Looking for Elsie - A short story

This was a submission for a Writing Fiction course that I studied with the Open University; the task was to write an original short story in under 800 words... quite a challenge!

Arthur Dennis Tate was content with life at his ripe age of eighty-seven; he sat back in his rocking chair overlooking the bay and thought back over his time. Having left an unsettled childhood to become a fisherman’s apprentice at fifteen years old, Arthur had spent his best years at sea. He became at ease with its rhythm and constant changes; ‘Respect the sea and stay alive’ flashed into his sharp old mind, the words his skipper had told him on his first day at work and he had done just that.

 Despite never marrying or having a family to call his own, Arthur had no regrets and since moving to a small B&B in the coastal town of Saltburn-by-the-sea he had settled into a comfortable routine.

One evening as he took his usual stroll on the beach, Arthur noticed that something wasn’t right; Elsie was missing. He had taken his usual route along the soft sand, walking slowly as his creaking knees struggled to hold him up, his eyes scanning the horizon for her deckchair. It was nowhere to be seen. Although they had never spoken, Arthur would consider Elsie to be his only friend. Every day he walked the same route by the lapping waters of the North Sea and every day Elsie would be sat in her deckchair. She would be scribbling away in her sketchbook and pause only to give Arthur a smile as he tipped his hat to greet her. Arthur pointed his worn-out brown loafer at the dent in the sand where her chair should have been, gazing out to the sea with a silent panic in his shivering bones.

The red fabric of the deckchair is what caught his eye first, flapping in the November breeze as the foam of the tide shunted it on to the sand. Arthur took a quick gulp for breath and hobbled over to save it; he pulled it easily from the clutches of the water and laid it flat for further inspection, rubbing his hands dry on his navy blue anorak. The chair was a wreck, but it was what lay beneath the ruined fabric that grabbed Arthur’s attention. With a careful manoeuvre, he used his stick to drag out the grey satchel that was hiding under the wreckage; it had also been claimed by the icy waters yet as he squinted down at it through the thick lenses of his glasses, Arthur noticed that it was still fastened tightly. He bent slowly down and unfastened the buckle and zip to inspect its contents, maybe it would give him some hope for Elsie’s safety. Water splashed out of the satchel as it opened and revealed Elsie’s belongings: an Ordnance Survey map of Saltburn, a packet of mints, a small umbrella, some pencils and her treasured sketchbook. Arthur took a moment to compose himself and pulled the sketchbook out on to the wet sand. A tear ran down his cheek as he realised that he was unlikely to ever see Elsie again; a life claimed by the sea. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his eyes then clutched the soggy sketchbook to his chest and turned back towards the B&B. 

Mr Murray was surprised to see the old man back so soon and looking so lost, Arthur was a man of routine and he was not expected to be home for another half an hour yet.

‘Is everything okay Mr Tate?’ 

Arthur didn’t reply, he left his wet shoes by the front door and headed up to his room. Once inside he turned his halogen heater up and started to dry out the pages of Elsie’s book. Arthur thought that after many years on this Earth there would be nothing left to surprise him but as he turned the pages of the sketchbook, Arthur was utterly taken aback. Every page held a drawing, lovingly pencilled and rough around the edges; each page that he turned was alike the last, with every drawing of the same subject.

 Arthur closed his eyes and leaned back into his chair with the sketches floating around in his mind, the drawings were so clear, he couldn’t quite believe what he had seen. Every page had held a familiar face; his own face. Arthur felt his aging body swell with an unfamiliar feeling. He finally knew what it was like to be loved.

Arthur Dennis Tate passed away peacefully in his sleep that cold November night, the sketchbook tight against his chest, a content smile on his face. Another life claimed by the sea.

A watercolour painting (completed Aug 15)