The last day of our holiday.

A seagull shat a pancake of turd on the path then flew sunwards over the caravan as I listened to him sleep. He breathed a sudden door rattling intake then released a slow relentless wheeze. A decade I’d been coming here and lying next to that. I could stand no more.

It stopped, the bedroom door opened and he joined me at the table.
Poured cereal.
Scraped the pattern off the bowl as he ate.

“D’you fancy a walk along the cliffs?”
I thought.
Then nodded.

It sounded like a perfect ending.


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