The gull lifted her wing and winced: the size of an eye, the wound was red and weeping. Inhaling deeply, she blinked and stretched out a leg. It was early morning, the town still and quiet. Across the rooftops the sun was rising, and the ferris wheel glistened in the yolk-orange light. This is happening, she told herself. Closing her eyes, she attempted to relieve the tightness in her chest, to bring lightness to her breathing, but then a mob of cawing crows swooped down beside her.
Scrounger! a large crow roared, hopping towards the gull. He dipped his head, as if to better scrutinise her face.
You’re an embarrassment, he said. Stealing chips, begging outside cafes.
Around him, his gang pecked the air.
The gull thought about clobbering him, but the large crow cackled.
There’s loads of us, he said. And we’d annihilate your little yellow beak, so do yourself a favour, yeah?
Whistling expletives, the gull set off. Where should she go? Gliding through the sky she didn’t fully trust her body. Before the infected wound, the gull had known A Bad Thing was going to happen. The last few months, her legs had felt increasingly stiff, her chest heavy and tight, as if her body was bracing for disaster. And now it had happened, and she didn’t know how she felt.
Down below, a dog in a sunhat strolled alongside its owner; the sea rolled in; countless worms remained hidden in the earth; and everything unfolded like a well-rehearsed dream.
The pavilion, she decided. Yes, he’ll be at the pavilion.
When she landed, her ex-partner was already on the bin, his head buried deep inside.
Alright friend? she said.
Aye, he answered. I reckon there’s an unfinished packet of crisps in here somewhere.
He prised a burger wrapper out of the bin and dropped it onto the ground.
You gonna join in then? Or am I dining on my lonesome?
I’m not actually hungry, she answered.
He stopped his digging and stared at her.
What? What’s going on?
She looked at his worried face, the wound in her side throbbing.
Nothing, she said. Just not hungry yet.
Her ex turned back to the bin.
When did you last go fishing? she asked him. Like, proper fishing?
Probably not since winter, he said, discarding a coffee cup on the floor, and a thin trail of brown liquid seeped across the concrete. It’s a waste of time, isn’t it? There’s nothing in the sea.
She nodded slowly.
Panting, he squinted up at the sun.
Oh, I’m getting nowhere in this bin. I’m gonna head up to Greggs for the breakfast rush. You coming?
Nah.
Suit yourself, he said. And try and get in the shade soon, alright? It’s bloody boiling.
*
After he left, she got up onto a wall and looked out over the sandy beach. All her life she had gazed at this view: she felt inseparable from it. So what would happen to the beach and the sea after she died? Where would all her memories go?
After a while, people began to arrive. They planted deckchairs and parasols; laid out blankets and towels; applied milk to their skin, and drank fluids from bottles and flasks.
Her head itched now, and her body felt as hot as a pasty, so she flew to the quiet end of the strand and paddled in the sea, pecking little gulps to hydrate.
I don’t know how you can drink that stuff, a nearby curlew said. It’s so salty.
I like it, the gull replied.
Well, it takes all sorts, I suppose. How was your spring anyway? Did you have many chicks? We had a boy and a girl.
I don’t do that anymore, she said.
Why not?
I’m infertile, she said.
Oh right, the curlew said. That’s a shame.
They stood in silence for a moment, and then the curlew said, Can I recite a poem for you?
Is it about me being infertile?
No, the curlew said. It’s about… the mystery of life.
Yeah, alright then.
The curlew cleared his throat.
Okay, he said, here we go:
Life’s a beautiful egg you don’t know how to crack Some days you’re flying high, others you’re flat on your back Life is a mystery, of that you can be sure! We don’t know where the tide is flowing, But still we smile upon the shore.
The curlew lifted his head shyly and smiled.
Well, thanks for that, the gull said.
Did you like it? the curlew asked. I couldn’t get that last bit to rhyme properly.
I don’t think it’s a very good poem, the gull replied.
Oh, the curlew said.
It’s trite and cliché and it doesn’t say anything new or true.
The curlew bowed his head.
I’m just telling the truth, the gull said.
The curlew looked at her now.
Well, I wish you nothing but love, he said.
What?
You’re hurting, that’s obvious. And I think you’re taking it out on me. But I wish you nothing but love.
The gull laughed.
I don’t want your love, she said.
Maybe not, the curlew said. But maybe you need it.
Shaking her head, she flew further down the coast, joining a gathering of gulls. The air tremored with their calls and yelps and cries. There were squabbles about food, disputes over territory, and youngsters were mewing for feeding. In the welcome shade of the cliff, she rested, recalling past springs teaching her offspring to fly. She had once been a chick herself, her parents tended to her, and fed her, and then she was out on her own, and then she had her own chicks, but now she was dying, her infected wound itching and seeping, and she had just been condescended to by a curlew.
Above the sea, gulls were circling, flashing their wings. Crabs! they shouted. Get your crabs! She rose and joined them, dive-bombing when she saw a crab, but she misjudged the manoeuvre entirely and caught nothing but a mouthful of sea. Her technique was off, her timing all wrong. She couldn’t believe how rusty a fisher she’d become.
Hard luck! a gull shouted. You’ll get her next time!
She smiled weakly and headed back towards the town, silently cursing herself.
