And now for something completely different. To help you into the weekend, a good old-fashioned story.
He waited until the rugby scrum of passengers had finished trying to get through the too narrow doorway before getting up. Instead, he looked out through the porthole, trying to see something that would remind him, something that would explain why he had come here again, after so many years. But there was nothing, vague shapes, a scene almost remembered, but then lost as the small movements of the boat took it out of view. So, as the last of his fellow travellers disembarked, he rose and made his way to the gangplank. The sunlight dazzled him as he stepped out from the dark of the cabin, seeming for a moment as if it were a spotlight, the roar of the waves the adulation of a crowd, with himself the star, walking onto the stage. Maybe it was old age, low blood pressure, the surreal effect, but in a light-headed, giddy way, he reached the end of the gangplank and prepared to set foot on land: ‘That’s one small step for a man’ he thought, trying to trivialise, to play down the importance that simmered, untouchable below the surface. But something, somewhere had other plans, and as his foot touched the pier, a seagull cried, it’s haunting song a fanfare, resonating in his mind.
‘Wait a minute Jo’ cried her mother. ‘There’s no point rushing, let’s wait till the crowd has gone’. But Jo wasn’t impressed with waiting and the whole family had to join in the game of push and shove in order not to get separated. Suddenly, like a cork out of a champagne bottle, they erupted onto the gangplank and careered onto the pier. ‘It’s wonderful’ said Jo. ‘This is going to be the best holiday we’ve ever had’. ‘I thought last years was unbeatable’ said her dad, his irony he thought, lost on Jo. ‘Oh it was’ she replied with a grin, ‘but that was last year when I was a child, now I’m an adult, older and wiser’ she added with a glint in her eye and exaggerated irony in her voice. John looked at his daughter with fresh eyes and saw for the first time, the woman that she had become.
It seemed further, the climb steeper than then. Of course it does he chided himself, you’re old now, then you were seventeen. Yet other things had changed as well, new shops, fancy hotels, more traffic. But the sweep of the bay, the shape of the cliffs, the way sun reflected on the water, nothing had changed at all. He paused to catch his breath, to see again the panorama of the coast. It was the same, he closed his eyes and in his minds eye pictured what he would see as he rounded the next bend. The white walls, glistening, the bay windows looking like eyes staring out to sea, the sign swaying in the breeze, creaking in an attempt to sound like a seagull. He walked on and there it was, the paint was new, but still white, the sign was bigger and more modern. But still it swung in the breeze and pretended to be a seagull. He laughed and went in.
The hotel was small, Jo would have preferred something more modern, somewhere bigger, where she might have met someone, where something might have happened. But the view from her room – a room of her own, the sun, the sea, the excitement of being here made everything perfect. She changed quickly from her travel clothes into something more suited to exploring. ‘Lets go down to the beach’ she said, having gone to her parents room. ‘There’s nothing to do here until dinner, and that’s ages yet’. ‘Well, we could rest for a while’, said her mother, knowing already what the response would be to that suggestion. ‘Rest!’ exclaimed Jo, ‘We’ve had hours on the boat doing nothing, I can’t possibly rest now’. ‘Well, why don’t you go and explore, then you can tell us what there is to do over dinner’ suggested John. ‘Now that you’re grown up of course’ he added with a wink at his wife.
He looked out of the window at the magnificent view that he remembered so well. Why he had insisted on the same room he didn’t really know, but now he was in it he was pleased that he had. The décor had changed and a small shower room had replaced the built in wardrobes, but the walls were no thicker than before. He sat on the bed and listened to the happy chatter of the family in the next room. Half heard voices, snatches of conversation, added to the dream like quality, and he lay back half in the present, half in that long ago past. The images rolled past his eyes again like some disjointed movie. The arrival, the excitement of his first foreign holiday, the energy of a boy turning into a man. The wonder of that first evening, the sea, the stars and….. The sound of the seagull woke him. I really must be getting old he thought, falling asleep in the middle of the afternoon. He shook his head and began to change for dinner.
She had walked for miles, along the sea front, round the shops and now, tired and thirsty, she made her way to the street café that she had admired earlier. She hesitated for a moment, the foreignness of the location combining with the foreignness of being without her parents. ‘Come on Jo’ she told herself, ‘it can’t be that hard to order a drink’. She crossed the road and headed purposefully toward the one empty table. The young man hadn’t seen her and reached for the chair just as she arrived. ‘Oh, I am sorry’ he said, clearly embarrassed. ‘Don’t worry’ said Jo with a smile, secretly relieved to hear an English voice. ‘I was just going to have a coffee’ he said rather lamely. ‘You can order me one as well then’ said Jo, gladly relieving herself of the need to exercise her somewhat shaky French.
Too early for dinner, he thought, perhaps a stroll along the seafront will give me an appetite. But secretly he knew that the real reason for the walk was to see if it was still there. The café. His mind told him it was silly, of course it wouldn’t be there, times change, it was probably a supermarket selling cheap wine to tourists. It had probably been bombed during the war, a ring-road built through it. But in his heart, he knew it would be there, just as it had been. And that would make it worse. Because it would be there, but she would not. The light was fading as the sun went down, soon he knew there would be stars. His mind insisted on returning to the hotel, to run away, to go straight back to the pier for the next boat home. But somehow his feet would not listen, listening instead to another voice deep within.
‘Jo, I know it’s hard to understand. You’re still so young. It seems so hard to leave now. First love like this is so intense, it seems so real, so for-ever. But you only met this week, this talk of marriage, really holiday romances aren’t the basis for a life long commitment’ But nothing stopped the tears. The crying stopped, the laughter and exuberance returned, but in her heart the tears remained. Not a war, not a marriage to someone she loved, not children of her own had ever really dried those tears.
Tears misted his eyes as he saw the café. The large umbrellas, the checked table cloths, the white lattice chairs, all as they had been. Even now the place was almost full as the first of the evening stars glinted into view. He walked across the road and placed his hand on a chair, a seagull called, and a bridge across the years was completed. ‘Hello’ said Jo. ‘Would you order me a coffee?’
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