A Walk on the Beach

Hilda stood for a moment on the wisteria draped verandah, then called back down the hall, "John, you'll need your jacket. The breeze is very cool, almost cold. Winter is letting us know it's not quite over yet. Could you bring my coat, too, please? It's hanging on the back of my bedroom door."

Hilda had been sharing John's house at Mackerel Point since Harry, her husband, died, as she could no longer afford to rent their city apartment. John had been Harry's oldest friend and was best man at their wedding. While she paid her share of the bills, he owned the house and refused to accept any rent for the attached 'granny' flat which she occupied. Their habit was to live their own lives in the house, saying little to one another, although they shared chores and often ate meals together.

She always looked forward to their daily after-breakfast beach walks, however, because, even after four years, it was only on the beach that she felt totally free from any obligation to John. By the gently lapping surf from the bay, they strolled and talked, sometimes for hours, about their past lives, their hopes, their aspirations for their children, the state of the world, anything and everything.

As soon as they reached the beach, she asked, "What did Alex Cameron say about the Retirement Village. I'm dying to know."

"Three of the four new two-bedroom villa units which we decided would be suitable are still available but he won't allow us to buy one.'

"Won't let us! Why ever not?"

"Because the Village is being built and operated by the Church and we aren't married."

"What! In this day and age. Does he think we are living in sin?" She drew quotation marks in the air around the last three words.

"Yes. I'm afraid he does. So does half the town. Didn't you know?"

"Silly of me but I never gave it a thought. Just shows they don't realise there are still kind and generous people like you left in the world. Didn't you explain?"

"Of course I did. But he was adamant."

She walked on in silence for some minutes before she said, "Then, you must just buy one for yourself and I'll find somewhere else to live."

"There is another way." he said.

"Oh, and what's that?"

He didn't reply but took a carefully folded handkerchief from his pocket, opened it and spread it on the sand. Kneeling on one knee, he took her hands in his and asked, "Hilda, will you marry me?"

She was silent briefly, then extended her hands, "Here, let me help you up. Let's walk while I think."

The silence between them lasted almost half an hour before she said, very formally, "Yes, thank you, John, I would like to marry you and I accept your proposal. But there will be one condition."

"Yes, yes," he interposed quickly. "I accept that it will be a sort of marriage of convenience so that we can buy the unit and we will still retain our separate bedrooms."

"No. No. It's not that. In fact, I have been looking covetously at your big bed, wondering how I could worm my way into it with you. No, it's just that I would like to retain my present name. I think a woman can do that these days when she marries. I've been Hilda Johnstone for so many years that any change would sound wrong. And there are all those plastic cards that would have to be altered. I couldn't bear the thought. Couldn't we just sneak off to Sydney and get married without telling anyone except our kids and then produce the marriage certificate to Alex Cameron so that we can buy the unit."

"But why all the secrecy?"

She laughed. "I'd hate to spoil it for all those stickybeaks who think we're living in sin."

It was his turn to laugh, "Well, that's settled, then."

"No. Not quite." Her eyes sparkled. "Don't you think you should kiss me?"

As he took her in his arms, she was amused to see several well-known gossiping stickybeaks sitting on the park benches overlooking the beach.