Sea Glass

 

They had agreed to meet on the beach; talking always easier when walking. He spotted her first, under the shadow of the Forth Rail Bridge. Bending and stretching, bending and stretching: picking up sea glass.

It was the day after the storm, still blustery but with a hesitant sun trying to break through the clouds. He walked towards her, eyes already on the beach to spot precious bits of glass. He had joined her in sea glass hunts before; together they would scour beaches in Kirkcaldy and Leven; east-coast industrial beaches, where the finds were plentiful and varied. Queensferry was good too, and within metres of his walk, he saw something that could possibly be pirate glass. He picked it up; a peace offering.

She hugged him and he remembered the smell of her hair. They fell into step, a comfortable monosyllabic conversation between them. Bending and stretching, bending and stretching; exchanging the odd word about a find, about family and friends.

She had quite a collection of sea glass in all the colours of the rainbow, including some orange and yellow that were the most rare of colours, only found once in every 10,000 pieces of glass. She had them stored in glass pots, stacked on the windowsill to let the sun play.

Finally he picked up the courage to ask her the question. She turned to face him; her cheeks wet with tears, and not only because of the biting wind. He saw the answer in her eyes and felt his own filling up.  They resumed their walk, bending and stretching, bending and stretching. She always took a special pouch; said that it brought her luck.

They turned around and now had the wind in their faces. Talking was difficult, for which he was grateful. The silence between them spoke of lazy weekends, spontaneous trips to the Highlands, and their daughter that was and then wasn’t. Back at the Forth Rail Bridge, they prepared to say their goodbyes. They stood still, just looking at each other.

He had put a red marble in his pocket that he’d found some years earlier, knowing she coveted that piece. He took it for luck, but now he searched his pocket and gave it to her. Her eyes grew wide and she hugged him.

She would scour the beach once more, she said. It is good after a storm, she said.

He walked up to the carpark and turned to look at her. She was walking the beach: a lone figure; bending and stretching, bending and stretching, looking for the treasures the sea was willing to give her.