Della walks
with her father
onto the beach.
Sand, sun,
sea going out.
Sea,
she says
love it.
Her father looks at her,
takes in her smile,
her well kempt hair,
the tip of her tongue
resting there
on her lower lip.
Did your mother
pack your swim gear?
Packed it in my bag.
Where's the bag?
She looks back
towards the car
parked by the road.
You must try
to remember
these things.
I did, then I forgot.
It doesn’t help.
Angry sounds.
He sighs.
Stay here, don't move,
he says
and walks back
towards the car,
over the sand,
hands in the pockets
of his black jeans.
She watches him walk.
Angry walk,
she thinks.
She sees him
most Saturdays,
sometimes Sundays,
since
the divorce.
He gets to the car
and takes out
her pink bag,
locks the car
and treads back
towards her,
his face dark
and unsmiling.
Like smiling faces.
There you are,
he says.
She takes the bag
and they
walk down
towards the sea.
He gets out
a large beach towel
and lays it down
on the sand.
Here we are.
Sea smells salty.
It does.
If you sniff it
it gets up your nose.
He nods,
gets out a book
and begins to read.
Makes your nose feel salty.
She looks at her father,
he stares at the page
of his book.
Can I go into the sea?
Be careful.
She stare sat him.
Shall I get on
my swimming
costume here?
Yes,
he says,
turning a page.
People will see me.
They do.
Mum holds the towel
up around me.
He sighs and gets up
and gets out
a large coloured towel.
OK then,
get your gear on.
She takes out
her swimming costume
from her bag
and drops the bag
on the sand.
She looks at him.
Mum puts the towel
around
me so people
can't see me.
He sighs
and puts the towel
around her,
stares out
at the beach.
She takes off
her cat patterned top
and drops it down.
Then she removes
her skirt and underwear
and quickly,
but awkwardly
puts on her costume.
He looks at ships
on the horizon.
Seagulls,
bathers,
families and lovers.
She pulls at the costume
to get it comfortable.
Done it.
Good.
He folds the towel,
puts it beside him
and begins to read again.
She stands looking at the waves.
Mum walks me to the waves.
Why?
In case I slip.
You're a big girl now.
What if I slip?
He lifts his eyes
from the page.
You won't.
Mum holds my hand in case.
Your mum does
a lot of things
I don't.
He reads on.
She stares at him
for a few moments,
then unhappily
walks down
towards the waves.
She has her hands out
like a tightrope walker,
to balance herself
over the sharp stones,
here and there.
She reaches the area
where the waves rush in.
She stands there looking out.
She sniffs the air. Salty.
People around her stare.
A child laughs.
Two boys whisper.
She walks into the water.
The sea is warm,
rushes over her feet.
She clutches her hands together,
looks at the boys.
Warm water.
Wet, too.
The boy grins.
She's a Mongol,
the other boy says.
Funny features,
the other says,
big lips, and tongue.
She looks back at her father
reading up on the beach.
She paddles deeper.
Leaves the boys behind.
The waves rush against her knees.
She claps her hands,
hugs herself,
feels hers small *******.
The sea is crowded
with bathers.
Noise, laughter
and shouts fill the air.
She stands still.
A boy splashes her.
She puts her hands
over her face
to keep the water
from her eyes.
He rushes back
towards the beach,
laughing.
The water rushes
to her thighs.
Best not get out too far, deary,
a woman says nearby.
I'm Della,
not Deary,
she says.
The woman nods and smiles,
well be careful, Della.
The sea can be dangerous.
Mum says
be careful.
Yes, you must.
Mum's not here.
Who's with you?
My dad's with me.
Where is he?
Della points towards the sand
where her father
is reading his book.
Be careful, Della,
the woman says.
Be careful, mum says.
Yes, be careful,
the woman repeats.
The woman gazes at Della.
Sees her vacant expression.
Her daughter died
the year before.
Drowned.
Della looks back
at her father
sitting reading.
Mum watches me.
So she should.
Dangerous place the sea.
Della stares
at the incoming
rush of waves,
loud shush of the sea.
Your dad should watch you, too,
the woman says.
He reads.
He should watch you.
Della hugs herself tighter.
Best not get in
much deeper, Della dear,
the woman says.
Deep.
Gets to my thighs.
Yes, higher
than you ought to go.
Frightened.
Let's go back,
the woman says.
Della clutches
her arms tighter.
I fell last time,
and got salty water
in my mouth.
Sickly.
Was sick after.
In the car.
The woman smiles.
Let's walk back
to your dad.
The woman holds out
a hand.
Della hesitates.
Her father
is reading his book.
She puts out her hand
and holds
the woman's hand
and they walk up
towards the beach.
The warm hand holds her.
Far from
her father's sight
and the deep sea's reach.