isn’t he a charmer,’ Anna said into her microphone, smiling at Nathan. ‘Yes, I am back and I’d like to say I’m raring to go. But any of you exhausted parents out there will know that’s not a phrase we use at this time of the morning.’ She narrowed her eyes at Heather as Nathan tried to suppress a smile.
‘You have coffee though,’ he said.
‘Yes, plenty of coffee,’ Anna replied, lifting her mug to the webcam in the corner. ‘My saviour.’
‘So what have we got in store for our listeners today, Anna?’
‘In our “Your Say” phone-in this morning, we’re asking: has the war on drugs failed? We’re also sharing tips on how to keep cool in a month where we’re told temperatures may reach record highs.’ She fanned her face with an envelope as she raised her eyebrow at the webcam.
‘And twenty years from when the last victim of the Ophelia Killer was discovered,’ Nathan said, ‘we have a special report asking the question: will the families of those seven young boys murdered that summer ever get justice?’
Anna felt herself tense slightly at the mention of the Ophelia Killings, just as she had when she’d seen them on the running order that morning. But as Nathan reeled off the rest of the show’s itinerary, Anna felt the anxiety dissipate, replaced by that familiar thrill that came with doing her job.
Soon, it was like she’d never been gone.
Anna pushed Joni’s pushchair down the small path that lined the pebbly beach, pointing out the seagulls jutting their beaks at the remains of someone’s ice-cream cone. Ridgmont Waters, the seaside village where she’d grown up, spread out behind them, a thin strip of pretty houses, shops and cafes overlooking the sea. People stretched out on the beach, soaking up the sun’s rays, children screaming in delight as they ran in and out of the shallow waves. In the distance, the old lighthouse her family owned lorded over the sea, tall and white atop craggy grey rocks.
Anna squinted up at the sun, letting out a contented sigh. It was good to finally be out of the studio and with her daughter, the more bearable warmth of the late afternoon sun on her skin, the smell of salt and seaweed blowing the cobwebs away. The small house she was currently renting in the town’s new estate might not be as pretty or as full of character as the Victorian terrace she’d renovated with Guy, but it was closer to the sea, just a two-minute walk.
That was something, wasn’t it?
‘Love you, baby,’ Anna said, peering down at Joni’s soft brown hair.
Joni peered up at her mother and smiled, making Anna’s heart swell. She looked just like Anna with her brown eyes and oval cheeks.
‘Mama,’ she gurgled.
Anna paused. ‘Did you just say mama?’
Joni gave her a sweet smile and Anna leaned down in front of the pushchair. ‘You said mama. Oh darling, you said mama!’
‘Mama!’ Joni said again, giggling in delight.
Anna thought about how Guy would react when she told him later. Then she remembered: he was gone and soon the house they’d worked so hard to make their own would belong to someone else. She felt the tears come again and squeezed her face into Joni’s chubby neck. This wasn’t how she’d envisaged things panning out, a single mum living in a downsized property, ruled over by some upstart at work. But she was managing, wasn’t she? And Joni was happy. That was what was most important.
‘Right, we better go say goodnight to your granddad before you start wanting your dinner.’
She headed towards the small patch of beach that lay in the lighthouse’s shadow, leaving the chatter from the busier part of the beach behind. It was empty here, apart from the odd seagull or two, due to the lack of sunlight. She used the large wheels on Joni’s buggy to negotiate the pebbles before stopping right at the sea’s edge, the soft waves lapping at the pram’s wheels, making Joni giggle. Anna sat on one of the steps leading to the concrete platform where the lighthouse stood, the craggy rocks behind it. She could smell the new varnish from the lighthouse’s glossy red door at its front. Her gran must have got someone to repaint it. A crab skittered out of view at the sight of Anna, and a seagull landed on one of the lighthouse’s windows above.
Joni clapped her hands as she looked up at the lighthouse. Anna smiled and quietly sang the song her gran said her father used to sing to Anna when he’d brought her here as a baby:
Goodnight to the sea, goodnight goodnight
Let it tickle our toes all mermaid-like,
Goodnight to the sea, goodnight goodnight
Seaweed and cockles to tuck us up tight
‘I did okay today, Dad,’ she whispered as she looked up at the lighthouse’s highest window. ‘It was tough going back, leaving your granddaughter behind. But I did it.’ She took a deep breath, trying not to look at the hint of the rocks behind the lighthouse. ‘Night night, Dad,’ she whispered.
She’d been doing this ever since her father died when she was eleven, walking along the beach and wrapping his old blanket around her shoulders as she stared up at the lighthouse, yearning to turn back time. Her mother never asked where she’d been when she slipped back home after dark, just continued staring out into the distance, her brother barely looking up from his homework.
A cloud crept across the sun, the air cooling slightly. For the first time, Anna noticed black clouds hovering out to sea. Looked like a storm was coming. Time to head home for a seafood pasta before wrapping herself up in Joni’s bedtime routine. It could be a chore sometimes, especially today, when she would be exhausted from work, desperate to put her feet up instead of being soaked by bath bubbles and protests when Joni didn’t want to get out of her bath. But ever since splitting up from Guy, her time with Joni felt even more precious. They tried to split the days they each had their daughter evenly, but Anna missed her desperately when she didn’t have her. She liked knowing Joni was upstairs asleep when the night drew in.
That night, she’d have to do some prep work for the show the next day, feet curled under her on her Chesterfield sofa, maybe some Joni Mitchell, Joni’s namesake, playing from the old record player her dad had left her. If she had time, she could prepare dinner for the next day. She liked to cook the food she foraged from the sea: cockles and limpets, bladderwrack and sweetoar weed. She’d immerse herself in the routine of twisting and prying the meat from the shells, cleaning the seaweed then adding it all to stews or imbuing them in all sorts of delicious flavours. She’d become famous for her foraged meals among the village community, the regular dinner parties she threw with Guy were a popular feature among their friends.
What now? Would she continue with those dinner parties, all alone?
‘Oh pull yourself together, Anna,’ she said to herself.
She stood and went to push the buggy back up towards the path but noticed there were now three teenagers sitting on it cross-legged a few metres up, passing a cigarette between them.
Or maybe it was a joint?
Anna thought of the radio show that morning, and one particular caller who spoke about how her once mild-mannered son had turned into a violent thug after years of drug abuse.
She paused
