It was going to be the perfect day. Blue skies, a warmth that buried deep into your bones; the kind of day you don’t forget. Clara wouldn’t. 

She stood on the shit-splattered pier, the seagulls above screeching and laughing, eyes on the tray of half-eaten chips sat precariously in her hand. I hoped one of them would dive for her. I could see it now, that look of surprise on her perfectly-sculpted face, chips flying in all directions. But no. She moved on. 

It was easy enough to blend in with the throngs of people milling around, one step behind an old couple watching the waves rolling in and out, avoiding a group of lads swearing loudly, chugging cans of cheap cider. Every one of them enjoying the summer sun and their time at the seaside, but not her.

I moved away now, linen shirt flapping in the soft breeze, loose sand slipping in my shoes. I hated the beach, the way everyone flocked to it ready to cook themselves to an unhealthy red glow. I was only here for her. Mimicking her path, watching with care as she continued down the pier. 

Soft sandals pattered on the sea-beaten wood. Clunk, clunk, clunk. Those lithe legs were getting closer now, bronzing in the sun, brushed by the delicate fabric of her skirt. Red curls bounced against the creamy white blouse which fit her all too perfectly, and it made my stomach twist. She was just as I remembered before her funeral. Well, almost. Her hair had been ginger back then; and now it really was red. 

Silly Clara, thinking she could trick me again, trying to keep me away with lies after lies after lies. Back then she told me she didn’t love me. I’d seen through that. Her father hated me; she was just trying to keep the peace. Of course I’d forgiven her. I wasn’t cruel. I loved her after all. My Clara. Sweet and kind and a fucking liar.

I’d ignored the obviously fake documents I’d been served. There was no way Clara would put a restraining order on me. No, not me. Her father had a hand in it again, always the meddler. I should have taken her away from him back then. We could have pushed him away together, escaped together, been together forever.

But no. It wasn’t to be. I’d found her again after all the lies, after the fake funeral, and she’d moved on. A three-bedroom house, husband who worked away, cosy little affair on the side, and her oh-so-perfect job. I’d seen her side piece, a tall man with impossibly black eyes. I followed them up to the woods, winding through the villages, getting further and further from the beach. They’d fucked in that car. I saw it. She didn’t really try to hide it, and that’s when I knew it was for me to watch. The sky had been dusky and the trees shading them from view, mostly. But she knew me, knew that I always picked the parking space closest to the exit.

By then I’d already sent her three bunches of flowers. Roses of course: her favourite. I didn’t want to scare her away, especially after the funeral. We couldn’t let her father intervene again. But he was old now, so maybe he just needed a push in the wrong direction. Falling down the stairs with a thump, thump, thump. Maybe he wasn’t right in the head—after all who fakes a funeral and buries a person who’s still alive? 

I’d gone to the funeral, laughing in the face of his fake restraining order. He’d spotted me, eyes glassy and unfocused. Crocodile tears, just like the rest of them. Boohoo, our daughter is dead. 

I wasn’t sure if he’d worked out who I was when I walked right up to him. I looked a bit different back then, dying my hair red to match Clara and wearing one of her blouses that I’d stolen, a black silky one. I loved the feel of the material on my skin, and I could still smell her scent on it. She was giving me a hug from wherever she was hiding, and we were fighting her father. Her mother took one look at me and burst into tears, hissing how everything had been my fault, how I’d not been in prison long enough. Stupid bint, look at your husband, not me. I was protecting Clara. You got me locked up for taking care of your daughter.

No matter what they did though, I would always return to Clara. And here I was now, watching her every move, ready to whisk her away and live in happiness once again. But first, she needed to know I was angry at her. For the lies, for letting her father be cruel to me. I could still feel his fingers wrapped around my throat as he tried to kill me. Shame about the arthritis mate, I’d managed to say with a crooked smile. Can’t strangle anyone with those fucked up hands.

From the pier, Clara moved towards the car park, stopping to dump her half-eaten chips in an overflowing bin. Her sparkling black Audi sat proudly away from all the rest. Taking my advice even now. Always take the spot near the exit, in case you needed to escape.

I now sat on a nearby bench ready to watch everything unfold, pausing for the occasional lick at the melted ice cream now running down my hand. Chocolate, her favourite. I was getting giddy as she got closer and closer. The stage was all ready for my entrance. Button click, car door opened. I had to hide the smile forming as she slammed the door, gagging so hard she threw up, spraying half-digested chunks of potato across the car park.

