Carrie arrived at the beach half an hour before the others. The car park was almost empty, but the kiosk had opened for business. The buckets were swinging from the awning, the fishing nets and sea shoes were laid out for sale and the smell of hot fat already hung in the air. People on their way to the beach would hope that equipping themselves with the requisite seaside paraphernalia would mean that they were making the most of the day, despite the weather, despite the lack of crabs to fish for. Families came to the sea drawn by a fantasy too entrenched to change, and which bore little resemblance to the reality.
Today they had been lucky. The sun was warm and the air had a kind milkiness. Carrie thought that the beach looked exactly as it had on that day, the same colours, the same smells, the same geography, and yet, of course, it was quite different. New sand had covered the old, each grain as distinct and different from the other as snowflakes were. Patterns had blown away and reformed and would continue to endlessly shape and reshape themselves. She stood looking out at the sea and the horizon. It was there, on that steadfast line, always visible yet always out of reach, that she fixed her thoughts of Charlie. She knew that she would always look for him there, at the point where the earth met the sky. It didn’t need to be this beach. He was anywhere where edges blurred, where mystery and beauty caught you up.
The rest of them came in twos and Carrie was reminded of the ark that Max had given her when he had come to visit after she had come out of the hospital. He had lined the animals up in pairs on her mantelpiece and set the little wooden Noah up on the gangplank. First to arrive was Damian, who had brought a grey-eyed woman called Sarah with him. Sarah held Damian’s arm and smiled carefully at Carrie. Next was Pam in unsuitable shoes and Simon, with whom she had cadged a lift. Carrie saw with a sigh that her mother took every opportunity to clutch on to his arm and laugh in a girlish fashion. Then Kate and Dave Jefferies, with their two girls already dressed in matching pink swimsuits. Paul came with Enif who immediately escaped from his velvet lead and led his owner a merry dance across the dunes. Molly, with Max running ahead, arrived just before Tom and Jen and a small bump under the worst smock dress Carrie had ever seen. Last of all was Oliver, who had brought the food and a seaside bucket full of flowers.
It was a simple ceremony. They set up in a sheltered part of the dunes and established their territory as is the form and the instinct, with blankets and bags and umbrellas and then went to the sea, the children running shouting across the sand, unable to simply walk in this space that was made for moving fast in. There was no body to bury, no ashes to scatter. The only marker was love. Damian read a poem and Max sang ‘Cheek to Cheek’ in a clear, sweet voice, and everyone cried. Carrie watched Sarah wipe Damian’s face tenderly with a tissue and was reassured. Afterwards they walked back together to eat sandwiches and crisps and to toast Charlie’s memory from plastic picnic cups.
After the food had been allowed to digest, the children, accompanied by Carrie, went to splash in the sea. They made a sandcastle for Charlie decorated with mussel shells and surrounded by a maze of tunnels and when they had finished Max inserted a damp, gritty hand into Carrie’s and stood beside her in the shallows.
‘Max,’ said Carrie, looking down at him. ‘Have you had a nice day?’
‘Yes,’ said Max, scooping his feet through the wet sand at the edge of the water. She noticed that he no longer had the fleshy marks on his ankles that she associated with small children. He had grown even in the short time she had known him, and before too long would inhabit that awkward, bony stage when boys and their bodies were at war. Just now he had an easy stillness that was unusual for a child of his age.
‘The sea took him, didn’t it, Carrie?’ asked Max.
‘Yes. It did,’ said Carrie. ‘It took him while we weren’t watching.’
‘I think it wanted him for its own,’ said Max.
‘Maybe,’ said Carrie, feeling the tears start.
‘He’s alright, Carrie,’ said Max.
‘Do you still see him or does he talk to you any more?’ Carrie couldn’t help asking. She needed to know if she would hear from him again.
Max looked up at her with his beautiful, serious eyes.
‘He’s gone now. I don’t see him any more and he doesn’t speak to me. But he’s inside me,’ said Max, bending to scoop up a shell with one hooked, pruned finger.
They all stayed on the beach until the air turned chilly and then wrapped wet swimsuits in wet towels, gathered up the sandy remnants of the picnic and made for home. Carrie and Oliver stayed on for a while after the others had driven off. They sat with a blanket over their knees and watched the tide slip further out.
‘Do you think it’s time to go?’ asked Oliver after a while, putting his arm around her, knowing she would find it hard to let this day end.
‘Yes,’ said Carrie. ‘It’s been as good as I hoped it would be. Better.’
Just as they were reaching the car park, Carrie turned back one last time. It was a hard habit to break, having this feeling that she was leaving Charlie behind. But then she rubbed her forehead with a sandy hand, wrapped her arms around herself and walked on, taking him with her.