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That person just wasn’t me.
I slowed to a stop as I approached the cliffs. The chalk cliffs of Fox Point framed the western side of the beach, and the golden sand of the main stretch gave way to a rockier landscape that was popular with kids during the spring and summer.
I’d gone rock pooling here a thousand times, but today, I just wanted to sit down.
I also didn’t have a net.
Everyone knew you couldn’t go rock pooling without a net.
How else did you catch the little crabs?
Sigh.
Rock pooling.
How had I ended up at the exact place I’d met Noah and Ash when we were seven? The pool was right there, about eight feet from me, slicked in slimy seaweed. It was right here that I’d been the proud owner of a small crab in my bucket.
A crab Noah had hated me for.
When I wouldn’t let him have it… well, that was how I’d gotten sand in my eye and how he’d ended up with my fist in his face. Ten seconds later, Ash had proclaimed me her best friend forever, because anyone would punch her twin brother in the face was worthy of her time.
And now, twenty-one years later, here we were. As far as Ash was concerned, it was like nothing had changed. Like the ten years of our lost contact had never happened. We’d slotted back into the easy friendship we’d always had.
And Noah…
Well.
That couldn’t be more different.
I sat on what looked like the driest rock and looked out over the beach. People were already crabbing off the side of the pier, but from my vantage point they were little person-shaped blurs. The beach was clear of dogs since it was prohibited during the summer, and despite it being barely eight-thirty in the morning, some people were already setting up for the day.
Colourful windbreaks went up, followed by pop-up tents that were pegged down by frantic parents. Towels, chairs, buckets and spades—they all started popping up along the golden sand, and I knew my peace and quiet was rapidly running out.
I would have to run a bit earlier.
I hopped off the rock, navigated the few slippery surfaces carefully so I didn’t end up on my arse, and made it safely back to the sand. I wasn’t looking forwards to the walk back to Grandpa’s house and cursed the idiot who’d meant my car was now off-limits to me.
Hopefully the police searched it sooner rather than later.
I wasn’t sure what they hoped to find.
It was mostly empty or half-empty water bottles under the front seats, long forgotten lip balms in every nook and cranny, and probably more crumbs than there had any right to be for a grown woman.
Look.
I got it from my mum, all right?
Her car was worse than mine. Hence why I’d walked and not driven hers down here.
That and I wasn’t insured on it yet, and the last thing I needed was another chitchat with the police.
I adjusted my earbud and climbed the steps from the beach to the promenade. It stretched out for ages, a mix of pop-up stalls for the summer market and more permanent structures like the ice-cream hut, the fish and chip stall, and those little beachy tourist spots full of overpriced suncream, hats, and all the crap a kid would use for the week while on holiday then never lay eyes on again.
You know, the kind parents bought every year.
At least in my experience.
Not that I had much parenting experience. Or any, really, but I’d spent enough summers here to know the only reason these stalls stayed open was because parents kept buying the same old tat every year.