I jumped up, dumping my ice cream on the sandy floor, and approached her.

“What the fuck?” I heard her spit between retches.

“Are you alright there, love?” I bent down to pick up her fallen handbag, scooping the contents back in quick and placing it next to the car.

Blue eyes stared up at me. They were once black, like her father’s; she must be wearing contacts today.

“Thank you but I’m . . .  fine. Upset stomach.”

Did she recognise me? I couldn’t tell. Maybe she was playing it safe. We were in public after all.

“Want me to fetch a drink? There’s a co-op round the corner.”

“No, really I’m fine.” There was a tightness around her face, her lips pulled back in a half-grimace. Poor thing. “Thanks for the offer.”

I paused. “What’s that smell?” I asked innocently.

“F—”

As she threw up again I wanted to reach out and hold her hair, stroking it gently as I tell her everything is going to be fine. Her car, maybe not. I mean, the fish would have been bad enough if I had bought it from the fishmonger this morning, but I’d slipped three-day-rotting fish into her back window. With the sun up high, it’d easily raise the inside temp into the 30s, and I expected getting the juices out was going to be great. 

“It’s fine,” she gasped out, wiping dripping spit on the back of her hand. “My husband will be here soon.”

Husband, or bit on the side?

I smiled. Fine. I’ll return later. Maybe this was too much all at once? With the fish, the sun, the discarded pregnancy test. I’d slipped that into my pocket while putting everything back in her handbag. I hadn’t seen the result yet. I’d check once I returned to my car, finding out if we’re going to be parents or not. 

“But I want to make sure you’ll be alright.”

“I said I’m fine.” Clara stared at me now, eyes quickly flittering to the space beside me.

“If you say so,” I said, giving up for now. I didn’t want to scare her. I was too excited to read the test anyway. 

I left her groaning on the floor and hurried to my car. Slipping into the front seat, ignoring the searing leather, I pulled out the test. It was one of the fancy ones like they advertised on the telly. This one also had the blue pregnant written on it. 

I really would have to wait until later to see her. She’d need to go home, tell her husband, tell her other lover. They’d fight, cry, stomp on out the front door, but I’d be there for her. My Clara. I would never abandon you.

I didn’t want to wait. I wanted her now. Maybe I should get her a gift? The others would hate this pregnancy but I would love it, love her, love the baby.

I jumped out—pausing only to check on Clara, who was now screaming at her husband—and headed into town, wandering past the packed chip shops filled with tourists queuing into the street. There were too many today, blocking the paths. Kids were screaming and running out into the road to escape their flustered mothers. Others flooded the arcade, swarming the 2p droppers, waiting for the next crash of coins of their win. I saw them now, jumping up and down in the hopes the movement would send the coins wobbling off the edge. So young, so naive. 

The crane games at the front were filled with huge plush figures as always, the children beneath them singing a choir of But I want Pikachu mummy! Everyone knew those things were rigged, and hardly worth the time.

Although. Maybe if I turned up at Clara’s house with a teddy, she’d be thrilled. I could tape the pregnancy test to its hands to let her know I knew. Pushing my way through the sea of squealing children, I found an unoccupied crane game. Coin in, arm moving, I clawed at thin air a few times before it struck fabric. The stupid game still held my prize hostage. A swift kick to the side of the machine and still it sat goading me.

“Oi!” A security guard came over, face crumpled in a scowl. “Pack it in or you’re out.”

“I ain’t doing anything.”

Behind me I heard the clink of a coin hitting a machine. I spun around to find a smirking teen hogging the controller.

“Hey.”

“You weren’t using it,” he said, sending the machine’s arm wobbling towards my prize.

“I’m standing right here.” He ignored me as the machine flashed and played a tune as the plush hit the prize chute. “Hey, that’s mine.”

Scoffing, he grabbed the teddy and held on tight as I reached for it. “Fuck off mate. Get your own.”

I wasn’t going to back down. I stamped on his foot; he yelped and loosened his grip for a split second. I took my chance, gripping it tight, and legged it out to the streets as the guard yelled after me. No little shitbag would stop me getting this teddy for Clara and our child. Everything was going to go great. I couldn’t wait.