By ten in the morning, the dreary March sky cleared of its grey shroud, and the sun broke through. The sea turned a welcoming blue, waves lapping gently at the pebbled shore. Even the air felt crisper, sharper.
Sitting indoors on such a glorious morning was unthinkable, so Edward set aside the newspaper hed been reading after breakfast. With a grunt, he pushed himself out of the armchair and went to dress. The guesthouse hallway was emptyusually, small clusters of holidaymakers lounged here, but today, even they had abandoned the cosy sofas for the outdoors.
Edward walked along the promenade, the pebbles crunching under the thick soles of his brogues. Above, seagulls cried joyfully, their calls sharp against the fresh sea breeze that invigorated his lungs.
Once the seaside guesthouses faded behind him, he climbed a gentle slope, stepping through last years brittle grass, where timid new shoots struggled to emerge. From a distance, he saw the only bench along the shore was taken. It puzzled him why they hadnt installed moreit was so pleasant to sit and watch the sea. He often came here when the fickle spring weather allowed.
He nearly turned back but changed his mind. The bench wasnt boughtthere was room for him, too. And company made the sea view even better. As he approached, he realised the figure on the bench was a woman. At the sound of his footsteps, she turned her head slightly, her gaze brushing over him with indifference.
She looked about his age, perhaps a little younger. She wore joggers, a deep maroon hoodie, and trainers. Her hair was short and streaked with silver, her features still finely carved. *She must have been a beauty in her youth. Still is,* Edward thought, surprising himself.
“Lovely morning, isnt it?” he offered instead of a greeting.
The woman didnt reply, only arched a single brow.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked, already circling the bench to sit at the far end without waiting for an answer. “Havent seen you here before. Just arrived?”
“Two days ago,” she said suddenly. Her voice was low, rough-edged.
“Ive been here a week. You could watch the sea forever. Calms the nerves.”
“And are your nerves in need of calming?” She turned her head, held his gaze briefly, then looked back to the water.
“What? Ohno. Just a turn of phrase. Though, in these uncertain times, plenty to fret about.” Edward already regretted speaking. Words only spoiled the view.
“And whats troubling you?” She seemed willing to talk now.
“Just like that, eh? Pour my heart out to a stranger?” Edward muttered.
“Why not? Thats why you sat down next to me, isnt it? Easier to open up to someone youll never see again.”
“Youre right.” He paused. “Thirty-odd years ago, I came here after my divorce. Drove myself mad with loneliness. Pestered my friends with complaints about my miserable lifethey shipped me off to the seaside just to be rid of me.” Edward chuckled. “Back then, I was younger. The sky bluer, the sea more inviting, the sun brighter. Early autumn, it was. Some brave souls still swam. I took the plunge once myself. This bench wasnt here thenI used to sit on those rocks further out. One day, I noticed a new face on the promenade. Remember how *The Lady with the Dog* starts? Well, I spotted a young woman walking alone by the shore. She kept smilingjust at the corners of her lips. I sensed a kindred spirit and went to meet her. Her name waswell, no matter now.”
They walked, talked. She was married. Her husband, much older, was dying. Hed called his sister to tend to him and persuaded his wife to take a week by the seaher first break in years. Thats why she kept smiling.
The next day, they arranged to meet again. And she came. They spent every moment together, day and night. A handful of stolen, perfect days. She wasnt recklessquite the oppositeEdward fumbled for the right words, then fell silent.
“I married for love, but we grew deaf to each other. Even in bed, my wife thought about whether to buy our son trainers or a scooter, not about us. Not that I blamed her. It takes two. But thisit was a gift. To a soul starved by a hollow marriage. She loved me desperately, as if time were running out. And it was. My departure day came. She waved me off at the station, smilingbut tears rolled down her cheeks. And me? It never even crossed my mind to stay.”
“You never saw her again?” His companions voice was husky. She listened intently, eyes fixed on the seaalmost too intently.
“No. I asked for her address. No mobiles back then. Wouldnt have called anywayrisked exposing her. At first, I ached to see her. Kept putting off the trip. Then the idea soured. What was the point? Her husband was dyingme turning up would only torture her. Make her lie, twist the knife. She had enough pain. Nothing good would come of it. Thats what I told myself. Then… I lost the address.” Edward trailed off. The woman said nothing.
“Chickened out, I suppose. A bad romance ruins your confidence. You pick yourself apartbecome hesitant.”
“Beautiful story. You never remarried?”
“No. There were womenwont pretend otherwise. But none stuck. I kept remembering those days by the sea.”
“Maybe because it was fleeting. No obligations, no disappointments, no aftermath.” She stood.
“Leaving already?” Edward asked, suddenly anxious.
“Time to go. Stillyou should have gone to her. She waited for you.” She turned and walked briskly toward the guesthouses.
Edward stared after her, baffled. *What did she mean by that? A lucky guess? Or* But he didnt follow.
After lunch, restless, he returned to the shore, hoping to find her. She never came. Saw no sign of her at dinner, either. The next day, he lingered on the bench, searching. Then it struck himher face, younger, with long dark hairhis chest tightened. *Its her. Anne. Bloody old fool.* He rushed to nearby guesthouses, asking after her. One receptionist said a woman matching her description had left that morning. Her name was Anna.
“Where did she go? Please, her addressyou must have it from check-in,” he pleaded.
“What if she doesnt *want* you chasing her?” the receptionist pointed out, but softened at his story and scribbled it down.
Now, in a strange city, heart hammering, he climbed to the fourth floor of a red-brick block. Hesitated at the door. *What do I say? After all these years? What if shes married? Shell turn me awayrightly so. But Im here nowring the damn bell.* Sweat beaded on his brow. *Dont drop dead on her doorstep.* He breathed deep and pressed the buzzer.
The door opened. Anne smiledas if shed been expecting him.
“Hello. I knew youd come,” she said simply, stepping aside.
“Sorry it took so long,” Edward gasped, belatedly wishing hed brought flowers.
“Never too late. Just bad timing. Hereslippers. Not my husbands. New.”
They sat in her cosy kitchen, drinking tea. This time, she talked, he listened. Her husband died eight months after her return. Before the end, he told her he loved her, bore no grudgehed sensed the change in her. Shed waited for Edward. Given up. On the bench, hearing their story retold, shed nearly confessed. Been glad he remembered. But he hadnt recognised herso shed left him a clue.
“I was a coward. Robbed us of years. But its not too late, is it? Fate brought us back. Annelets try. Were not old yet. I wont be a burdenlived alone too long.” Edward broached it days later.
“Were both set in our ways. Hard to start over. No time for mistakes. Youre rightfailure makes us cautious. But Im tired of being alone. For what? No children. Its not just about wholl fetch the glass of water. Were meant to have someone. Maybe weve earned thisafter all the heartache. Alright. Lets try.”
What their life would be, only they could decide.
In youth, we gulp love like winereckless, desperate. With age, it matures, grows richer. Sipped slowly, savoured.
*Two lives, shared. No promises. No grand hopes. And yetIm glad for them, finding love at the eleventh hour.*
Its never too late.
