Whim is the word Fandango has given us today.
On a whim, Sarah grabbed her dark glasses, and crept down the steps to the beach. She was tired, and her eyes were hurting more than normal. Sitting down she squashed her bare feet into the sand. Deep, smooth, and rough the waves rolled over her toes.
The ebb and flow of the sea, and closes her eyes, and let the dark keep her safe. Feeling at home in the shadows, it was easier to think. Graham’s face flashes, like he is an actor in a film. He smiles and she reaches out to pull him close.
Crying feels safe here – there is nobody to see her pain.
‘I wish you were here with me, I wish . . .’ she let the sand trickle beneath her fingers.
Months, without his smile, months without his support, months, and it felt like years went by instead. Her anger at his death hadn’t abated, her guilt at driving so late at night. If only she went alone, he would still be alive now.
‘You okay love?’
An older lady, her hair greying at the sides, was leaning over her. Her German Sheppard, digging for stones, barely looking up.
‘I’m fine,’ Sarah says, pulling herself up.
‘It’s just the tide comes in here quite quickly.’
‘Thank you, I was just thinking I should get back in.’ Sarah squinted against the bright sun, and a hazy face smiled back at her.
‘You here on holiday?’ she asks.
‘I’m working, well sort of,’ Sarah says.