They sat by the riverside, watching ducks snatch bits of bread mid-air that children tossed their way. Exams were over, two months of freedom ahead—no more lectures, no dull seminars, no exhausting tests.
“What’re your plans?” the guy asked, eyes fixed on the silvery trail of sunlight dancing on the water.
“Sleeping in, reading, walking…” the girl replied without hesitation, like she’d rehearsed it. “What about you? Going back home?” Her face clouded suddenly, anxiety flickering in her eyes.
“Nah. You know, I’ve always dreamed of the sea. Can you believe I’ve never been? Schoolmates used to come back all tanned, bragging about seashells, dolphins… Mum and Dad could never afford it. And after Mum died, well—who had time for holidays?”
“We used to go to Cornwall every summer when Dad was still with us,” she murmured, gaze drifting off as if she could still see those happy days. “Wait—have you got the money now?” she asked, snapping back to reality.
“Nope. But I could borrow some.”
“From who? Half our mates are already on their way home, the other half blew their last student loan pint at the pub. And you’d have to pay it back eventually,” Emily said, shooting a disapproving glance at Liam’s sharp profile.
“Wouldn’t need much—just enough for train tickets and food. It’s warm down there. ‘Under every tree, a table and a house,’” he quipped, quoting an old fable. “Could rent a cheap place. I’ll pay it back once I find work. Just need time.”
“And you *know* this how?” She rolled her eyes. “Cheap digs in summer? Pull the other one. A patch of sand under a palm tree’ll cost you a hotel’s worth. And how does that fable end, smart-arse?”
“Christ, you’re such a buzzkill. What if I *do* get the money—you coming?” Liam turned to her, catching Emily’s flustered look.
“Doubt it. Mum would never let me,” she admitted.
Just then, a duck flapped its wings, scattering the others. The pair watched as it glided away, triumphant with its loot.
“Hold on.” Liam fished his phone from his back pocket. “Oi, Matt? Yeah, passed… Doesn’t matter, point is I *did*. Listen, lend us three hundred quid… No? How much you got? That’s it? Fine, I’ll swing by yours tonight.” He shoved the phone back. “Sorted. You in?”
“Seriously? Train tickets’ll be sold out till autumn,” Emily scoffed.
“Could hitch. Or take coaches. Just admit you’re scared.”
“I’m *not*,” she shot back. “It’s just—Mum won’t allow it.”
“Have you *lost* it? Gallivanting off with some lad? To the *coast*? D’you know what sort of girls do that?” Mum’s voice was razor-sharp, her head shaking for emphasis.
“Mum, I’m *eighteen*. Don’t make me sneak off.” Emily’s voice wavered, tears threatening.
“Sneak? From your own mother? For *him*?”
“I love him,” she whispered, the words tumbling out—the worst possible argument.
“Sweetheart, you’ve got *years* ahead. Finish uni, marry properly, *then* swan off on holiday,” Mum sighed, exhausted.
Emily hiccupped.
“You’re going no matter what, aren’t you?” Mum’s voice softened. “I won’t have us part as enemies. Go. But *call me* if anything goes wrong.”
“Promise.” Emily flung her arms around her. “I’ll start packing?” She pulled back, searching Mum’s face for sarcasm. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”
“*Tomorrow*? I thought you’d at least introduce us—”
“He’ll come by to fetch me. You’ll see. He’s decent.” Emily was already halfway upstairs.
Mum trudged to the kitchen, doubts gnawing at her. She cursed Emily’s absent father—if he’d stuck around, this nonsense wouldn’t be happening. Then again, she couldn’t chain the girl up. Maybe she was overreacting? The clatter of dishes echoed her turmoil.
At dawn, a sharp knock. Mum froze. Emily was in the shower. The knock didn’t repeat. She opened the door—and startled. A lanky lad with a backpack stood there.
“Hello. Liam.” He flashed a grin.
Mum blinked, sleep-deprived and slow.
“I’m ready!” Emily bounded down, toothbrush in hand.
Mum gestured him in, numb.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be careful,” Liam said.
Before Mum could process it, Emily dragged him upstairs. Minutes later, they reappeared—Liam shouldering her bag.
“Gotta go. I’ll call.” Emily pecked Mum’s cheek.
“Breakfast?” Mum blurted.
“Could we take sandwiches?” Liam asked over his shoulder.
Mum scrambled, thrusting a bag of food at them as they left. The door shut. She exhaled. Hard *not* to like him.
“Where now?” Emily asked outside. “Mum liked you.”
“Chuffed. Train station.”
Two days of rattling coaches and thumbing lifts, sweating on asphalt. But when the sea sprawled before them, exhaustion vanished. They sprinted to the shore, kicking off shoes, backpacks thudding behind. Splashing through waves, scattering sunbathers, howling with joy.
Days were saltwater and sunburn; nights, sprawled on cool sand, tracing constellations. Their poky rented room felt like a cage.
By week two, magic faded. Crowds grated. Sunburn itched. They bickered over nothing. Yet at the station, all was forgiven. Liam was heading north to his dad’s. Emily clung to him, sobbing.
“Em, it’s just till term starts. I’ll call daily.”
She kept insisting she’d die without him.
“Listen. I can’t move in with you and mooch off your mum. No cash for a flat either. Hang tight, yeah?”
At home, Emily dumped her bag, marveling at familiar walls. She stuffed laundry in the machine, soaked in the bath, then sipped tea at the kitchen table, towel on her head. Life felt… okay.
“Em! Look at you—*brown*!” Mum hugged her, scanning for damage. “You’ve changed. Grown up.”
“Just knackered. It was fine, Mum.”
The bath and tea dragged her toward sleep.
Mum lay awake. Emily was safe. But those eyes—*sad*. “Missing Liam,” she decided. “At least she’s home.”
Liam called, but tersely. Work, he said. Debts.
He returned gaunt, three days late for lectures.
“You came,” Emily breathed, lunging at him after class.
“Stayed to finish my hours. Brought you this.” A velvet box.
Her heart stalled. Inside—not a ring, but stud earrings, blue as the sea.
“You hate them?”
“No! Just… unexpected.” She kissed his chin. “I’ve got news too. Not as nice. I’m pregnant.”
Silence. His face gave nothing.
“You were on the pill, yeah?”
“Yeah! I don’t *know* how—”
“Em, we can’t do this now. I’d switch to part-time in a heartbeat, but med school doesn’t allow it. Promised my mum I’d graduate. Let’s wait.”
Her head drooped.
“Think, Em. We’re skint. No home. I could work nights, but I’d crack. You’d be exhausted. Your mum can’t babysit. We’d end up hating each other. Three more years of this—then we’ll talk kids. Yeah?”
She *wasn’t* ready. But she’d hoped for *some* joy from him…
She looked up. Dry-eyed. He relaxed.
“Fine. You’re right.”
That night, she told Mum, craving the comfort Liam hadn’t given. They wept. Mum promised to “sort it.” Dawn found her still agonizing: *If I’d stopped her…*
After, something between them frayed. She still loved Liam, but avoided being alone with him. He grew bitter.
“We agreed to wait. Isn’t that what *you* wanted?”
“Yeah, but I *miss* you. Feels like you’re dodging me.”
She had no answer.
***
Years later, Dr. Emily Carter finished her rounds and settled in the office, scribbling discharge notes.
“Dr. Carter? That motorbike crash victim’s dad’s here. Asking for you,” said Nurse Claire.
Emily nodded and stepped out.
Two days prior, a student—parents’ pride, gifted a flashy bike—had been hit byShe stood by the window, watching the sea in the distance, and finally whispered, “No regrets.”
