At the Beach

It was a Wednesday, and Donald Brown had taken the day off. A quiet
day on the beach - just him, the sun and a good book. That had been the
plan anyway, but it didn't work out that way.

Firstly the train journey down had been a nightmare - there were at
least a hundred children on board - all screaming and mewling and
swearing in unison, the solitary teacher accompanying them either too
disinterested or too tired to control them. Then there were the day
trippers - all rucksacks and designer surf clothing, all full of their
own self importance. And to cap it all, Donald had bought the wrong
ticket and had to suffer the snickering and condescension of all around
as he paid the difference from the few pennies he could scrape out of
his purse.

Luckily when they arrived at the coast the children and trippers had
all headed into town and down towards the main promenade, leaving
Donald with a peaceful walk along the cliffs to the beach. His beach.
The one he wanted all to himself thank you very much.

He took off his shoes as he reached the bottom of the long flight of
steps that led down to the sand and smiled as he curled his toes in the
hot dry sand.

The tide was well out, the sea no more than a thin band of shimmering
blue nearly half a mile away, a band that wavered and wobbled in the
heat haze.

Donald stripped off as many clothes as could be allowed and still
protect his decorum and settled himself down near some rocks that might
just provide some shade later in the day.

He had been there for an hour, and the book had reeled him in quickly,
so much so that he didn't even hear anyone approach. The first he
noticed of another presence was when a shadow fell over him, the sudden
change in light causing him to start violently.

"Sorry son," a voice said. "Ah didnae mean tae gie ye a fricht."

Donald looked up into the newcomer's face but the sun was in his eyes
and all he could see was a lurking shadow, like a bear in the mouth of
a cave. He shuffled backwards in the sand, feeling it rasping against
his back and wondering if it was the last thing he was going to feel,
before he realised how stupid he must look.

The shadow moved and filled in with light and Donald was looking at an
old man, one who had once been tall and heavily built, his stature now
bent and crippled by the years.

The old man put out a hand.

"John Cameron," he said. "I didnae mean tae startle ye. That must be
some book if it keeps ye fae hearing a lump like me comin'
along."

Donald shook the proffered hand and felt the rough calluses like
nodules on the old man's palm as he turned the book over to show the
cover.

"Hemingway eh? A drunk and a womaniser. But man, that fellow kent mair
than a wee bit about life."

Cameron sat down heavily and took a hip flask from inside his suit
jacket - a jacket that seemed to have been made thirty years ago for a
much bigger man.

"Will ye join me in a wee drink?" he said, offering the flask.

Donald declined, the first time, but as Cameron began to spin his
story he found himself taking more and more sips from the proffered
bottle. The old man didn't seem to notice - he was in a place long ago
but not far away.

"I don't ken why a young fellow like you should be out here on his ain
on a fine day like this," Cameron began. "Life is for the living. You
should be out having fun - storing up memories for a time when they'll
be all you'll have left."

"I used tae come doon here years ago - when I was even younger than
you. It wasnae much different then. The sun might have been a wee bit
hotter and the sand a wee bit mair golden, but it was a day just like
this wan that I met her."

"She was just a wee slip o' a thing - ma hands could've fitted right
round her waist. But she was bonnie, and I just had tae speak tae her.
Ower there it was," he said, waving a hand vaguely off to his left, the
sun glinting off a heavy gold ring on his finger.

"She had cut her foot in some glass. She wasnae going tae let me help
her, but she couldnae walk."

"I carried her up the cliff, and she was as light as a feather in ma
arms. I think that was when I knew she was the one for me."

"Of course, her mither didnae like me. That was the way of it back
then. Mither's were suspicious o' anything in troosers. But I won her
round in the end."

"Three months. That's how long we had. Three months o' sunshine, sea
and sand. Then the war started. I wasnae going to go. What was the war
tae me - a fight between people I didnae ken in places I'd never heard
of. But the polis would've got me and then where would I be?"

"So away I went. There were tears that night - and no' just on her
side. I promised tae marry her when I got back, and we sealed the bond
in the big bed in the house up there."

"And nine months later, while I was knee deep in the mud o' France,
they died. Ma bonnie lassie and ma wee daughter. Baith o' them taken
away frae me before I had a chance tae save them."

Tears fell from the old man's eyes. Heavy tears that fell to the sand
and disappeared as quickly as they had come.

"So save up yer memories son." Cameron said, raising the flask to his
lips and draining the last of the whisky. "Save them up, because ye
never ken when ye might need them."

Donald sat and stared at the old man, unable to speak. Nothing in his
life so far had prepared him for dealing with such naked emotion.

He was saved by a voice from his left.

"Dad?" the voice said, and Donald turned to see a young woman coming
towards them.

She approached and stood over the old man. "Come on Dad. I'm sure this
young man has heard enough of your stories. It's time to go.
Everybody's waiting for you."

She put out a hand and Cameron took it. Donald was shocked to see the
bemused puzzlement on the old man's face, as if he had only just
realised where he was.

"Don't worry," the young woman said, as if reading his thoughts.
"Dad's been getting a wee bit slow recently. But we'll take care of
him."

She led the old man by the hand, away from Duncan and down towards the
sea.

"Thank you for listening to his story," she said as they left. "He
needed someone to hear it."

Duncan watched them until they were no more than shimmering blobs
against the sea, the wavering sun making it look like there were three
figures rather than two. A sudden chill breeze got up, forcing him to
put on his shirt, and when he looked back there was nothing to be seen
but the sand and the gently breaking waves.

He made a half hearted attempt to get back to his book, but the chill
seemed to have settled in permanently and he was soon forced to abandon
his place and head back for the cliff.

Halfway up the cliff path he heard the insistent "nee-naw" of an
ambulance or police car, but it was only when he reached the top that
he saw the small crowd gathered outside the old house that sat back
from the path.

Normally he would have avoided such gatherings, never believing in
being a gawker at other's tragedies, but he felt drawn to this one. An
old woman was at the back of the crowd, sniffling into a
handkerchief.

"Is it no' just terrible?" she said to no one in particular. "Three
weeks, and naebody even kent he was dead."

Donald pushed closer just as the ambulance men brought a stretcher out
of the house, a white sheet shielding the body from the crowd's
prurient stare.

One of the ambulance men lost his footing on the steps down to the
road and the crowd gasped as a bare arm slid out from under the sheet.
The ambulance man moved quickly to replace the limb and tuck the sheet
firmly in place.

But Donald didn't notice that. His mind was full of what it had seen,
the sudden vision of a large callused hand and a loose gold ring that
glinted in the sun as it slid from the finger and rolled off into the
grass beside the steps.

***THE END***