigan, her hair tucked under a crocheted hat. She reminded him of Daisy. He wanted to see her face.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? I come every evening—never gets old,” he said.
She didn’t reply. Maybe she thought he was flirting?
“I live here. Whenever I can, I watch the sunset too,” she said, eyes fixed on the sea.
“In winter too? Still this pretty?”
“Depends. Winter brings storms.”
“You’re lucky. This is only my second time at the coast.”
“Why wouldn’t I believe you? Some come yearly—we greet like old friends. Others prefer abroad.” Finally, she turned. The sunset glow masked her freckles.
“You seem familiar. Not that I’m trying to chat you up,” he added hastily.
She eyed him skeptically.
“My wife and I visited Bournemouth once. Were you there?”
“Excuse me, I must go.” She walked away swiftly.
Next evening, he scanned the shore, but she didn’t come. “Losing it, old man?” he muttered.
Then a storm rolled in. From his balcony, he watched the churning sea.
The following day, he spotted her hat from afar. This time, she wore a raincoat.
He greeted her.
“You live nearby?” he asked after sharing his storm impressions.
“Yes, in a cottage. But I don’t rent rooms, if that’s what you’re after.”
“I worried I frightened you last time, saying you looked familiar.”
She stayed silent.
“I’m William. Call me Will. AndShe smiled faintly, touched his hand, and whispered, “Yes, Will, I remember,” before walking away into the twilight, leaving him at peace with the past and ready to face whatever time he had left.
