A small procession of children winds its way down the narrow path to the beach. Above them paper lanterns in all different colours bob and sway on sticks held by each child. The lanterns glow like coloured moons: pink and orange and turquoise and purple.
I’ve seen it every year since I was small, but still my heart beats a little faster when I see the dancing lights against the dark hillside. Hattie and Rosie are at the front, small figures in pale dresses like people from a long time ago, from a painting.
People on the beach stop talking to watch the procession. It’s a moment of magic, the whole beach enchanted for one long night, and this year, when it is midnight, we are going to take the candles down to the sea, and set them sailing on the water for Joe.
Gramps has installed himself grandly in the director’s chair which Dad carried all the way for him, now placed firmly in the sand. ‘Like Canute!’ Gramps keeps joking, to anyone who stops to listen. ‘Trying to turn back the tide!’ He waves his glass in one hand. Lisa and Maddie are keeping it topped up with brandy. ‘Strictly medicinal,’ Gramps says. He looks happier than he has done for ages. Dad sits next to him as much as he can, when he’s not being hauled off to help Ben’s dad and Dave with the barbecue. It’s a grown-ups’ party, this one, properly organised, and for once Izzy’s just a guest. Sally says she doesn’t have to start work till Monday.
‘It’s good to be back,’ Izzy says. ‘It seemed like I was away ages!’ She sits cross-legged next to me on a rug on the sand.
‘How was your mum?’
‘Fine. She liked her birthday.’
‘And your exams?’
‘Oh, passed. You know. All fine.’ She looks at me with her river-green eyes. ‘For what they’re worth.’
Things like that don’t matter to her.
‘So. How’ve you been, Freya? Did Matt look after you? I asked him to.’
‘You asked me to look after him, Izzy!’
‘Did I?’ She turns her head, searching for Matt. He’s talking to Luke, they’re setting up speakers for the music. She turns back to me again.
‘And did you? Look after him?’
I laugh. ‘No. We went swimming, once. He was working, mostly. He can look after himself, anyway.’
‘And Danny boy?’
‘What about him?’
‘How’s he?’
‘Just fine! This is his last night. They’re going back tomorrow.’
‘Will you be sad, Freya?’
‘Kind of. I’ll miss him. We’re good friends now.’
Izzy laughs. ‘Just good friends. Honestly, Freya! Listen to yourself.’
‘I found something amazing,’ I say. ‘I meant to show you earlier. I found it here, on this beach.’
‘A bead?’
‘How did you guess?’
‘I knew you would, if you kept looking long enough.’
‘I wasn’t looking, then. It sort of found me.’
‘The best way, of course. What’s it like?’
‘Green glass, with gold spirals. Really beautiful.’
‘I’ll make you another necklace, if you like. With a proper chain and everything, not string, this time.’
‘It broke, the string. I lost the talisman necklace when I was swimming.’
‘You didn’t need it any more.’
I laugh. ‘What are you, Izzy? My guardian angel, or a witch, or a fairy godmother, or something?’
Izzy stands up. She shakes out her crazy hair, the braids all combed out so it falls like a crinkly curtain round her shoulders. ‘Take your pick!’ she says. ‘What would you like me to be?’
‘Just you.’
‘It’s funny, isn’t it,’ Izzy says, ‘how everything’s changing all the time. Nothing stays still. Look at you. And your mum and dad, too.’
Things get lost and things return.
The music starts up. Izzy twirls round, so her dress floats out.
‘Shall we dance?’ she says, holding her arms out to me in a mock-old-fashioned way, as if we’re about to waltz round a dance floor.
But Matt is already there, one arm round Izzy’s waist, spiriting her away to dance with him on the silver sand.
It’s like a dream. It’s as if I’m watching everything happening, but I’m part of it too. Mum’s wearing the orange dress, waiting for the magic to begin, and maybe it will: every so often Dad, talking to Gramps, goes quiet, watching her, a little smile on his face. Evie and Sally start dancing together, larking about. It’s almost dark now.
Danny comes over. ‘We’re off in the morning,’ he says.
‘I know. I’ll come and wave goodbye.’
‘Will you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Here.’ He pushes a piece of paper into my hand.
I can just about see it’s an email address and a phone number and a postal address in Danny’s careful writing, his name printed clearly at the top. He lives in London: it’s only an hour and a half away from me by train.
‘Thanks, Danny. I’ll give you mine tomorrow. Promise.’ I hug him, and he looks so surprised and happy I stay hugging him longer than I meant to. And then I find I’m holding his hand, and we stay sitting together like that quietly in the dark, and it seems the most natural thing in the world. Funny, how things just happen.
Above the wine-dark sea, a golden harvest moon rises. On the beach, the paper moons each throw a small coloured circle of light on the sand like an echo. Later, when the moon is high in the sky, we will float the candles on the water. Each small light will sail out bravely across the dark water, bobbing on the waves, its tiny flame flickering and wavering. We’ll remember Joe, and watch each star of light float out further and further away, into the darkness.
Accidents happen. Things change utterly in an instant. This is my life now, here, without Joe. You just have to get on with it. Keep hold of the memories. Seize the small moments of happiness.
Good things will happen again. They’ve already started. This moment, now, I’m happy.
And that’s all there ever is: this one moment. And another, and another, and the next one after.