ABIGAIL

She waited there all morning, feeling ridiculous and exposed as villagers walked past her, casting glances at the girl on the bench. She stayed on the same page of her book for half an hour, scanning the faces, craning her neck to peer up the high street as people spilled in and out of shops. Tourists were flocking to the village now for the summer months. ‘Honeymooners’ paradise’ they dubbed it and everyone seemed to be eating bags of fudge, licking at ice-cream. The wind was warm today, blowing in from sunnier climes, and she had taken off her cardigan, could feel the sun on the nape of her neck, her hair twisted into a bun, her arms covered in freckles already.

Then she saw him, walking along the opposite bank, chatting with a man his age in round spectacles, waving him off and turning to look out across the sea, then picking his way onto the shingle and almost out of view. She hurried then, her book quickly closed, the page forgotten, tripping as she got up, her shin bruised on the bench, a sharp sound out of her mouth that caused a passing woman to look up.

She crossed the bridge, had lost him; he’d dipped out of view, his dark brown hair and wide shoulders no longer visible. He couldn’t have gone far. She sped up in her heels, a brisk walk, heart pumping. She knew she looked absurd, she could feel sweat pooling underneath her arms, the sun blazing high above her, her palm damp as it clutched her cardigan.

She saw him from the promenade, on the wet sand a hundred yards ahead. She sank into the stones, the rounded, broken shells, lumps of grey, tumbling over each other, impeding her in her heeled shoes as she made awkward progress down to the water’s edge. He was skimming stones, watching them bounce once, twice, trip along the water and out of sight. She wondered if he knew she was looking, smiled at the thought. He’d thrown his jacket down on the shingle, his shirt coming untucked from the waistband of his trousers, billowing out in the breeze, his shoes and socks off, trousers rolled up, sand sticking to the hairs on his legs.

‘Very impressive,’ she called out, sitting herself on the beach, feeling the gentle bump of the pebbles as they shifted under her weight, warm to the touch.

He turned towards her, his hair lifting in the wind, the dark strands sweeping over his forehead as he moved towards her, leaving squelching footmarks in the sand that quickly filled with water.

‘Come and show me how it’s done then,’ he said, an eyebrow raised in a challenge. He didn’t seem surprised to see her; familiar and confident, he didn’t seem to have changed at all. She felt a flicker of hope that she hadn’t ruined things completely with her sullen mood that day on the clifftop railway.

‘I couldn’t possibly,’ she protested, ‘it would just embarrass you.’

He threw himself down on the shingle beside her, his face flushed and tanned. He looked exotic today, his skin hinting at travel and spices. He seemed full of life, itching to throw stones, run through sand, shoes off. She couldn’t help laughing, giddy with the feeling. She felt an immense relief when she was with him, that she could be herself, not the coiled version that sat nervously on the edge of a single bed, looking out over a grey sea. With him she was Abi: toothy smiles, bold laughter, teasing and jokes. She felt as if she was with Mary or her mum back in Bristol, giggling over the everyday things, her chest light with friendship.

He lay back on the stones, his toes wiggling into the sand, disappearing from view. ‘Perhaps best. You look like a girl with a good arm.’

‘I shall take that as a compliment,’ she said, stroking her arm with one hand.

‘It was meant as one,’ he said, shutting his eyes.

‘Did you just lure me here to show me how marvellous you are at throwing things?’

‘I didn’t lure you anywhere, you followed me.’

She felt her whole face flood with heat, ready to make her excuses, to deny it, but he continued, eyes still shut.

‘I’m so pleased you did. I was about to come and knock on your door, ask your chaperone for a meeting, force you out of there, like Rapunzel.’

She exhaled quickly, not sure if he was teasing and so glad he hadn’t appeared at the house. ‘I don’t have long enough hair for Rapunzel.’

‘Well, someone stuck in a tower.’

‘I also don’t have a chaperone.’

‘You should have.’ His mouth twitched. He opened the eye nearest to her, tilting his head to the side. ‘I love this bit of beach. Shall we walk along it?’

‘Alright then,’ she said.

‘First you must remove your shoes.’

‘It’ll be cold,’ she protested, embarrassment flooding through her. Ridiculous to feel embarrassed at baring her feet.

‘It’s hardly cold and they’ll get ruined if you don’t. Second option: I carry you, but I’m not sure we’d make it very far.’

‘How rude.’

‘That’s not a slight on your weight, only my inability to act like a strong man.’ He made a pathetic gesture with both arms, as if he were trying to lift something enormous with both hands, and she giggled.

‘Fine.’ She relented, raising both hands in the air. ‘I shall remove my shoes.’

