*Forget About Her, Mate*
Early on a Sunday morning, Andrew was woken by a knock. Half-asleep, he grabbed his phone and stared blankly at the dark screen, but then the knocking came again—this time at the door. He scrambled up, pulled on some clothes, and rushed to open it. Everyone knows a pounding door first thing in the morning means business.
“Hello there! Finally decided to wake up? Just going to stand there, or are you happy to see me?” On the doorstep stood Nick Carter, his old uni mate. “Mind if I come in?”
“Nick?! Blimey, what brings you here?” Andrew clapped him on the back and dragged him inside. “Could’ve warned me, you git. How’d you even find me?”
“Stopped by your parents’. Your mum gave me the address. She mentioned you’d divorced and moved here. Just passing through—booked the trip this way to catch up. Now, show me where the kettle is.”
“Kitchen’s that way. I’ll just wash up quick. Put the kettle on!” Andrew called over his shoulder, shutting the bathroom door.
When he returned, a bottle of red wine stood on the table, and Nick was slicing cheddar.
“Hope you don’t mind—thought I’d make myself useful. Your fridge is a wasteland. Trying to starve yourself? That’s what mates are for,” Nick said pointedly, arranging neatly cut sandwiches.
“Wine? At this hour?” Andrew turned the bottle to read the label.
“Who’s stopping us? Just a splash to grease the wheels.”
They drank, nibbled sandwiches, and reminisced.
Nick had married well—back in uni.
“My father-in-law retired, so I’ve taken over the construction firm. Go on, hate me. My eldest is finishing school; the younger one’s in Year 8. Life’s sorted,” Nick bragged. “As for you—heard you never found your ‘Annie’?”
“You remember that? No, I didn’t.”
“Don’t tell me you’re alone.” Nick stuffed the last bit of sandwich in his mouth.
“Live with my son. He’s at his mum’s for her birthday. Called yesterday—should be back soon.”
Back then, the lads had warned Andrew not to marry Emma. But he’d dug his heels in—because she reminded him of Annie, the girl they’d nicknamed after some romantic heroine. Her son had started calling Andrew “Dad” straight away, and he’d grown attached. But the marriage hadn’t lasted.
Emma remarried quickly. The boy, Jack, never took to his stepdad and kept running off to Andrew. Emma accused him of trying to steal Jack away. Sick of the rows, Andrew moved to Brighton.
“Jack stayed with me every summer. Emma had a new baby and was too busy. Once he finished school, he moved in for good,” Andrew explained.
“Bloody soap opera,” Nick muttered, pouring the last of the wine.
“Nah, it’s all settled now.” They drank.
“Always hoped you’d find her. That was proper love.” Nick sighed.
Andrew stayed quiet. Lately, he’d hardly thought of her—but Nick’s visit had stirred it all up.
At the station, they vowed not to lose touch again. Back home, Andrew dug out an old photo album and found the picture of Annie. He stared hungrily, dragged back to those long-gone days…
***
Nick had sweet-talked his dad into lending them his old banger, so the three mates drove down to Cornwall to stay with Tom’s relatives. With uni still weeks off, why not make the most of it?
The orchards were in full swing—peaches, apples, plums. The lads took up fruit-picking for extra cash. At dawn, they worked; by midday, when the heat got unbearable, they’d bolt for the sea.
That’s where they saw Annie. She sat on the shore, gazing at the horizon.
“Look, it’s Annie waiting for her prince,” Nick joked.
The name stuck. The others had girlfriends, but Andrew had never been serious about anyone.
Nick and Tom whooped as they charged into the waves. Andrew approached the girl.
“Waiting for a ship with golden sails?” he teased.
She looked up. Her eyes held such sorrow that he faltered. She turned back to the sea. He sat beside her, hugging his knees. She didn’t react.
“Can you hear that?” Andrew asked, listening to the waves.
“The sea’s talking,” she said softly.
