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‘She’s waiting until you’re ready to tell her.’ Abigail smiled. ‘That’s one of the things I like about your mum. You know she’s concerned and she’s there, but she’s not pushy.’
‘No she’s not.’ He took her hand. ‘How was your day?’
‘It’s always busy when it’s sunny. Which is how I like it.’ She slipped her hand into his. ‘Where did you park?’
‘In town. I assumed you walked here this morning, as it was dry, and I thought I could walk you home from here.’
‘That’s nice.’
And it was nice, walking hand in hand on the beach. The tide was starting to come in, but not massively fast, so he knew they still had time to wander along the shoreline for a bit.
Out of sheer habit, he glanced down at the sand. As usual, there was a scattering of razor shells, cockle shells and limpets; but in between he spotted a pretty banded shell and stooped to pick it up. ‘For you,’ he said, and handed it to Abigail.
She inspected it. ‘That’s a nice one. It’ll go well in the dish of shells on my bathroom windowsill. Thank you.’
‘Do you remember, we always used to look for stones that look like letters?’ he asked. ‘After you saw that picture of a stone alphabet on the Internet.’
‘We found an S, once and what could almost have been a Y,’ she said. ‘But we never did manage to find an A, a B and an X, did we?’
‘Though we did find a heart-shaped stone.’ He still had it, tucked away in a drawer somewhere, a memory of much happier times. ‘Do you still look for letter-shaped stones?’
She shook her head. ‘Not since you.’
‘Shall we?’
She looked at him, and there was the ghost of sadness in her eyes. But then she nodded, and they continued walking hand in hand along the beach. It didn’t matter that they weren’t chattering; the silence was companionable rather than awkward. Eventually, she tugged at his hand, then bent down to pick something up from the sand.
‘Not a heart-shape or a letter,’ she said, ‘but still interesting.’
The stone had a perfect hole bored right through the centre.
‘A hag stone,’ she said. ‘Legend has it that you can see through the hole into fairyland and it can protect you against bad luck. It’s meant to be lucky to hang it from a ribbon.’
‘Superstition,’ he said. ‘It’s actually a composite stone where the softer part’s been worn through by water.’
‘Sometimes it’s more fun to forget the science and enjoy the old stories,’ she said.
‘You don’t have to forget the science,’ he said. ‘You can see a sun dog in the sky and know it’s caused by the refraction of sunlight off tiny ice crystals—but knowing how it works doesn’t mean you can’t still appreciate the beauty of the phenomenon.’
‘Brad?’ she asked.
‘Yes?’
‘Shut up.’ And, just to hammer her point home, she kissed him.
His head was spinning by the time she broke the kiss. She clearly knew it, because she grinned. ‘I’m glad that still works.’
He couldn’t help laughing. ‘OK. I was being pompous.’
‘Just a little bit. But at least you know it.’ She handed him the stone. ‘Thread it on a ribbon,’ she said.
‘I will.’ And he meant it. ‘Let’s head back into town. Have you eaten since lunch?’
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve been too busy.’
‘Fish and chips or pizza?’
‘Pizza,’ she said. ‘We could eat at my place.’
‘I’d like that,’ he said.
* * *
They picked up a takeaway pizza from the pizzeria in town, then headed back to Abigail’s cottage.
‘So how is it, being back again?’ she asked.
‘As a tourist? Fine.’
‘Why did you stay away for so long?’ she asked. ‘I mean, I can understand it’d be hard for the first year, with the first birthday, Father’s Day and Christmas to get through.’ And the mess of their divorce. So many memories to stop him in his tracks. ‘But why did you never come home after that, even for Christmas or your mum’s birthday?
