Late one summer evening when Elise’s little brother Davey was just two years’ old, their parents took them to a cottage by the sea. The journey was endlessly long, and every time they crossed or passed by water, Mam had them call out the Welsh word for ocean, cefnfor, even when it was just a puddle or glinting water-filled ditch.

     It felt like a magical ritual, swooping them safely over the Severn Bridge from Monmouthshire to South Gloucestershire, down motorways and, eventually, along twisting, hedge-edged lanes to the cottage in south-west England.

     The following morning Elise woke as sunlight spilt through windows, drifting and settling in dapples of gold. She found her shorts and a t-shirt still folded into the suitcase Mam had left by the creaking bed the night before.

     Using an English word her English dad taught her during the long drive (entomo – insect, and logist – person who studies), she stalked the dapples across the carpet, imagining herself as an entomologist hunting fire-winged beetles.

     The sun’s rays met last week’s scab on the crown of Elise’s knee, anointing it so it gleamed like jam. Elise licked a finger and wetted the scab, then sneaked a fingernail beneath the frilled edge. It lifted slightly, but its centre remained fast. She ran her nail around its rim until its skirt wrinkled upwards, coming off in a single translucent disc as light as air.

     The skin beneath was pink and shining like the silk of Mam’s best dress.

     “Elise, cariad. Where are your daps?” Mam stood over her with Davey wriggling under one arm. “It’s time to go to the sea.”

     Elise let her scab-disc trophy fall like a rare moth she was setting free and jumped up.

     They’d arrived at the stone-and-dust-smelling cottage hours past bedtime, but even as Dad swept her from car to house, she’d been aware of waves heaving beyond sight. In the lumpy, unfamiliar bed she’d lain wrapped in thoughts of its briny layers waiting for her to arrive.

     As they reached the seashore Elise called out in her loudest voice: “cefnfor!” and Mam applauded while little Davey echoed “Kev-nor. Kev-nor.”

     The day brimmed with sensations: grainy sand on bare skin, and the chill tickle of the tide drawing out and in over her feet, the shock of waves slapping against her waist, and her new satsuma-orange swimsuit crisping dry as she explored. Vast boulders speckled with the pursed white mouths of barnacles grazed her palms and toes.

     Best of all was the thrill of views that dashed onwards towards a distant horizon, flying with such speed the sun’s rays shattered into fragments on every peaking wave.

     When she ran to their towel-striped territory on the beach, Dad was staring at that same horizon. He turned his head slowly and his eyes were blank for a second before he seemed to return to himself and saw her. “What did you discover?” he asked, unfolding a narrow smile.

     Balling both hands into fists, she placed them on her hips and declared: “That the sea is a monstrous big thing.”

     Mam burst into gales of laughter, clapping her hands. “Oh, it is, clever girl. Monstrous big’s exactly what it is.”

     Elise beamed, rosy with pride.

     After their fish supper, night crept into the cottage. Left to themselves, she and Davey both surrendered to sleep where they played, Davey half-buried beneath a fort of sofa cushions built by Elise; she herself with a toy ambulance cradled in one hand, a yellow tractor in the other. The faint sound of their parents’ murmurs filled Elise with a lulling comfort that trickled her into a dream of desert sand where beetles danced beneath striped skies.

     Though the volume remained hushed, the rhythm of the grown ups’ voices changed and nudged Elise awake. Dad’s words grew ragged, and in response, Mam’s flapped.

     A chair scraped back, loud on the tiled floor. Elise slid one eye open and saw Dad’s shadow stretch across the ceiling. “I’m going for a drive.”

     She heard the rustle of their mam’s skirt. “You can’t, not alone.” A pause uncoiled stiffly, then a plea leapt: “That’s our rule. When you feel like this, you don’t go alone.”

     “I… I have to.” Dad’s voice struggled strangely, riddled with tremors. “I need to be...” His words rasped and drowned, and the metal of the yellow tractor dug into Elise’s palm.

     Fine,” Mam replied, decisive. “I’ll come too. We’ll bring the babies.”

     “But it’s past ten.”

     “I doubt they’ll even stir.” Mam’s pin-sharp tone was matter-of-fact. “I’ll bring Davey; you carry Elise.”

     A long silence unfurled, followed by the swoop of being lifted in Dad’s strong arms. Elise thought of damp beach towels pegged up outside on the line and let herself hang limp. The new skin on her knee stung in the cool night air, and she pushed her face hard against the wool of his sweater.

     She drifted off again as the car rocked down country lanes, and then jolted back into alertness at a sound from one of her parents – a breath or sigh.

     “It’s too much.” Dad muttered. “I can’t...”

     Elise’s eyes flicked open and she saw the car overflowing with silvery moonlight. In one hand, she still gripped the toy ambulance. The yellow tractor had fallen somewhere along the way.

     “You have to keep fighting, cariad,” Mam replied. “For me, for them.”

     “I try, but… I try with every bit of strength…” He broke off, gasping as though there wasn’t enough air.

     Elise glanced at Davey. His eyes were pinched so tightly closed she knew he must be wide-awake.

     “I’m tired, love. All I want...”

     “You want to rest,” Mam said, firm. “Only for a bit, not forever. This feeling will pass like it always does.”

     Dad exhaled loudly. “Maybe.”

     “I love you. Your babies love you. We can’t be without you.”

     “I know, I… I feel I’m…”

     The car halted violently and all four of them lurched forwards in their seats. Davey’s fright exploded outwards in a roar of alarm.

     “Look!” Mam sang.

     Elise raised her head and a shuddery tingle spread from her scalp to her toes. Her bother stopped sobbing, mouth agape.

     Horses poured across the road. Powerful and wild, stippled with moonlight and their own markings: silver, pewter, black. Like a river, they surged through the night with their manes and muscles rippling.

     “Cefnfor!” Elise cried and struggled higher in her seat, trying to grasp what she was seeing. “Daddy, what is that? What’s it called?”

     “Oh, Elise, I don’t know.” Dad tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “An equine storm? A mirage of horses?”

     Mam leant over to kiss his neck and shifted in her seat towards the side window.

     “A miracle of horses, just for us.” Mam’s voice wobbled as though at the edge of sudden laughter. “How lucky are we?” Only Elise seemed to glimpse the fierce glimmer of tears in her eyes.

Judy Darley lives and writes by England’s North Somerset coast across from south Wales. She’s the author of The Stairs Are a Snowcapped Mountain (Reflex Press), ‘Sky Light Rain’ (Valley Press) and Remember Me to the Bees (Tangent Books). Her fiction has been heard on BBC radio, aboard boats and coastal paths, as well as in caves and a deconsecrated church.

You can find Judy at:
https://bsky.app/profile/judydarley.bsky.social;https://judydarley.wordpress.com 

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Of the story featured, Judy says:

‘This story explores the ritualistic ways a mother shields her children from their father’s mental struggles while keeping him safe.’ 

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