It wasn’t the kind of day that you would think to go to the beach. Not unless you lived by it, and not unless you craved quiet. A roaring sea, deafening winds, howling rain. Cars lashing past as if they were running without umbrellas. But no people.
The sea, and no people.
Anna headed down to the beach around mid-morning. She shared a rented beach hut with someone she already knew before she moved here, and another woman she hadn’t met yet. These huts were quite sought after, it was rare to get one, so Anna knew she was lucky. Like allotments. Or a good night’s sleep, or decent housing. Or friends, she thought.
She picked up a pint of milk on the way, and a packet of biscuits. She had dithered for a moment over digestives or some malted milk biscuits that gave her a pang of weekend afternoons with mum and laughter, tea and games. They put the radio on, and there was drawing, reading and talking. Mum always had some other task to do - up and down from her seat sorting this, fetching that, putting those away. Just sit down, mum!
The memory drifted out just as she drifted out of the room, and left Anna with an ache and a joy that seemed suddenly incongruous to the little stamp of a cow on the top of the biscuit.
She chose the malted milks.
Down at the sea front, the wind really was bracing. Anna pulled her coat tight across her chest. The wind seemed to whip every stale or confusing thought out of her mind, and she smiled at the white caps on the sea. The pebbles in the distance all looked to be one colour, but each time she moved closer, she saw all the oranges and whites and blues and greens in the stones. She almost walked right past the beach hut.
The cup of tea and the biscuit were going to be incredibly welcome. Inside the hut, they had put the kitchen worktop to the side, so that they didn’t have to turn their backs to the sea. That was her idea apparently: the woman she hadn’t met yet.
Kettle just off the boil, milk in, then bag out. Dip the biscuit three times, that’s what her mum had taught her. Quick dips - one, two, three - out! Then you won’t lose the biscuit. It won’t break and float to the bottom of the - oh look, no, you dipped for too long. Quick dips. One, two, three - Pants. I’ve done it too, now. Well the technique mostly works. As a rule of thumb. I must have just had a dodgy biscuit there.
The ache and the joy, again.
The deck chairs were propped in the corner, and Anna took one, folded it out, and arranged a blanket around her with a view of the sea. She thought about putting the radio on, but this was fine for now.
Footsteps across pebbles. Coming closer. The hut next door? Or a passerby?
The door opened a little, and a hooded, smiling face peered in. “Hello, you must be Anna.”
The stranger came in and shook off the wind and unzipped her jacket, let down the hood. “Oh that’s better,” as if she was settling beside a roaring fire after a day out in a storm. “You’ve got a cuppa then? Great. Mind if I join you and have one too? I see we’ve both brought milk, better to have too much than not enough! Well, I suppose it depends on your opinion on waste. How many cups of tea would we have to get through to use up this lot! And you brought biscuits! We’re going to get on very well, you and I. I haven’t even introduced myself yet, I’m Fifi. Fiona. Call me Fifi. Do you mind if I join you?”
And after all that, Fiona pulled out a deck chair, helped herself to a biscuit, and settled down quite neatly beside Anna. There wasn’t much more that needed to be said, they both knew that. Not today, not for the purposes of today. They just listened to the sea together.
Anna caught a glance at Fiona when she could, when she was busy dipping the biscuit in her tea. One, two three and out. Perfectly executed. Fiona grinned at Anna, and shrugged her shoulders a little, as if she was holding in just so much glee, or as if nothing mattered at all.
