A moment in Brighton

by Ainslie

Many of the best things in life have happened at Brighton - lots of fun, student friendships, romance, the sun - the sea - and the sky. So the weekend after the funeral, when we looked at each other and said, bleakly, despairingly, "So, what shall we do now?" I suppose there was only the one answer, "Come on, let's go to Brighton".

Sounds easy. First, gather up all three surviving, still-bewildered, children, all under six years old. Find coats, hats, wellies, gloves - it's January, after all - drinks, munchie-bars, books for the journey, pushchairs, and God only knows what else. It's a bit of a journey on a winter Saturday from south-east London to Brighton, and the children want to know (given the driving rain and the bitter cold), "Why are we going to the seaside?"

It's cold, bitterly cold, and wet as we walk along the prom towards the town from Black Rock, scene of so many crazy under-cliff walks in the moonlight - must be more than ten years ago now. The children in the pushchair can't see a thing, what with the hood up and the waterproof covers over them. It's a struggle for everyone, but at least it's pouring with rain, so the tears falling down your face aren't always seen for what they are.

Going into town seems sensible. The Lanes seem a good way through, and the awful weather is shut out in the narrow paths. The shop windows are lit up, and for the first time the children can see something slightly interesting. But, I'm sorry, kids, this excursion isn't for you - just this once. "We must buy you a ring," he said, "to remember her by". Like we needed reminding, but it was a nice idea.

Funny how it turned out that we bought it in the same shop where we'd once bought our wedding rings. "It's pretty", I said, about the little garnet ring, with its three small stones set in a gold band [good grief, we can't possibly afford it]. "Little and pretty, just like her," and every time I wear it I remember not just her, the little lass who never made it past her first fantastic twelve weeks, but the terrible anguish of the day, and the terrible comfort of the other children and their father. But it was coming to Brighton that kept us sane - just.