‘Excellent.’ He sat up, then sprang to his feet, perhaps sensing that she was fumbling a little with the straps on her shoes and wouldn’t appreciate an audience.

The leather felt slippery in her fingers; clumsily, she pulled them off and then stood in stockinged feet. ‘Turn around,’ she said, reaching up to unclip her stockings and roll them down. She felt scandalous doing so and peeked over her shoulder for any passing walkers.

She wiggled her toes into the sand, feeling the damp grains seep between them. It was heavenly after the sticky heat of the day and she exhaled loudly, sighing in appreciation. Rolling up her stockings, she balled them into her fist.

‘The whole village will probably drum me out, but I am ready for walking,’ she said, spinning on one foot and walking towards him. The sunlight made his white shirt dazzle and his skin seem a darker brown. ‘Come on, strong man.’

They walked along the shoreline, leaving footprints in a trail behind them. The blue sky was streaked with wispy clouds skittering past the sun; a thicker, bruised layer of cloud sat mulishly on the horizon, making the water duller, lurking as if at any moment it could rise up and take the good weather away. Up ahead, trees obscured the road that ran down from the clifftop. Abigail imagined herself looking down at them both from that height. Tiny insects walking on the sand, specks of people. She bent down to pick up a shell shaped in a perfect spiral, the browns and greys washing together, the surface smooth.

‘I love this beach. I’ll always want to walk along it, no matter how old I am.’

‘But…’ She stood up abruptly, her eyebrows knitted together. ‘You won’t always be here, will you?’

He cocked his head to one side. ‘How do you mean? This is my home, I’ve always lived here.’

‘Well, yes, but surely you want to travel, to get away?’

He carried on talking about the village, his home, his friends, his father. She felt flimsy, weightless, as if someone could send her spinning over the sand, the sea, send her flitting up, caught on the breeze, whirling higher into the clouds and away. She felt the shell, perfect in her hand, squeezed her fist around it. She had assumed he would want to leave the village, had dreamt of persuading him to head to America too.

‘… I want to build things, Abi,’ he said, pointing to the houses lining the beach. ‘I want to build my own house. I’ve been learning, practising with different cuts of wood and studying how to do the different joints.’

She looked at him then, fully, drinking in his enthusiasm, watching his mouth, full and fast, talking to her about creating things out of wood and other materials.

‘What about a boat? You could build a boat. Imagine owning a boat, where you could go, the places you could see…’

She did imagine it then, imagined herself in polka-dot shorts and her hair tied up in a knotted scarf or beneath a wide-brimmed hat, sunbathing under large cream sails, the turquoise blue of some foreign sea behind her, maybe a dolphin or two trailing their boat as they steered a path through the water. Diving off the edge of the boat, plunging into the still sea. Turning in the waves to look at him on the deck, bronzed, bare-chested, his teeth dazzling in the sunshine. She could practically taste the salt on her lips, feel the warmth of the sun’s rays, hear the gentle splashing as the boat gently rocked at a standstill. Stopping over in a new port, clambering out to discover another new place.

‘Wouldn’t that be heavenly?’ she whispered, returning then to the greys and purples of the pebbled beach in Lynmouth, wrapping her cardigan around her as a cloud sat stubbornly over the sun and the wind picked up.

‘I suppose it would, if you didn’t hate the sea.’ He laughed, scooping up a handful of stones and letting them run through his fingers.

‘But…’ She felt her body droop then, knowing it was her fantasy, not his.

‘I’m saving,’ he said, misunderstanding her sudden melancholy, keen perhaps to prove himself, ‘and Tom said he can get me the timber cheaply.’

‘That sounds wonderful.’ The words came out in a monotone. She watched as his face fell, his green eyes dull despite the sunshine overhead.

‘I couldn’t leave Dad anyway. I’m all he has.’ He gave her a lopsided smile and a small shrug of apology.

She didn’t reply, wanted to take his hand and give it a squeeze, to recapture his previous enthusiasm, but she didn’t do anything, just stood in her bare feet, goosebumps breaking out on her calves. She turned in the direction of their shoes. ‘I need to get back.’

‘Abi…’ She could hear the confusion in his voice.

She bent down to pick up her stockings, pulled them on quickly, swearing under her breath as one laddered in her hands.

‘Abigail, wait,’ he said, tying up his shoes, going to pick up his jacket. ‘Where are you headed? I can go with you.’

‘No. Don’t. Stay. It all sounds brilliant. I’m glad,’ she trilled, marching back over the pebbles, throwing her remarks over her shoulder, feeling foolish as she sank into the stones, waddling away like an idiot, leaving him looking at her, wondering what had happened and what he had done wrong.