Seascape
I drove here. I was once too afraid to drive anywhere and it’s still the thing I hate to do most, but I climbed in my van and I drove here. I achieved the sea, I unlocked the beach. I levelled up. It’s not a day for the shore: folk are walking their dogs in anoraks, their collars turned up, perfunctory strolls being got through. I must be mad. I am mad. I love my madness and perhaps it’s the best thing to have, a willingness to charge headlong to get to the person I need to be. The tide is in, but my teenager wants to shelter in the dunes, so we settle her there, guarding our towels and picnic and we walk over soft sand, ridged sand, damp sand. I’m laughing before we hit the water, because I know how cold it will feel, all splintered and terrifying and blue. Feet, then ankles, to knees and higher. My thighs scream immediately and go numb, but they’re still working because look, I’m moving forward. My twins have followed me in like ducklings. One reaches her waist and turns back w
