Travellers Rest

My story is published in Henshaw Two This anthology is the second to be produced by Henshaw press and contains thirty-three of the prize-winning and highly commended stories from our Henshaw Short Story Competitions over the past two years.


“You see, I told you I would take you to Mablethorpe in my car eventually didn’t I?” Closing the door behind her, I climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted the mirrors; it had become second nature. I took a final breath and turned the ignition. This was going to be a difficult journey.

I eased out of the drive with the expertise of a pro even though I had only been driving a few short weeks. My mum usually joked that I could have shares in the DVLA by now, but today she said nothing. Despite the bright blue sky, the temperature in the car was cold; I turned up the heat and waited for the old fan to churn into action. The car had been a bargain. It had been one of the happiest days of my life when I handed over the £400 in an array of notes and received the keys. Despite being my hardest earned possession, it didn’t afford many luxuries such as heating or electric windows. In fact, one of the windows didn’t open at all. It didn’t matter. I smiled in her direction. “We are on our way.”


I looked over at her, “Shall we put the radio on? It’s going to be a long drive?” She didn’t mind the hours of tedium; Mablethorpe was her favourite place in the world. We had spent every year holidaying in the small seaside town for as long as I could remember and every year the journey had been traumatic to say the least. It started with a dilapidated train to Sheffield, followed by a connecting train to Skegness and finally a long, claustrophobic bus journey to Mablethorpe. I think I started learning to drive just so I wouldn’t have to endure that trip every June. If she could keep positive about that long haul, then I knew a few hours in the relative comfort of the car wouldn’t phase her.

Once we were on the motorway, the scenery changed from the picturesque views of our little village to the dull grey tarmac which stretched out endlessly in front of us. The motorway would take us almost all of the way there. I swallowed hard at the thought of arriving, at seeing the sea with its myriad of colours: sealife and undercurrents. A slide show of memories at that beach played in my mind. I could see myself a child again jumping over the waves and squealing with excitement. The old tin bucket abandoned next to a carefully constructed sand castle, a flag protruding proudly from the top. I could almost taste the salt water and the ever present crunch of sand.

Ring Ring. Wrenched from my memories, I blinked several times and focused on the phone in the holder affixed to the window. The name ‘Jake’ was blazoned on the screen. I could feel her eyes looking disapprovingly at me. Keeping my eyes focused on the road, I tried to pretend it wasn’t ringing as a scarlet rash spread from my chest to my cheeks. My knuckles whitened and I pressed a little firmer on the accelerator.

I knew I was an idiot for going back out with him and I didn’t need her telling me that. I didn’t need a lecture or it spelling out to me. I was a grown woman, I told myself. That’s why I had kept it a secret, not because I wanted to deceive her. Well there were no more secrets now. “Look mum,” I began, “It’s complicated, ok. What happened with him and that Karen was a mistake. And you know it was really more her than him. I mean she practically stalked him.” I knew I was sounding more and more ridiculous with every passing second. My voice had risen to a shrill pitch, almost a shriek. She wouldn’t buy that, not a chance. And, truth be told, neither did I.

I hated to disappoint her. Like a lot of people, I had always sought my mother’s approval. And, for the most part, I had always had it. I had done well at school; achieved good A levels; I had almost finished my degree and I had even managed to pass the elusive driving test. But Jake was a different story. He had always been a bone of contention between us. ‘He is too old for you’ she would say, ‘not good enough’. I could feel tears starting to well in the corners of my eyes. I wished she would say something. I wished she would tell me that everything would be ok and that seeing him again wasn’t a terrible lapse in judgement. She didn’t. There was only silence.

I blinked hard in an attempt to keep the tears from escaping down my face. This was silly; I was an adult and I could date whoever I wanted. It was my life and I had to make my own decisions now. Trying to break the silence, I started to sing along to the tinny sounding song on the radio. Immediately, I felt a pang of guilt; the quiet was more appropriate.

