Chapter Thirty-Six
By late morning, the Carnival had settled into its rhythm.
The green was busy but not frantic, the kind of gentle bustle that made Lydia feel as though she could simply drift with it.
Children darted between stalls clutching paper flags; the brass band practised a few bars at a time, stopping and starting as though warming itself up for the afternoon parade.
She wandered past the coconut shy, pausing to watch Mark show two small boys how to line up a throw.
He had rolled his sleeves to the elbow, revealing forearms already pinking in the sun, and the boys hung on his every word.
When one of them knocked a coconut clean off its perch, Mark whooped and clapped as though it were the greatest victory of the day.
Lydia smiled, feeling the warmth of it settle somewhere deep.
She moved on, weaving between families and clusters of teenagers, letting the colour and noise wash over her. The flower tent stood open on all sides, its striped awning fluttering lightly. Inside, Fiona Clarke was arranging a row of small vases, each holding a single perfect bloom.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Fiona said as Lydia stepped closer.
“They are.” Lydia lingered over a display of tiny posies tied with ribbon, the scent of sweet peas drifting softly around her.
At the edge of the green, Lydia paused and looked down towards the lower beach. William stood with the children beside their sprawling sandcastle. He glanced up as though he sensed her watching. Their eyes met across the busy green, and his face softened into a smile.
Lydia smiled back.
Miguel belonged to the life she had left behind. Down on the beach — amid blue plaster, plastic spades and children’s laughter — was the life she had chosen.
? ? ?
On the lower beach, the sandcastle competition was drawing to a close.
William crouched beside the children, admiring the final touches they were patting into place.
Ollie stood on the dry sand in his high-visibility vest, his clipboard tucked beneath his good arm as he supervised the shell-lined walls.
Sophie spotted Lydia approaching along the promenade and waved wildly.
William straightened, brushing sand from his hands. “There she is,” he said, his voice warm. “Come and see what they’ve made.”
Lydia stepped down onto the sand, the sunlight bright on the water behind them. The children tugged her closer, eager to show off every turret and shell-lined wall. Ollie nodded approvingly as they pointed out the moat and the carefully packed battlements.
The children dashed away to wave the judges towards their plot.
William watched her with that same softened expression she had seen from the green — the one that made her wonder whether there might truly be a place for her beside them.
“Stay with us for a bit,” he said quietly, once the children had run ahead. “If you’d like.”
Lydia nodded, the decision already made.
She stayed.