It was a long time ago now, but I still remember that holiday with a strange, quiet clarity. The woman in the floral paréo had blocked Natalie’s path to the beach exit, her voice sharp as she pointed at the faded towel left on the sun lounger. “You can’t just leave your things there all morning, love. People come, there’s nowhere to lie, and your flip-flops have been sat there three hours.”
Natalie pulled the worn cloth from under the mattress without a word, rolling it tight. Fine sand sifted through her fingers, leaving grey dust on her skin. The promenade of the little resort town, wedged between cliffs and the sea, buzzed with midday chaos. The loudspeaker on the lifeguard tower crackled, advertising an evening boat trip, while a queue of screaming children and tired mothers formed at the drinking fountain.
She walked back to the guesthouse along a narrow asphalt path, past endless stalls selling inflatable rings and shells. Her phone rang in her shorts pocket—Mrs. Thompson, the landlady, reminding her to collect the clean sheets from the laundry. This holiday, bought with savings scraped together over a year and a half, was meant to be a time of silence. Instead, it brought only bustle and the weariness of strangers.
At the gate of the boarding house, under a wide old acacia tree, stood a man in light linen trousers and an open shirt. He was smoking, tapping ash into the hydrangea bushes, watching the passers-by. His temples were grey, deep lines etched across his forehead, but the set of his jaw, the way he held his chin, the habit of twisting a silver ring on his finger—Natalie recognised him at once. Eighteen years ago, that man had left a note on the kitchen counter, written on the back of an electricity bill, and vanished from the town two days before their wedding.
In the small room on the second floor where she was staying for two weeks, it smelled of dried herbs and cheap plastic furniture. An old fan hummed on the low cabinet, pushing hot air around the room. Her things were in their places: a folded sundress on the chair back, a row of creams on the mirror, an open paperback on the bed. That predictability of domestic life had always given her a sense of control—over a life she’d had to piece back together like a broken china bowl.
That evening, when the heat finally gave way to a cool sea breeze, a quiet knock came at the wooden door of the shared veranda. Natalie, pouring water into a glass, froze. She set the glass down on the table.
“Natalie, it’s me, open up,” came the familiar baritone from behind the door, a little hoarser and lower now. “I asked the landlady which room you’re in. Gave her a small gift, and she told me.”
She crossed the room and slid back the flimsy bolt. William stood on the doorstep, holding a woven basket of ripe strawberries and a bottle of wine. The young blonde woman from the next room, stepping out for a smoke, slowed to glance at the visitor.
“Well, hello,” William said, stepping over the threshold. He set the basket on the edge of the table and lowered himself onto a plastic chair. “So many years. You’ve hardly changed—just your eyes got stern, hard to approach.”
“Why did you come?” she asked, backing away to the window, pressing her back against the sill. Her gaze traced his face, noting the small marks of age: a slight heaviness in his shoulders, a thinning patch on his crown, shadows under his eyes.
“We need to talk, Natalie. So much time wasted. We were young, proud,” he leaned forward, hands on his knees. “I’ve remembered all these years. I looked for you, I swear. But mutual friends said you’d moved to Kharkiv, and here you are, holidaying on the south coast. I checked into a sanatorium three houses away, spotted you by chance on the beach in the crowd.”
“Looked for me?” She gave a faint smile, her face calm. “For eighteen years, William? In a neighbouring district? Or three hours away by bus?”
“I had troubles back then, you know?” He sighed, spreading his hands. “I was just starting my business—debts, dealings with serious people. They had me cornered, Natalie. They wanted to take the firm, threatened me. How could I drag you into that? I left to protect you, to keep you out of the firing line. I was young, stupid, thought it was for the best. I wanted to save you from that nightmare.”
From the open window came a child’s loud cry—someone had fallen off a scooter on the playground. On the first floor, pots clattered, a knife struck a chopping board—the landlady was preparing supper. The ordinary, bustling life of the holiday house flowed on, turning the man’s words into empty noise.
Morning sunlight seeped through the thin curtains, drawing long yellow stripes on the linoleum. Natalie sat in the communal kitchen, waiting for the enamel kettle to boil. Two elderly women from Kherson, her neighbours on the floor, whispered by the sink as they washed a plastic container.
“Hey, Natalie, your gentleman was asking Mrs. Thompson last night how long you’re staying, and whether you’re alone,” said the younger one, with bright nail polish on her toes. “Serious man, you can tell straight away. His car’s at the gate—expensive, black. All polite, brought a box of chocolates for the landlady. Don’t you let that chance slip, dear. Men like that don’t grow on trees at our age.”
“Don’t grow on trees,” Natalie repeated quietly, watching the water boil.
