Golden Beach

Golden Beach

Goldie couldn’t understand why happiness was proving so elusive.

Although she liked routine, her days were laid out like a calendar she could never escape. Predictable, safe, and utterly dull.

Here she was, reclining on a settee that was only reasonably comfortable, curtain-twitching. The curtains were a bland but perfectly serviceable beige — not her choice, but she could live with them. She patted her stomach, still recovering from the breakfast she’d eaten an hour ago at the holiday site’s restaurant.

A traditional English: sausages, bacon rashers, hash browns, toast, baked beans, and mushrooms. Delicious mushrooms. Possibly from a local farm. She had asked the chef where they came from — he seemed an amiable type — and he’d pointed to the window with a knowing smile. But there were no farms outside, only rows of caravans. Then he’d said, kindly enough, “How about giving the vegetarian option a go one day, sweetheart?”

She’d nodded, though she couldn’t imagine Bear agreeing. Arguably, breakfast was the best thing about the site.

For a moment, she had the disconcerting feeling she’d sat here many times before. The thought slipped away before she could catch it. They’d only arrived here yesterday — she was sure of it.

Bear had needed the loo, she remembered. The dining area had been empty — or at least it felt empty, despite the low drone of voices. A rhythmic, muffled chatter seemed to rise from the walls themselves rather than from real people.

After eating, they had walked to the camp shop. Bear clutched her hand, groaning as his knee pain worsened. He had never forgotten the day they met — she knew that. She had run out to escape her parents’ shouting and found him in the wood near his house. He had been a sanctuary then. He was a sanctuary now, even if he huffed and cursed a lot more.

He waved away her suggestion of a walking stick, insisting it would be like “giving in.” A bit like hair colouring, Goldie thought. At what point did you say enough was enough and let the grey shine through? Bear had always loved her golden locks. She didn’t want to spoil the illusion.

She watched him struggle now, waiting for the familiar moan — and sure enough, it came. She sat on a bench while he popped into the shop for a jar of coffee and a newspaper.

“We’re always running out of things,” he grumbled. “Coffee… sugar. It’s like it disappears the moment I look away.”

“That’s the way it is,” Goldie murmured, as much to herself as to him.

She noticed the jar of coffee had no price tag. Bear wasn’t carrying his usual brown wallet either.

That was odd.

Oh well. He’d tell her in his own good time.

Or perhaps he already had.

Some time earlier

Bear’s eyes were bright as he scrolled on the laptop at the dining-room table. Goldie felt a flicker of curiosity she didn’t usually allow herself. She was stirring porridge that smelt delicious on the stove.

“Come and look at this, Goldie,” he called out. “I think you might be interested.”

“Hold on, Bear. Give me a minute — if you want this porridge done properly.”

He’d always loved his porridge. Any time of day. So did she, so long as it was cooked just right.

Watching it bubble, she felt a prickle of unease. In the videos, the caravans looked too perfect. No dust on the counters. No mud on the wheels.

One in particular caught his eye. After a phone call and a drive to the coast, they found themselves face to face with a pleasant young woman called Chloe. She wore a branded gilet and carried a clipboard she kept checking, even while smiling.

“This is it,” Chloe said, breathless, gesturing to a green-painted caravan pitched in the middle of the site.

It was barely big enough to swing a cat in. Not that Goldie had any intention of swinging anything. Wincing, Bear climbed the three steps inside.

Some of the other caravans had verandas, personalised with plants and chairs. This one didn’t.

Goldie walked round with Chloe, but her expression told Bear everything.

“No. Sorry. This isn’t us.”

It certainly looked nothing like the breezy online video Chloe had sent them. Stranger still, the view outside didn’t change, no matter which angle they looked from.

“Are there any others available?” Bear asked.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Chloe said smoothly. “If you just follow me.”

They passed rows of caravans stretching as far as the eye could see, arriving at one slightly larger than the first.

“It’s nice,” Goldie said after a polite rummage. “But not for us. Also… how far away is the sea?”

“One thing at a time,” Bear muttered, wheezing.

