The sand is wet, hard,
easy to stroll along without sinking.
Marla walks on ahead with Kelly-Anne.
I rock the pram.
And then Lucy is there,
a girl next to her
with close-cropped hair like brown moss.
Before I can hide she has seen me,
grimaces like I am something rotten
and walks my way.
You owe me work.
She is focusing on my scar.
Behind her the girl is on the phone.
Oh, right, I say,
ready to collapse into myself.
And then a new voice comes out of nowhere.
You owe me money, I say.
You owe me eight quid.
Lucy hesitates. I don’t think I do.
You do.
Look, I …
Give me what I’m owed.
It’s just eight quid.
I make my face a rock.
A seagull circles overhead.
Lucy reaches into her bag and pulls out a purse.
I only have a tenner.
I’ll take that.
I grab the money.
In the pram Helena is grimacing
like she might be filling her nappy.
Appropriately.