A Trip to the Sea
William Edward Thompson was fifty-nine when he became a widower. His daughter, after the funeral, immediately suggested he move in with her.
“Dad, come live with us. How will you manage alone? It’s too hard. Just for a little while, at least. Time to get back on your feet…”
“Thank you, love, but I won’t come. Don’t worry about me. I’m not some frail old man—I can take care of myself. What would I even do at yours? Better you stay here with me a while longer,” William said hopefully.
“Dad, little Alfie’s going through that difficult teenage phase, and Robert’s up to his eyes with work… I have to go,” Emily said guiltily, hugging him.
“I understand,” William murmured, patting her arm.
“Promise you’ll call if you need anything?”
“What would I need alone? I can cook, the washing machine does the laundry, and I can mop the floors. When Margaret was ill, I learned everything. She just guided me. Or do you think the place isn’t clean?” His voice held a flicker of hurt.
“Of course not, Dad, it’s spotless. Don’t be cross—I just worry.” She rested her head on his shoulder.
“I won’t drown my sorrows in drink. Never fancied whiskey even as a young man, and it’s too late to start now. Don’t fret—go on.”
That settled it. William packed snacks for Emily’s journey. She lifted the heavy bag.
“Dad, why so much? We have everything.”
“Your mother would’ve scolded me if I didn’t. Take it—better to have too much than too little. The train will carry it, and Robert can meet you,” he grumbled fondly.
They reached the station minutes before departure. The conductor checked Emily’s ticket and urged her aboard.
One last hug, a kiss on his stubbled cheek, and she hurried onto the train, hiding her tears. As the doors closed, she waved, smiling through the blur.
William stood watching until the train shrank into the distance, vanishing entirely. His heart ached with loneliness. Putting on a brave face while she was here, now the tears came. Around him, laughter and chatter filled the air, but he walked to the bus stop as if through a desert, seeing nothing.
“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 return to an empty house.
Slowly, he wandered the dusty street, remembering how he’d first met Margaret.
***
Since school, Will had been in love with Daisy, a delicate girl with golden freckles and copper hair. Even in winter, her freckles only paled slightly. He called her his sunshine.
In their final year, her father fell ill with tuberculosis. Doctors advised moving to a warmer climate, away from the damp Midlands. Daisy’s parents sold their home and left for the south coast, buying a seaside cottage.
At first, they wrote often. Will’s mother scolded him—instead of studying for university entrance exams, he daydreamed or penned letters. He barely heard her, already lost in thoughts of Daisy.
After his first year, Will joined a summer labour crew to save for the trip south. He returned tanned and lean in mid-August, announcing at the door, “I’m going to see Daisy.”
His mother protested. “Not alone! Write first—ask her parents. Don’t just turn up unannounced. A year’s gone by—things change.”
Mobile phones didn’t exist yet, and landlines were scarce, especially in rural cottages. So Will wrote another letter, waiting impatiently, cursing himself for not contacting Daisy’s parents sooner.
The reply came: train tickets were nearly impossible to get. Everyone, it seemed, had flocked to the coast that summer. The trip never happened.
Bitter and resentful, Will wrote to Daisy, vowing to arrange tickets early next year. Surely they had time…
She never replied. Heartbroken, he snapped at his parents, sent letter after letter, but silence remained.
One rainy autumn morning, rushing for the bus, he collided with a girl. Her bag tumbled into a puddle. He missed his lectures that day.
They sat in a café, talking effortlessly—like old friends. She studied nursing. Her textbooks dried by the radiator.
“Did I make you miss anything important?” Will asked.
“An anatomy exam. The professor’s strict—I’d have failed anyway,” Margaret said lightly.
Her deep brown eyes captivated him. At first, he still thought of Daisy—far away, while new love stood right beside him.
His mother adored Margaret—sensible, kind, with a steady profession. Their love was calm and enduring. They married after graduation, and a year later, Margaret gave birth to Emily.
Daisy still visited his dreams. He’d wake agitated, but Margaret and Emily soothed him. Daisy surely had her own family now. No use dwelling. Life had unfolded as it should.
***
Back home, William refused to wallow. He tore the mourning drapes from mirrors, washed Emily’s sheets, flung windows open, and mopped floors. The clean flat buzzed with city noise, feeling less hollow.
“See, love? I’m managing. Don’t fret over me,” he murmured to Margaret’s framed photo. He’d refused Emily’s offer to tie a black ribbon on it. “She’s alive to me—right here,” he’d said firmly.
At work, his manager called him in.
“Terribly sorry for your loss. We’ve arranged a seaside break for you. Go, unwind—it’s the quiet season, perfect for reflection.”
“But I’ve used my leave.”
“Take unpaid time. Consider this a bonus for your years of service,” the manager said, clapping his shoulder.
William booked a ticket for mid-September and submitted his leave form.
He and Margaret had only visited the coast once, when Emily was five and constantly ill. The doctor recommended sea air to strengthen her. It worked. But Margaret’s heart troubles soon made travel impossible.
On the train, William dozed and reminisced. “What if I ran into Daisy?” he wondered. But he shook his head. “She’ll have her own life now. No point… Maybe sell the flat, move nearer to Emily?”
The hotel room was spacious, modern, with a sea view. He explored Brighton, joined tours, but most evenings he sat by the shore, watching waves lap the pebbles. “Wish you were here, love,” he sighed.
One evening, as the sun painted the sky orange, a petite woman stopped nearby. Though warm, she wore a thick grey cardigan, her hair tucked under a crocheted hat. She reminded him of Daisy.
“Lovely, isn’t it? I come every evening—never tires,” he said.
No reply. Perhaps she thought he was flirting?
“I live here. I watch the sunset when I can,” she finally said, eyes fixed on the water.
“Is it as beautiful in winter?”
“Different. Stormier.”
“Only my second time by the sea. Believe it?”
“Why not? Some come yearly—we nod like old friends. Others prefer abroad.” She turned. The sunset glow masked her face.
“You look familiar. Not a line—just an observation.”
She eyed him skeptically.
“My wife and I once holidayed in Bournemouth. Were you there?”
“Excuse me—I must go.” She hurried away.
Next evening, she didn’t appear. “Losing it, old man?” he chided himself.
After a storm, he spotted her hat again.
“You live nearby?” he ventured after remarking on the tempest.
“Yes. But I don’t rent rooms.”
“I worried I scared you last time.”
Silence.
“I’m William. And you?”
“Dorothy,” she said after a pause.
“In my youth, I loved a girl named Daisy. Almost married her.”
“What stopped you?”
“Her father fell ill. They moved south. I promised to visit, but… tickets, parents…”
Dorothy listened.
“My son wouldn’t have gone alone either,” she remarked.
“I carried that guilt years. Then I met my wife. She passed two months ago.”
They watched the fading sunset in silence.
Dorothy left without a word.
The next day, near a guesthouse, he heard shouting. Dorothy argued with a drunken man.
“Dorothy’s ex—always after money for drink,” a neighbour muttered.
The man shoved her. William rushed in, pushing him away.
“She fell—wasn’t me!” the drunk slurred.
William crouched, tapping Dorothy’s cheek. She groaned awake.
“Can you stand? Need an ambulance?” He glared at the man. “Waiting for the police?”
“My house! Who d’you think you are?” the drunk snarled.
William grabbed his collar.
“Don’t,” Dorothy whispered.
A blow struck William’s head. Darkness swallowed him—last sight, her frightened brown eyes.
He woke to Dorothy bending over himWilliam looked into her eyes and whispered, “Daisy,” just before the world faded to black, leaving only the distant sound of the sea and the bittersweet understanding that some stories are meant to end where they began.