He glanced at her, startled. She’d spoken his very thought. They sat in silence, listening.
His mates waved from the water. Reluctantly, Andrew brushed sand off his shorts.
“Got to go. Same time tomorrow?”
She gave him a fleeting look but didn’t answer. Yet the next day, she was there.
They got talking. Her name was Annie—the loveliest name he knew. But when he asked more, she stood and left. He caught up, walking her home in silence.
Her mystery drew him in. That evening, he tossed a pebble at her window. She stepped out—wearing shorts and a loose blouse, sleeves rolled up. Even prettier. They strolled the promenade. She was quiet; he babbled to hide his nerves.
The sunset painted the sky crimson and gold, soft light glowing in her eyes. Mesmerised, Andrew was glad he’d brought his camera. But she wouldn’t face it. Wading into the shallows, he snapped the shot before she could turn away.
That photo was his only proof she hadn’t been a dream.
Every evening, they walked the shore. Once, he dared to lean in—but she stiffened. He pulled back. Her enigma only deepened his longing. Tanned and gaunt from skipping meals to see her, he’d return past midnight, up at dawn. His mates stopped teasing when they saw his far-off stare.
Time was running out. Andrew decided to confess. That afternoon, his knackered friends skipped the beach. He went alone—but Annie wasn’t there. He sprinted to her house. The gate was locked. Another pebble.
A woman stormed out. “Clear off, or I’ll call the police!”
“Please—is Annie there?”
“Gone home.”
“Where?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Her address—please. I need to see her.”
“Forget her, mate. Better that way,” the woman said coldly before slamming the door.
That evening, he returned, begging for information. She refused to speak.
Next morning, they left. The old car could break down—best allow time for repairs. Andrew was silent the whole ride. His mates reassured him fate would bring them together again.
By term’s end, Andrew met Emma. She reminded him of Annie—same slight frame, though darker-haired. She already had Jack. His parents urged him not to marry, but he’d convinced himself it was destiny…
***
Andrew opened the kitchen window and lit a cigarette, watching the eastern sky lighten. *Jack better hurry back.* No point sleeping now—work soon.
At lunch, Jack called. “Got a surprise tonight. Don’t be late.”
“Your mum’s there?”
“Nope. You’ll see.”
Home that evening, Jack was chopping veggies. A cake box sat on the table.
“Who’s celebrating? How was the trip?” Andrew clapped his shoulder.
“Fine. Sit—nearly done. Listen, Dad…” The doorbell rang. Jack dashed to answer.
“Dad, meet Ruby, my girlfriend.” Ruby stood awkwardly beside Jack. “Dad? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
For a second, Andrew thought it was Annie. Why was Jack calling her Ruby? Then he saw the differences—Annie’s hair had curled more; her eyes had been sadder.
After tea, Ruby spotted the forgotten photo.
“That’s my mum! We don’t have this one—where’d you get it?”
Jack peered over. “From his old album. Ruby, is your mum called Annie? Where is she?”
Andrew barely held himself together. “It can’t be… How old are you?”
“Nineteen. Why?”
“Dad’s implying you could’ve been his daughter. But we’re not related—I’m not his real son. No laws broken.” Jack joked, filling the awkward silence.
“Don’t be daft,” Andrew snapped. “There was nothing like that. I just… need to know.”
“She died when I was three,” Ruby whispered, setting the photo down.
Andrew sank onto the sofa.
“Dad—”
“Wait.” Ruby sat beside him. “Mum married young—well, got pregnant first. The doctors warned her not to… She had a tumour. But she had me anyway. After chemo, she was too weak to hold me. Then she seemed better.”
“Dad took us to the coast—to his aunt’s. But I caught cold. Mum wasn’t supposed to get sick. He made her go alone. I remember her coming back, crying, hugging me. I cried too. He says IShe was too small to remember properly, but a year later, Mum was gone—and now, meeting you, I finally understand why she used to stare at the sea.
