It didn’t sound like she had imagined. When she had raised the peach, smooth shell from her mother’s room to her ear and heard the whooshing rush of the ocean, it had sounded so much gentler than the roar of the waves that crashed against the rocks now. She trembled with excitement as she looked across the inky black brine, white tipped with foamy milk as if whipped by the wind that had crossed the Irish Sea to greet her.

 

She pulled her short jacket closer, ivory fingers tingling with cold and tipped with the pink blush of her sister’s varnish. She could taste the salt upon her lips and ran her tongue across them as if to bring the vastness of the water within her. She felt the wind tease her, trying to lift her hat with invisible tendrils and gently breathing around her throat, softly ruffling her curled ebony hair. She put a hand to her hat, as if daring it to have the cheek of even thinking of escaping with the next flighty gust to come their way.

 

They had walked around a mile since arriving in a hot puff of steam at Blackrock station, ambling along the path towards Sandycove with the Martello tower in the near distance. They had left the chatter of families on the prom, the children hollering with games of wooden tops and the promise of penny ices. The orchestra of the harbour, filled with mahogany fishermen and sailors singing their orders and selling their catch, in perfect harmony with the brass band that proudly punctuated them from the whitewashed pavilion, was now but a whisper carried on the breeze. Instead, the gutteral caw of seagulls, swooping overhead, accompanied the wet delivery of each tidal advance just inches from her.

 

She turned to see James looking at her, his forget-me-not blue eyes meeting her own verdant pools. She saw strands of his deep chestnut hair, carefully oiled back before they’d arranged to meet that morning, come loose and tried to resist the urge to run over and smooth them back. He blew her a kiss, she caught it in her small clenched fist and giggled as she began to look for a way down from the rocks that had been stacked like draughts pieces in eons past.

 

“No, stay there my love,” said James. “I want to get a picture of you. After all, it’s not every day the sea gets to meet the most beautiful girl in the world.” He reached into his inside pocket, taking out his Pocket Premo camera and checking the settings for light and exposure. She shivered slightly as the wind continued to thread its way through her clothes to caress her skin, causing her to goosebump while she watched James’ brow furrow in concentration. She rested a foot on one of nature’s ancient steps and heard the click and wind of the camera as James took his first shot.

 

“I wasn’t ready!” she scolded, laughing. As she threw her head back, James took another shot and then again and again as he captured her rawness and thrill at being together like this, at seeing the sea for the first time, at seeing the expanse of the world laid before them like the gateway to the rest of their lives.

 

She let James help her down, lifting her tenderly, setting her upon the path as delicately as he would a china vase and placing her cool hand into his, she let his warmth envelop her as they carried on their slow meander. The skies grew white with an opaque blanket of cloud, as if to shield them from the thin May sun and prying eyes. The whole world belonged to them at this moment. It was as if they needed nothing but this path to carry them on, nothing but the salty air to sustain them, nothing but this second to live for.

 

They carried on, the tower getting closer with every step, the hardy coastal plants bowing their violet heads, waving them on towards their destination. The squat smooth fortification glistened silver in the white light, its neat grey stones tightly packed against the unwelcome guests of a century ago. James squeezed her hand and she became conscious of her cheeks, rouged with the efforts of their expedition and the sense of him so close.  She could feel small pebbles through the soles of her shoes, enjoying the feeling of every pace by his side.

 

Soon they were by the Forty Foot, strangely absent of the gentlemanly bathers she’d heard about with their striped woollen suits and damp moustaches. They were right by the tower now. James was looking up, hands on hips. “We’re here,” he said, reaching out to run his fingers over the curved wall. She joined him, allowing him to take her hand and press it to the cool grey slabs. “Can you feel it?” He kept a hand on the wall, cupped her chin with the other so she could only look at him. She shuddered.

 

“ I think so. Yes, yes I’m sure I can my darling.”

 

His azure eyes seemed to grow bluer as he smiled. “Follow me. I want you to feel what I feel when I come here.” One behind the other they trod carefully around the circumference, keeping one hand on the wall at all times. She walked behind him, watching his head bow almost reverently, as if they were at Mass, atoning for that week’s sins.

 

In truth, she wasn’t entirely sure what she was supposed to feel, or if the looming, bottomless pit of the unknown that now took the place of her stomach was what James was hoping she would feel. She thought not.

 

An image of her mother, ghosted with flour, plump with the love of family and church came into mind. She shook it away, lest James saw the doubt that pinched her nose unkindly and tickled her eyes with homesick tears that she mustn’t spill.

 

“The future was written here my love,” whispered James, his breath dancing across her neck as he reached in to kiss her. “Inside the tower. Up the narrow, winding stairs. Locked away in a room to make magic with nothing but whiskey and the sound of the sea for company. “

 

“James…”