Shorebird | Missing You

by Judith Williams

SHOREBIRD

‘Shorebird’. The name on the houseboat was painted in cursive font on the prow, each letter carefully picked out in black and gold, and surmounted by a picture of some sort of bird – a tern maybe, or an avocet. He sauntered along the sandy footpath that ran next to the river, hands in pockets, a careless whistle on his lips. A cool, desultory breeze rustled the grass along the edges of the bank, bringing with it the briny scent of seaweed. Dusk was gathering, the last rays of the sun catching the clouds on the horizon, the gentle swell of the water reflecting them back in a kaleidoscope of pink, purple and orange. He had always loved this walk by the water where the current was slower, the surface smooth and oily. As a boy, it had always been with one of the fat family spaniels at his heels, sniffing about, running ahead and coming back, tongue lolling. The dogs were long gone, but he still enjoyed the evening stroll, watching the twinkling of the ripples lapping against the colourful hulls of the boats tied up along this stretch of the river. Most were rentals, all in the same livery, denoting the holiday company which leased them out during the summer, but a few were moored there permanently, tied up with blue nylon ropes to cast iron bollards, or to heavy metal rings driven in and cemented to the bank. These houseboats were occupied by single people, couples, or sometimes free-spirited families seeking out an alternative lifestyle - one that did not involve a daily commute in itchy suits to stuffy offices. Strings of fairy lights swung in the breeze, looking as if each bobbing boat was festooned with fireflies. As he neared ‘Shorebird’, he caught the trace of a wordless song on the breeze and saw a girl on deck, her back towards him. He could see where the sun had kissed her neck between the navy and cream striped t-shirt and the bob of blonde hair which swished as she bent over, tending a patch of earth in a frame. As he drew closer, the leafy green plants, tied to stakes, came into focus against the painted planks of the cabin wall. Clusters of tomatoes, small and yellow now, but soon fat and scarlet and juicy, hung from each plant. The girl was sprinkling them with a watering can, the drops acting like tiny prisms in the fading light. She straightened and turned on becoming aware of his approach and smiled at him. He thought for an instant that the sun had somehow reversed its descent beyond the distant hills and was shining full on him. And it was in that moment that he realised the tune he had been whistling and the melody she was humming were one and the same.

MISSING YOU

I miss you when the grass needs mowing

When the sink is blocked and overflowing

I miss you when a bulb needs changing

Or the attic junk needs rearranging

I miss you when the nights are cold

My feet are frozen and to hold

A hot water bottle’s not enough

To warm me through, so yes, it’s tough

Without you here week after week

To make the winter seem less bleak

You’re missed at Christmas, birthdays too

To do the things that couples do

Meals for one are rather lonely

TV quizzes such as Only

Connect are much less fun alone

Shouting answers you’d have known

Coming home at end of day

To empty rooms, no one to say

‘How’d your day go? Was it good?

Put your feet up, I’ll make food

And afterwards I’ll do the dishes’

That’s what anybody wishes

From having someone there to share

The household chores and show they care.

I miss you when a tap is dripping

When drawers are stuck or paper’s ripping

When the thing I need’s on the topmost shelf

When I’m bored of talking to myself

When my oil needs checking and tyres inflating

When leaves need clearing from the grating

When I need someone to scrape the mildew

I’m almost sorry that I killed you.

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