“Less than ten minutes’ walk,” Chloe said, studying Goldie. “Hmmmm. Let me see what else we have.”

The third caravan stopped them both short.

The lounge and kitchen felt palatial by comparison. A bedroom with storage, an en-suite, a shower room, and a smaller room with two single beds. It felt — absurdly — like coming up in the world.

But when Goldie tested the main bed, it didn’t creak. It reminded her of a hospital mattress.

She smiled at Bear anyway.

“So long as you pay me back something a month,” he said.

Goldie nodded, suddenly unsure how much she earned as a carer. The figure slipped away when she tried to grasp it.

In the smaller room, she imagined children playing. After three failed IVF attempts, she’d never found the strength to try again. Without Bear, she might never have survived that. She pushed the thought away.

“I like this one,” she said, returning to the living area and thoroughly checking out the settee.

With Bear’s retirement savings, they could just about afford it.

On the way to the office to sign the purchase agreement, they had passed a huge conservatory pool echoing with children’s screams. Before returning to their caravan, they noticed a man on his lodge veranda, puffed up with business on his phone, a Bassett hound beside him.

“Lord of the manor,” Bear muttered.

Goldie shushed him. Even here, etiquette mattered.

To really enjoy yourself, you had to arrive at the right time — before Bear’s health declined further, before fatigue took over. Fried breakfasts were his last indulgence.

“What’s the point of living,” he’d said, “if you can’t enjoy your food?”

The present

The memory of Bear enjoying porridge at their little table felt more real than the beige settee beneath her now.

“Let’s get out and explore,” he said. “That is — if you don’t mind carrying the fold-up chairs.”

Goldie hesitated. It was a little outside her usual routine, but maybe she needed to leave her comfort zone. She stood up before she could change her mind.

They hadn’t gone far when Bear spotted a green van with a For Sale sign, the door ajar. Goldie couldn’t resist peeping in — to see how it compared with their own.

Inside, the smell hit her first. Sharp. Clinical. Familiar.

A woman sat on a white plastic commode, eyes vacant.

“Oh,” Goldie gasped.

“No,” she said, swiftly closing the door as Bear leaned forward. “This one’s not for us.”

“Oh! Why not?”

“It doesn’t smell right.”

He grasped her hand and they walked on.

On the beach, the sand felt dangerous underfoot, shifting when she tested it. The wind was raw, salty, nothing like the floral air freshener back at the van. She realised she’d wandered far from the small, ordered life she clung to. And for the first time in years, it didn’t frighten her.

Goldie softened as she watched Bear in the deckchair, cursing his knees. At the water’s edge, a young couple threw a frisbee for their dog.

This is the life, she thought. Or it should be. What she wanted, she realised, wasn’t happiness exactly — just the feeling of being somewhere she was meant to stay.

“Next time,” Bear said, squinting at the horizon. “We’ll come when it’s warmer.”

A little later, he asked, “Had enough?”

“Yes,” she said. “Time to go home.”

Then she saw Chloe running towards them.

“Goldie!” Chloe called, breathless now, hair blown loose. She wore a blue nursing tunic, a cardigan clutched under her arm.

“It’s far too windy,” she said gently. “Let’s get you back inside. Golden Beach is meant to feel like a holiday — not a real one.”

Goldie instinctively reached for Bear’s hand.

There was nothing there.

In the distance, the sea shimmered. Then she remembered scattering his ashes.

The caravans fell away, replaced by the white building on the cliff — the lifestyle wing, clearly visible, built to stop the sketchier residents from wandering.

On the balcony stood the man she’d taken for the lord of the manor, phone pressed to his ear. The Director. Minus his dog.

Chloe led her through the thickened glass doors — Goldie looked up at the gold-leaf lettering she’d mistaken for a promise.

Golden Beach Care Home.

“Your porridge will be ready soon,” Chloe reminded her. “Later, we’ll see about your hair. You wouldn’t want the grey showing now, would you?”

Goldie smiled faintly.

“Good idea,” she said.

After all, this place was meant to be a second chance.

Even if she wasn’t sure what that was anymore — or how many times she’d been promised one.