George Bear- a short story by Helen Jones

 

George Bear

Kicking off her shoes, feet sinking into cool sand, she takes in the spectacular scenery, the Coleg Tower rising above the dunes that guard the wide, open bay. She settles down on the rug with the flask and precious book. Breathing in the “Cat´s Paw”, she had not believed him when he named the sea breeze, she is always Cat to him. She muses on how many beaches they have explored and loved, blushing at the memories of Ynys Mochras, but Harlech will always be theirs. Umm, coffee, he´ll be here soon she thinks, picking up the diary.

Memories come alive from the pages, that First Day, a deep breath and entering the Hall, filled with fellow students embarking on their life changing course. 

They had come together through many classes, researching, well hours of talking and laughing; then rushing to gain the yellow slip for the completed assignments. Their beach walks opening their minds then hearts to each other. Making radio programmes, writing plays and performing in a REAL Theatre! Experiences and challenges changing us all, Steve and Helen into George and Cat.

She hears laughter of their expeditions, braving sandstorms on Barmouth beach, cycling round Lake Vyrnwy, oh yes! the Santa train, sneaking a couple of brandies with the elves to keep out the cold! Winter, though had crept in slowly. Sadness and fears of what would be, began darkening our world. University life restrictive and cold, stamping out happiness. He left, the distance and problems came between us, though the Heart of Us still beat in our daily letters.

Chester, oh, she remembers with shame how she had thrown their future back at him. George, raging and tearful, the Silver ring torn from his finger, lost for good on the train track. Her journey home lost in tears.

A letter drops from the diary, always the letters, a gradual healing but life darker than before.  London, the photography exhibition, a reason to meet again, a thawing, warmth creeping back in. She had missed her train home, no hurry to leave.

George´s work now performed more and touring, she had felt a little excluded, then fear when he proposed ideas of working together. Her words never made the page.

He´d not been able to come to the Machynlleth Storytelling and it was there she opened his letter with the bitter news. Not long after, two deaths close together, her Mother and Stephen Loveless, writer, friend and certainly not love- less. BUT NO! they are not the same, her George is still here!

Her attention is drawn to the Seagulls lifting up from the sand, gliding out over the receding tide. There he is! unchanged by time, shirt tails flapping, trousers rolled away from his wet feet and biros like medals on his breast pocket.

Rising to her feet, age slipping away, she walks towards him.

 That smile clear on his face, her heart leaps…. He holds out his hand to her

¨Hello Cat, come with me, time for new adventures together”

His hand so warm on hers, they forward into the gentle waves, leaving the Beach that formed them.