THE VIEW FROM HERE

Laura’s sadness is transformed by one plucky little girl…

Driving towards the coast on this beautiful summer’s day, I should feel on top of the world. If I’m honest, I didn’t really want to come on this lone journey, because it’s all about my late friend, Liz. It feels strange to be coming back to Chilton, the seaside town where I once lived years ago. Back then, Liz and I did everything together: parties, cycling, swimming – you name it. Until the heart attack took her at just thirty-five.

I smile as I glance across the heat-hazy fields and beyond, catching a glimpse of the shimmering sea. I refuse to be sad. After all our good times together, Liz would hate that. Yet I feel really bad. I should have visited her memorial more often. I promised her heartbroken parents, before they eventually joined their son’s family in Australia, that I’d keep an eye on it. Truth is, I find the thought of coming here much too harrowing. And my emails to Australia have dwindled. I sigh. Well, today, around ten years after she died,

I’ve reluctantly made it back.

I locate the beach car park and the hot, salty air is like a blanket as I get out of the car. Ignoring the tempting sight of the waves and children’s excited shrieks from the sands, I turn towards the cliff path. How do I feel? Emotional… not unhappy, but guilty. It’s like I’m on a sort of mission.

The cliff is a bit steep, if I remember rightly, and the memorial is about half way up, on a bend in the path. Liz’s family left instructions for it to be looked after by the local council… “plus some TLC from you, Laura,” I mutter aloud. Already short of breath, I pause to look over the sea, which sparkles like turquoise glass in the sunshine. On the beach below, ant-like people are making the most of the warm weather. A stunning picture.

I move on, and suddenly there it is!

The wooden bench that is our memorial to the lovely Liz. I stand there, dismayed. A family – two adults and a girl of about ten – are spread out on it, with bags and a picnic hamper… I hadn’t bargained for this! Stupidly and selfishly, I thought I’d have the precious bench to myself, so I could sit in silence, remembering Liz.

The man jumps up.

“Hi! Do sit down! Move the bags, please, Beth,” he instructs the child.

“No, it’s OK.” I protest.

How do I say that I just need to read the plaque fixed to the back of the seat? It’s where the little girl, Beth, is sitting.

She puts the stuff on the ground and shifts along… and there it is, gleaming in the sunshine: Elizabeth Fenton 1975 - 2010.

And now I can’t stop the tears.

Blinking like mad, I turn away. But the woman is watching me. She pats the empty space. “I’m Jane. You OK?”

Sniffing into a tissue, I sit down, aware I owe these nice people an explanation.

“I’m Laura. Liz was my friend.” I tell them about her, adding, “We used to swim from Liz’s favourite cove along the beach. Her Mum loved this view, but found it hard to climb to the cliff-top. So, before they moved to Australia, her family had this seat installed in Liz’s memory.”

“What a lovely idea!” Jane exclaims. “We did wonder, actually… Elizabeth was so young.”

“I don’t come as often as I should.” “Because it’s too sad,” declares Beth, brushing back long fair hair, still wet from swimming. “Don’t worry, we come a lot, don’t we, Mum?” She grabs a towel out of a bag and vigorously polishes the plaque. “Elizabeth’s got my name! ‘Cept I’m called Beth.”

I smile at her. “Thank you so much for looking after it.”

“We’ll leave you to your memories,” declares Dad, grabbing the bags. “Come along, Beth!”

Beth stands up, then begins to limp awkwardly to her father. Dismayed, I see one of her legs is in a calliper. Her father tries to help her, but she pushes him away. Jane turns to me, smiling proudly.

“Beth was born with a disability, but she’s amazing. We don’t live far and she always insists on walking all the way to the beach and back. Mind you, I don’t know what we’d do without Liz’s bench. Hope to see you again, Laura!”

We say our goodbyes, then I watch the determined little girl progress steadily towards the top of the cliff and wave vigorously as they all move out of sight. I swallow hard. glance at the plaque, sparkling in the sunshine, and think of the email that will soon be winging its way to Australia.

My “mission” was so much more uplifting than I dared hope. I look forward to the next time, when I also intend to go for a swim from Liz’s cove.

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