Chapter 31
Lottie and Tim have decided to go for another hike along the coast path with Josh in the carrier, this time taking a different direction and climbing up to the top of the headland.
It’s a great place to admire the view and catch some much needed fresh air.
The craggy fingertips of ancient rocks stretch out into the sea beneath the sheer drop of the cliff side and the sun has an almost alchemic effect on the water as the tide pushes and pulls along the shoreline.
Lottie gulps this air down into her lungs and it feels brand new, like no one else has ever inhaled it before.
The breeze blows right through her, her eyes clamping shut, her ears aching a little but it is so refreshing up here and it makes her feel alive.
She turns to adjust the sun hat so it is secured over Josh’s head to keep out the elements but he is sheltered in the backpack.
Only his arms and legs are hanging free as he kicks at the air, reaches out and grabs at the wind as though he might capture it.
‘Let’s find somewhere to sit and eat,’ says Tim whose hair is whipping about in the breeze too, though his eyes are bright and shining and he looks happy.
They continue on walking for a while, pleasantly buffeted by the wind as it blows this way and that, like a physical entity that shoves them playfully.
Finally they find a vacant bench, set a little way back from the cliff in a warm, quiet spot and sit down on it gratefully.
Lottie unloads items from her rucksack; sandwiches, carrot and cucumber slices, cubes of cheese and breadsticks.
Apples. A water bottle. She breaks a breadstick in half and hands it to Josh who proceeds to suck on it until it is soft and mushy.
They all three of them sit back and contemplate the long sweep of the bay as it stretches out far beneath them.
Tim starts up one of his meandering lessons about different types of rock; why some beaches are natural and others man-made, how sand is created from shale, which is actually broken pieces of shell and stone, finely ground down over years until it is the minuscule grains we walk on and build castles out of now.
She knows he is saying much of this for Josh’s benefit, even though most of it seems to go way over her son’s head at this age, but she can’t help zoning out as she chews slowly on her sandwich while keeping a watchful eye out for greedy seagulls.
Her mind wanders to review the last few days.
How she had been so irate at the beginning, her anger almost threatening to spoil her family’s one and only precious holiday this year.
She won’t let it. Neither will she rise to it any more, or give into her fury.
She must learn to control her temper from now on.
This week feels like it has been a test but one that she is slowly passing.
She still believes that something should be done.
The law should be changed, the council should do more, new housing should be built exclusively for local people, greater taxes placed on second-home owners.
But then the rich would just continue paying it, because they can.
Or passing the cost on to the consumer, pricing out people like her and Tim from the market, so that they wouldn’t be able to afford to come on holiday at all.
And she feels a sense of resignation wash over her.
Perhaps this is why Tim is so sanguine. In the end, you know you can’t beat them.
So you have to join them. And so the cycle continues.
Sitting forward, she finishes her roll and dusts the flour from her hands.
She is beginning to pack up some of the leftovers when she sees it.
A plaque on the bench. It is a fairly new and shiny one and as she considers the wooden bench again, she sees it is also a recent addition, unlike the others which look older and silvered with age. Lottie reads the inscription.
in memory of luke andrew stark
beloved brother, son and grandson
gone too soon, forever in our hearts
There are some dates underneath and Lottie does a quick mental calculation.
‘He was only eighteen,’ she says to herself sadly and traces a finger over the words like she is reading braille.
Tim continues to prattle, pointing out the names of different flora and fauna to Josh, who has decimated his second breadstick and has the remains of it smeared all over his face.
Lottie inclines her head further and sees for the first time that there is a fresh bouquet of flowers newly tied to the other end of the bench beside Tim.
Turning back to the plaque, she reads the dates again and realises with a shiver of comprehension that this must be a memorial to the local lad who committed suicide and today is the one year anniversary of his death.
She looks out towards the sea and imagines the dark water, a night sky, perhaps filled with the noise and distraction of fireworks, like it will be tonight.
And a boy, unseen, leaping from the cliff side and falling down onto the rocks below.
A sob catches in her throat at the quiet terror of it.
She reaches for her son, catches one of his pudgy hands in hers, bends and touches her lips to his sticky cheek, seeking consolation in his familiar smell as though she might keep him safe beside her forever.