In the morning the sun was shining from a blue, blue sky, but the shadows were deadly cold and the wind like a flat blade of ice. Eliza had to pull up the collar of her sheepskin coat even further to keep out the wind. She had parked her car and was now looking out over the
landscape. Was it as she had remembered? She saw flat grass rising up into sand dunes that hid the pebbly beach. If she looked in another direction she could see over the river to the line of black fishermen’s huts. She looked behind her and saw the part of the village she remembered the best. The line of cottages, including the ferryman’s cottage, and the pub.
Eliza wanted to feel the same freedom she had felt the last time she had been here. They had taken nets, lines and baits and had sat on the wooden bridge with the intention of catching crabs from the muddy river. She had laughed as he had teased her about her fear as she picked off the crab from the bait and put it into a bucket. She had later screamed as they watched the side ways marching as he had tipped the bucket of crabs back into the river.
Eliza again wanted to play hide and seek in the dunes. She wanted to feel the laughter rising into her throat as she watched his latest trick of falling flat into the sand. They had then cautiously walked on the pebbles down to the water to swim in the freezing water. He would glide, then splash, while she paddled and kicked the icy cold sea.
She left the car and walked up in the direction of the village. She could see the glow of fires in the front rooms of the small cottages. The smell of the wood smoke was comforting. Where should she leave him? He had enjoyed the years of holidays they had spent here. She returned to the ferryman’s cottage and nervously knocked on the weather beaten
door. A man answered. She recognised him immediately.
‘I heard your sad news Eliza, I was hoping you would pay us a visit.’
He looked at the urn in her hands and led her down again to the water’s edge.