Holiday

I remember it well. The cave by the beach. The sting of too much salt water hastily inhaled going for a swim in the sea. "It'll do you good," they said. I bought the child an ice cream. My grandson. He was always so happy there, even after his mother died. I remembered the confusion among the arcade machines, giving him more coins for the games. I cried whenever I went back. I used to stick a twenty pence piece into the earth by his grave, knowing that somewhere he'd be laughing, glad his old grandfather got the joke. I tried to be happy there, remembering his smiling face, but it was always ruined by the image of him shaking, in tears, holding me the day his mother died. My daughter. He had been a great comfort to me. I miss him. I miss him terribly.