Finally, after just over two hours, we approached the car park at the seafront near ‘our’ ice cream shop. We had always come to this ice cream shop as the first port of call on our holidays. At home, our entire staircase was covered with pictures of me at varying ages clutching the remnants of half-eaten ice creams outside this very shop.

I manoeuvred into a parking space, checking my mirrors diligently. It wasn’t really necessary as the car park was deserted save one lonely car. Mablethorpe was still half asleep at this time of year; it would be another month or so before it roared to life. I was glad to have ‘our’ ice cream shop and ‘our’ spot on the beach to ourselves. And I knew my mum would be too. She didn’t really like it when throngs of people migrated to the beach on hot days and littered the sands with pop cans and discarded bread crusts. That’s why we usually came in June, before the schools broke up for the summer and a tirade of holiday makers invaded the small town.

Luckily, the ice cream shop wasn’t perturbed by the empty beach and remained open all year round. The old shop keeper had once told my mum that they did a little bit of catering for parties which kept them going out of season. She would always spend a while chatting to him; by the time she returned with the ice creams, they had already started to run down the sides of the cone. When I was young, it used to annoy me and I would say she could ‘talk the hind leg off a donkey’. I mulled that phrase over in my mind for a moment before I opened the door to the shop. I turned to tell her what a funny old phrase it was. But stopped. Maybe this wasn’t the time.

Hearing the familiar chime of the door, I stepped into the compact shop. The whole of the counter was a big fridge displaying an array of coloured ice creams. “Hi there Georgia,” the proprietor smiled a toothless grin. My mum always said it was probably too much ice cream that had rotted his teeth. I smiled at the thought as I perused the offerings. “A little early in the year for you isn’t it? Usually June?” I nodded without taking my eyes off the ice cream. “I’ve just passed my test.” I replied. Polite but not wanting to engage him much in further conversation.

It didn’t take me long to choose mum’s; she always had the same: chocolate orange with chocolate chips. I was a little more adventurous. “Hmmmm, what is that one?” I pointed at a beige coloured ice cream with brown chunks in. “It’s rum and raisin, new this year that one.” I could almost taste it in my mouth. I was suddenly aware of how hungry I was. I couldn’t really remember the last time I had eaten. “I’ll have that one.” “Right you are.” He scooped the ice cream and held it out to me offering me a final gummy smile as I turned to the door.

I took the ice cream out to the beach where I had left mum and my bag. I sat and looked at the sea, licking my ice cream with relish. It was calm; I was glad about that. Hanging low in the sky, the sun cast a watery light over the beach. The sea and the sand looked almost silver. Serene. Casting my eyes in both directions, the only other soul I spotted on the sand was the silhouette of a lone dog walker throwing a stick for a dog almost half the size of the man. “I wonder who is taking who for a walk?” I joked. The powder blue sky stretched out infinitely with only the occasional cloud to punctuate it. If it wasn’t so chilly, I could almost imagine it was a summer’s day. I pictured 21 happy holidays in my mind one after the other and smiled.

Eventually, after elongating the process, I finished my ice cream and turned to my mum, “Are you ready?”

Carefully, I rolled up my trouser legs and took off my shoes and socks. I left them abandoned beside the shop. It was tradition that we always dipped our toes in the sea. My toes almost curled at the thought of it; I imagined the shock from the icy water and shuddered. I padded along the sand until I reached the water’s edge. Wet sand clung to my feet and felt like soggy Weetabix between my toes. Reaching out one foot tentatively towards the water, I wrapped my arms carefully around my precious cargo. I didn’t want to let go. I let out an audible gasp as my foot made contact with the glacial sea. Cold ricocheted up my body like a lightning bolt. I wondered if perhaps today wasn’t the right day; I thought maybe it was too cold. Even the tears tracing the contours of my face felt frozen.

I was just putting it off. The feeling of the cold metal in my hands was the only warmth I had left. With numb lips, I kissed the top of it. There was nowhere else she would rather be; I knew that. Slowly, I opened the urn and started to let her ashes fall into the murky water. “I told you I would take you to Mablethorpe in my car eventually didn’t I?” I whispered. I felt her voice in the wind, “I never doubted you.”