It was seven-twenty this evening – only ten minutes to get ready – and I thought to myself, “aquacise or a walk by the sea?”
“Want to come for a walk to Coryton Cove with me?” I asked Chris. (His answer would help me make the decision.)
“How lovely! What a good idea!”
That is why, ten minutes later, we were to be seen walking hand-in-hand down past Coastguard Cottages to the seawall, and not up at the Leisure Centre.
What a beautiful evening it was; barely a breeze and not cold at all (we both wore sleeves); the tide was in and the sea was calm and flat; and the moon was full though it wasn’t dark yet. Two fisherman were silhouetted against the sky and I wished I had brought our rod (we have only one between us and I don’t know where it is, but I love the thought of fishing). I wished also that I had brought my mobile phone, which I use mostly as a handy camera. We walked along to the station, where the wooden railway platform juts out overhead and acts as shelter in poor weather; as we did so the flat sea surged forwards and pushed a ton of water into the air. We didn’t get wet but it was close enough to laugh, especially as Chris was on the outside. We passed two girls, laughing themselves, as they took photos of the moon on the water. They smelt of soap, perfume and cigarettes, and I was reminded of being fifteen again.
We passed another fisherman – he had caught twelve fish – who said that the mackerel were right in shore in great numbers. (If only I knew where that little rod was.) The farther on we walked, the more fisherfolk there were, and the darker it got, and suddenly we were aware of the lights from cars and trains and houses; and everything looked so pretty and welcoming.
At the end of our seawall, at Coryton Cove, a solitary black man took photographs of the moon on the sea, just where the reflections were interrupted very artistically by a rock shaped like a whale’s back. I told him that I wished I had brought my camera and the man commiserated with me, but not too much because he could see we were in love with the evening anyway. Some more fisherfolk fished off the beach.
It seemed that we all all drifted back towards Dawlish together – a fisherman and his wife who were looking forward to eating their fresh mackerel tomorrow, the photographer who spoke in soft tones, perhaps to his wife or girlfriend, on his mobile phone, and Chris and me. We held hands, and every so often, we stopped to kiss (just a peck) and hug because it was that kind of perfect evening, and I guess that we felt like the holiday-makers do when they come to Dawlish for the first time and think how beautiful it is. The wonderful thing was that there were not too many people about, enough to feel the pleasantness of company and few enough to feel that the night was ours almost exclusively.