tripped over a man sitting in the middle of the beach. I hit the deck hard, managing to hold my camera aloft but dropping to my knees with a force that would definitely leave a bruise. The camera strap jarred on my neck, and, completely incapable of controlling myself, I started to cry.
‘Oh dear, oh. Oh don’t, please.’ The man jumped to his knees, sprightly for an old fella, and placed an awkward hand on my shoulder. ‘There, don’t cry. Really, I can’t bear to see a woman cry. I’m very sorry. Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’ I gasped for air. I felt like a five-year-old who had skinned her knees. ‘It, doesn’t, really, hurt.’ I choked. ‘I just, can’t, stop, crying.’
My human tripwire gave me another pat on the shoulder and waited for me to stop making a complete show of myself before speaking again. Once I had wiped away the last tear and was able to press my hand over my raw kneecap without weeping, I gave him a smile and he sighed with relief.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.’ I held out my non-bloody hand and he shook it heartily. ‘I didn’t kick you or anything, did I?’
‘No, no,’ he replied, still shaking my hand. ‘I’m the villain of the piece. I saw you coming along but you seemed so engrossed in your pictures, I didn’t want to interrupt. I just assumed you wouldn’t actually walk into an old man.’
‘Never assume,’ I said with a mock serious expression. ‘I am quite stupid.’
Taking a better look at my beach buddy, I realized he wasn’t joking. He was an old man. Dressed in a washed-out blue Nike T-shirt that had probably seen the tumble dryer a thousand times since 1989 and a pair of granddad-appropriate shorts, he looked like Father Christmas on a senior’s beach getaway. A big and impressively full white beard obscured a lot of his face, but what I could see of it was pleasantly wrinkly and he had white panda eyes from wearing sunglasses in the sun. He had to be in his seventies, but if it weren’t for his white hair and wrinkles, you would never know.
‘Oh, I don’t believe that for a second,’ he said, finally letting go of my hand and gesturing for me to give him the camera. Reluctant but too polite to resist, I handed it over. ‘I’m Al – pleased to meet you. You’re on holiday?’
‘Working, actually.’ I watched him flick through my morning’s snapshots quickly. ‘I’m Vanessa.’
I tried not to be a little bit sick in my mouth as I said it.
‘And what are you working on in Hawaii, Vanessa?’ he asked with a mixed-up traveller’s accent, handing back my camera. ‘They’re very good, by the way, your pictures.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, turning my baby off to save the battery life. It hadn’t been great five years ago; it wasn’t going to be any better now. ‘I think it’s probably hard to take a bad picture out here, though, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know.’ Al squinted into the sunshine. ‘Even the most beautiful woman can look ugly if you’ve got the wrong man behind the camera.’ He waved a regal hand towards me. ‘Or woman, of course.’
‘Well, I hope you’re right,’ I replied, nursing the camera in my lap as the throbbing in my knee died down. ‘I’m here taking photographs for a magazine.’
‘A shutterbug, are you?’ He combed his fingers through his magnificent beard as he stared out at the ocean and I fought the urge to reach out and give it a tug. He made the Santa in Selfridges look like an amateur. And I would know because Amy made me go and sit on his knee every bloody year. ‘Wasn’t sure if you were just at this for fun. And what are you taking pictures of?’
‘I’m doing something for this fashion magazine called Gloss? I’m taking pictures of Bertie Bennett?’ Now I was going up at the end of my sentences, just like nobhead Nick. ‘He owns this beach, actually. Do you know him?’
‘Know of him,’ Al said. ‘He’s a character.’
‘He’s a character that’s cancelled on me twice since I’ve got here. Fingers crossed he’s not avoiding me.’
‘Maybe he doesn’t know what a pretty young thing you are,’ he said, giving me a twinkly grandpa grin. ‘I’m sure he’d be happy to sit for a snap or two if he did.’
I wasn’t sure if it was the sea air or the fact that I’d clearly gone completely insane, but I looked away and giggled. Somewhere in the back of my mind, London Tess gave me a disgusted look. But I liked Al. He reminded me of my granddad. He reminded me of everyone’s granddad. And he just seemed so nice.
‘Do you live nearby?’ I asked, slipping my feet out of my leather flip-flops and wiggling my toes until they had disappeared into the sand. ‘It’s so gorgeous here.’
‘I do,’ he said, pointing over at a little cabin a way down the beach. ‘That’s me. Just in the summer, though. The wife never likes to be away from the city in the winter.’
The cabin looked too tiny for anyone to live in it, let alone two people. ‘You’re married?’
‘Was,’ he clarified. ‘I lost Jane two years ago. Still not very good at remembering she’s not here any more.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ I winced. Hurrah! Another awkward conversation! ‘Were you married for a long time?’
‘Thank you. We were married fifty years,’ Al replied, clearly used to fielding condolences. ‘I do miss the old girl, but she’s in a better place now. No one wants to drag these things out, do they?’
‘They don’t,’ I agreed readily. Amy and I had a reciprocal pull-the-plug-pact that I secretly worried I would never be able to see through. I was not concerned about her ability to make the same tough decision. ‘So you’re retired now?’
‘Semi.’ He shook the misty look out of his eyes and wiggled his bare toes at the sea. ‘I was doing something I loved and then I was asked to stop doing it. Now I’m not sure what to do with myself.’
‘I understand completely,’ I nodded, not wanting to ask unwelcome questions and make him feel awkward.
‘So is there a Mr Vanessa?’ Al asked in classic elderly-relative style. ‘A paramour back at home?’
‘It’s a bit of a long story.’ I heard my voice break ever so slightly and pressed my fingernails into my palm to distract myself. ‘But to make a long story short, no, there is not.’
Al nodded gravely, his baseball cap bobbing up and down. ‘Ahh, to suffer the slings and arrows of young love again.’
My spluttering laugh squeezed out a lone tear that I wiped away quickly before Al could see. ‘Quite.’
‘These things all work themselves out when you’re young,’ he said, smiling gently. ‘Tell me more about these photos of yours. Have you been doing it long? Must be a bit of a big shot if you’re taking pictures for this fashion magazine.’
‘That’s actually an even longer story than the boy nonsense,’ I said, slipping the camera strap back around my neck and hoping that the longer I wore it, the more I would feel like a real photographer. ‘I used to do quite a bit of photography stuff, then I did something else for a while, but I lost my job so now I’m back into it.’
‘I’m