William intercepted her near the pier around noon, when a light drizzle started and quickly scattered people under awnings and into cafés. He appeared beside her, holding a large black umbrella over them both, taking her elbow. He smelled of tobacco and aftershave.
“Let’s have dinner at a proper place tonight, Natalie? There’s a great restaurant five kilometres away, right on the cliffs. We can sit, remember the old days. I’m free now—split from my wife three years ago, no kids. I’ve got everything: the firm in Odesa, a country house, a big flat. But there’s no soul in any of it. I miss you, that sincerity we had.”
Natalie stopped, freeing her arm. She turned to face him, searching his eyes for a glimmer of the nineteen-year-old boy she had once loved, ready to drop her studies and run away with him. But before her stood a stranger, an overconfident man in his forties, trying to buy her affection with a restaurant dinner.
“I have other plans for the evening, William.”
“Come off it, what plans can you have in this backwater?” He grimaced, waving a hand at the grey five-storey blocks of the town. “How much did you pay for this trip? A few hryvnia. I could give you more in one day—just move into the sanatorium with me, they’ve got a free suite. This isn’t your level, jostling in private lodgings, clattering pans in a shared kitchen. You’d live like a queen with me. Why are you silent? Is there nothing left of the old you?”
A local fish seller walked past, carrying a heavy cooler bag, and shot Natalie a quick glance—the nosy curiosity of a bystander: well, well, turning her nose up at such a catch.
From the road came the sharp screech of brakes—a bus driver had nearly hit a dog. For a moment, silence fell, broken only by the patter of raindrops on the stretched fabric of the umbrella.
“You know, William,” Natalie said, stepping back into the drizzle, “my mother spent two months in hospital after you ran off. With high blood pressure. And my wedding dress hung in the wardrobe for three years—I couldn’t even throw it away, looking at it made me sick. I thought something terrible had happened to you; I searched through acquaintances. And you were saving me. From debts. In quiet Lviv, where every dog knew your name.”
“Why rake up the past?” William looked away, twisting his ring. “Who didn’t do foolish things at nineteen? I had affairs to sort out, I was spinning plates just to survive. But now I can put it all right. Any wish you have, I’ll grant it, you understand? Want to go to town tomorrow, hit the jewellery shop?”
The rain grew heavier towards evening, turning into a storm with thunder. Water lashed the windows of the guesthouse, flooding the narrow courtyard and turning the clay paths into streams of mud. The holidaymakers stayed in their rooms; from the windows came the sounds of televisions and dominoes clacking.
Natalie sat on the bed, knees drawn up. Inside, she felt calm, as if an old wound had finally healed. There was no anger, no urge to air grievances, no lingering pain that had once kept her from starting new relationships. Only a faint bewilderment at how late this man had arrived with his promises of a beautiful life.
Just before ten, her phone rang again. An unknown number showed on the screen, but she knew who it was.
“Think it over properly, Natalie,” William said loudly, shouting over the noise of the rain. “I’m here till the end of the week. Room three-oh-two, main building. Come over, we’ll sit without all this road grime. Stop playing hard to get—we’re people who belong together. So many years lost through stupidity, why waste more time on grudges?”
“Goodnight, William,” she said evenly, and pressed the red button to end the call.
She stood up, walked to the window, and drew the curtains tight, shutting out the storm raging outside. Life had long since taken a different track, and on that track there was simply no room for him.
On Friday, the weather turned fine again. The sky cleared to blue, the sun blazing from early morning, making the asphalt give off a heavy smell. The promenade filled once more with people in bright shorts and carrying inflatable mattresses.
William did not reappear at the boarding house gate. Mrs. Thompson mentioned at breakfast that she had seen the black car drive off towards the main road—seemed the guest had checked out early.
“So your businessman left, Natalie,” the landlady said, shaking out a hallway mat on the line. “And you’re a fool, girl, if you’ll pardon an old woman. Such a handsome man, with money. You could be living in Odesa now, not sitting in that office of yours for pennies. What were you missing? He ran away when he was young, scared of responsibility. Now he wanted to make it up to you.”
Natalie said nothing, just smiled. She picked up her towel, a bag with a book, and walked towards the sea, keeping to the shady side of the street.
That evening, as the sun began to sink behind the horizon, painting the water pink, she sat at the far end of the pier, away from the noisy cafés and playgrounds. The air smelled of salt, iodine, and seaweed washed up after the storm. She took out a fig she had bought at the market, carefully split the fruit in half.
Down by the water, an elderly man in a faded panama hat patiently put a worm on his hook while his grandson, about seven years old, watched the float. Ordinary, simple life went on its steady way.
Natalie took a sip of lukewarm mineral water and looked at the fading sunset. Ahead of her, a whole week of holiday still remained.