*
At the pleasure park, the chairs swung through the air, and all the flying people laughed and screamed. On the ground, she rushed past legs and shoes, thumping music banging in her chest. Doughnuts. She could smell doughnuts. Beside the ghost train entrance, she found her ex creeping up on a man with a hot dog. She tried approaching the man from the other side, an old trick of hers and her ex. But when the man saw her, he quickly stuffed the hot dog under his T-shirt.
Another good lunch ruined! her ex declared, then laughed.
Oh I’m sorry, she said. I can’t do anything right.
Ah don’t worry, friend. I had a bacon baguette earlier, and some apple crumble. You’d have loved it actually. Covered in custard, it was.
She nodded self-consciously. She hated it when her own negativity made him act upbeat.
What are you thinking for later? he asked. Fancy stealing some chips?
No! she said, her tone harsher than she intended.
Alright, how about an ice cream then? A hot day like this? Nothing beats an ice cream swiped from a little kid’s hand.
I don’t want an ice cream, she said. And I don’t want to steal it off a kid.
What? You used to love grabbing ice creams.
I didn’t, she said. I only did it because you enjoyed it.
He looked at her, stunned.
What’s wrong with you?
Please. Stop asking me that.
Oh come on, he said. Something isn’t right.
She scratched herself, said nothing. A child suddenly swung a kick at her, which she side-stepped. Another kid ran in then, stomping at her ex. So they moved off, settling beside the dodgems.
Look, he said, I’m sorry we can’t mate together anymore. Believe me, I wanted it again as much as you did. And it was strange as hell doing all that without you this time round. But come on, spring is gone. Let’s have a good summer.
It’s not about any of that, she said. I’m over it anyway. I’m just sick of all this.
What’s this? he said.
She opened her wing, sweeping to gesture all around her.
Is that why you’ve come to see me? he said. To complain? Because you can spend your whole life going around feeling aggrieved, or you can get on with things—and join me on my chip run!
She looked at him.
I don’t want any more bloody chips!
*
So off she went again, soaring up and up and up, her wound throbbing and aching. Where to, now? In one direction, the sea. In the other, the town, where the cars were streaming in, and people flip-flopped down the pavement, hats on heads, sandwiches in hands, the little ones dragging buckets and spades.
She looked across the horizon, her eyes twitching in the sunlight, and for the first time in a long time she felt irredeemably alone.
If I keep flying, she thought, I won’t have to think. But then another voice inside said: Sleep. Rest. And so she found a cliff ledge, curled up, and closed her eyes, and she was carried to distant waters, where she and her ex were six feet tall. They wore stripey aprons and hair-nets, and ran their own chip shop in the sea, where only gulls were allowed, and they served up fresh fish and chips every day, while the humans lay on the paved shore and crawled naked, howling, begging for just one bite.
She awoke on the cliff, blinking. In the late afternoon sky, the sun was a beautiful egg, and a voice from deep within was saying:
You are loved. Dying is a part of life, and you shouldn’t be afraid to live.
*
And so she took off, curving round the cliffs of Sully Bay. She kept going, tumbling over the boundless silver sea, flying farther than she’d been in years. Finally, summoning the courage to fish again, she swooped, and she dove—but she failed. Climbing out of the water, her wound stung. But something told her to keep going. So she swum, and she snuck, and she splashed, but again she failed. Until, after hours and hours of flying and gliding and diving—panting, out of breath entirely, her fatigued limbs at the verge of collapse—she caught herself a crab. And it tasted so good! It tasted like life.
As she soared above the water, a surge passed through her, and she opened her gullet and gave out the loudest cry, her flesh rippling, her body trembling. I’ve still got it, she thought. I can still surprise myself yet. With a real meal inside of her, the weight in her chest felt lighter than spring.
She headed west now, following her shadow as the sun dipped over Barry. She glided over the yacht club, and beyond Jackson Bay, safely carried by the breeze. When she found her ex, he was in his evening spot above the souvenir shop, watching the street.
How are things? she said.
Quiet enough. I’m just choosing who to poo on.
I’m sorry about earlier.
It’s alright. You’ve never been good in the heat.
It’s not that, she said. It’s just—well… I need to tell you something.
Oh no, you’ve got your serious face on.
She laughed.
That’s because it is serious, she said. I’m dying.
What?
This will be my last summer.
Why are you saying that?
Infected wound, she said.
Oh no, he said.
A silence followed.
Can I see it?
She slowly lifted her wing, and her ex whistled. Yikes, he said.
It’s not great, is it? she said.
Her ex sighed. No, it’s not great at all.
Another silence passed between them, and she swallowed something that wasn’t there.
I caught a crab earlier, she said.
A real crab? he said. You mean, with a body and everything, and not just a little crab stick?
A real live one, she said. From the real live sea.
Madness, he said. And you ate it?
Yeah, and it tasted really good. Like, amazingly good.
He smiled at her, and she smiled at him, and then the smile suddenly broke, and she was holding back the tears.
Oh come here, he said and he opened his wings wide for her.
I’m okay, she said.
Come on friend, he said. Come have a cwtch.
She obliged, and it felt good to be back there again, snuggled under his wing. They stayed like that a long while, side by side, as the sun melted into the sky.
Listen, he said. I know things didn’t work out the way we wanted. But I’ve always—
Sssh, she said.
I’ll always feel—
Be quiet, she said. Her gaze was focused on the street.
But I need you to know—
I already know, she said. But calm your beak, alright? Because if these old eyes don’t deceive me, I’ve just spotted a little kid down there, begging to have his ice cream stolen.
