'The Turning Tide Creates a Wicked Current' by Brid McGinley

Remember to check the tide. Wear your heavy coat, the sunshine is deceiving, and the air carries the ghost of winter chills. Call out a casual goodbye and hope he doesn’t suggest joining you. Sea breezes jostle through the house, be careful as you leave. Too many slammed doors. Don’t look back, he’ll be at the window as always, watching. Relax, breathe, take the direct path, walk at the normal pace, neither slow nor fast. Social distancing is useful, everyone is relieved to be outdoors but no-one is tempted to stop and chat. Polite nods and averted eyes. Pull up your scarf to make it a face mask, no-one will see you’re not smiling.

Fishing is not yet permitted so the pier will be quiet. Keep the same pace. Don’t look across the water. Don’t admire the view or notice how the sea swells and undulates. The hills on the island may be visible, pale slate against the speckled waves, beckoning, but today focus on the lighthouse, the end point. Ignore the moored sailboats with their pinging lanyards singing a chorus against the swaying masts. Let no memories surface. Refuse to see her playing on deck in her yellow dress, her hair held with red ribbons. Know that she is close. Continue with purpose, watch out for the uneven flagstones, anything that might divert you or trip you up.

The wind whipping the lighthouse will be ozone-fresh, laden with pungent iodine and a sparkling path of sunlight will call, drawing you to somewhere beyond your experience. Brace yourself. The water will be cold, shocking. Don’t be distracted. Black on white, a blurred presence disrupts you. A cat in the wrong place. Ignore it. It doesn’t matter where it has come from, its black fur a heavy stroke against the white harbour marker. Walk on. Past the disinterested green eyes, the tail raised in exclamation. You must not stop. Reach the edge, then a single step. The turning tide creates a wicked current.

But now a low purr hums velvet on your ears, drapes itself like a cloak, embraces you. Push through. Dead weight cannot detain you, persevere, you are close. Go to her.

And then you stop. A thought. She had green eyes too.