Christmas at the Beach

Implacable sunlight smashes down all around him. Tendrils and sunbeams penetrate his spokes; he casts an inhuman, almost monstrous shadow along the wooden slats of the pier at this time in the evening.
Looking out across the coastline and the pebbled beach below, he sits lost in thought. I stand, watching him. He spreads an arm wide in an all encompassing gesture.
“It’s been a while.”
“It has.”
“Last time we were here, you cried for hours. Like a girl.”
I don’t answer.
“I’m hungry, go and get me a stick of rock will you. Here’s a quid.”
An upwards facing palm promptly sticks out. It contains a single pound coin. I leave it there reflecting the suns light and I walk off to buy him a fucking stick of rock with my own money.
Even from this height on the pier, the spray from the hungry white squall below sprinkles down over the sparse crowd of people standing here. It drops in a festive mist; cold, wet, white. Thankfully it’ll be time to leave soon.
I stand, waiting my turn at the kiosk watching him ponderously sitting in that chair, in that prison. Is this the future you envisioned for yourself? Is this how you planned your return to Brighton when we left all those years ago? He shifts about a bit, adjusts the brakes and edges ever closer to the barrier so he can peer over the edge like a little boy. I stand watching, my breath slowing; the plumes of icy spray dappling us both.
In my mind’s eye I suddenly see myself walking; walking with purpose and pace. I see myself striding up to him and grabbing those handles, pushing, rolling; forcing him away. Out and over the edge.
In my mind I watch him finally leave that contraption as he falls, I see it dashed to pieces on the rocks below and I see him fall free into the ocean. As free as a stone.
“Hurry up will you!”
The stick of rock is in my hand as I walk up to him. I look at his pale face, those murky eyes all expectant and brown. I pass him the stick of rock.
“Merry Christmas Dad.”
He doesn’t look up; he attacks the sweet sugary cane, saliva gurgling down his pink chin. Through the disgusting snuffling sounds and crunching of his teeth beneath those rotten crimson lips he mumbles.
“Thanks.”
I take him by the handles and wheel him away.