We lay on that sand for hours, and still I would give everything for just a little while longer. I still have the shell you gave me, I kept it safe at home. I didn’t want to risk breaking it out here, but I have your photo to keep me company. Some of the lads asked if you were mine, and I said you were. I can say that for now at least. I may never stop saying it, even after you fulfil your family obligations.
I wish things could be different. I would change so many things. Meeting you isn’t one of them though. Don’t give up on your dreams, You. Please don’t stop trying to feed your passion. Life is so bleak and cruel without joy and passion. You and you alone are my dream, and I shall never give up on mine. Take pity on a poor Navy man who loves you so, and go out there and fill your life with colour. You brought the colour to mine, and I love you for it.
Till we meet again, I shall remember the beach. Our beach.
Ever yours,
G
Chapter 8
The familiar smell of fresh-cut grass assaulted Martha’s nostrils as she slowly walked up the well-maintained path. The smell of flowers hung in the air, and daffodils were growing wild all around her. Her lips pursed when her gaze fell on what she was looking for.
‘I don’t know why I’m here really,’ she said out loud, already feeling foolish.
Martha pulled a small checked blanket from her bag, unrolling it and placing it over the wooden bench that she frequented most weeks. Sitting down, she looked at the row of headstones before her. She normally brought flowers, or a little sketch, but today, she had barely remembered the blanket to protect her from the splinters on the well-worn bench. Placing her bag next to her on the material, she sat back and wrapped one side of the flannel around herself. Since April had passed her that newspaper, she hadn’t felt warm. Or herself.
Charlie’s headstone was right in front of her, and she looked at it fondly. Charlie had been the best husband a woman could ask for. He loved her artistic side, put up with her temperamental moods, and was the best companion in life. They had a happy, quiet life, and she missed him still. Since he passed, she’d come to realise just how lucky she had been. Isn’t it always the way? When things are gone, we realise just how huge a hole is left behind. The thing was, even with Charlie there, it had always felt like she had a huge hole in her life, one that she could never speak of, or fill. She had thought that art might bridge that gap, but even when she was working on her best pieces, she still couldn’t help but feel her mind wander.
‘He’s coming back,’ she said simply, wincing as she thought of the response Charlie might have had. Would he have been angry, or mad? Sad, probably. Which was why she’d never spoken of any of this when he was alive. Since he had passed, telling him certain things had been simpler. He was less likely to talk back, but deep down she knew that Charlie would have been calm, reasoned. Had he been standing in front of her today, he wouldn’t have raged or shouted. He would have been as calm as a duck on the water, despite the paddling feet beneath. She loved him for that, as she did now. Her secret confidant in death.
A bird tweeted from the trees above her and she looked up to the sky, surprised to see how bright it was, even at this hour. The sun was just starting to rise, the birds were waking, the boats were out working nearby. Life went on, as it does, but today Martha felt like she was stuck in time. A time that she had never embraced.
***
‘Morning!’ April trilled as brightly as she could. Cillian, sitting on a swivel chair in the middle of the games room, didn’t turn around, or acknowledge her presence. ‘Morning!’ she tried again. Nothing. Great. April, carrying a huge box of brushes and rollers in one hand, and two large tins of paint in the other, sagged. Blowing a piece of overhanging fringe that had escaped from her scarf headband, she dumped the stuff on the pool table and looked around the room. The flooring was sound; the walls needed minimum patching. A fresh coat of paint, some new games, and a bit of money on tech would make the place great. She had been looking online last night at design ideas and something had sparked in her. For the first time, she hadn’t groaned and moaned before getting out of bed. For once, she didn’t feel quite so lost. This was what she needed to do: focus on the challenge.
Cillian turned a one-eighty in his chair, stopping with a jolt when he saw her. He jumped up in surprise.
‘Holy moly, where the hell did you come from?’ He pulled a pair of ear buds out of his ears, and April could hear the tinny sound of The Beatles in his ear. ‘You scared the bejesus out of me!’ He tried to get to his feet but ended up standing on one of the wheel-clad legs and flipping the chair arm straight into his private parts.
‘Holy fecking hell,’ he whimpered, dropping to his knees and cupping his manhood as he melted to the floor like a water-sodden witch.
April stared at Cillian, his face fading from a bright red to a sickly pale greenish hue, and she burst in laughter.
‘Oh, I’m so … ha ha … oh no … sorry … I …’ was all she could get out before she collapsed into fits of laughter once more. ‘I just, the chair … and
