The Camper Van – Part 2: Low Tide

The tide went out a long way on Saturday night.

They walked on the sand under a huge sky, barefoot, in jumpers, with a bottle of wine and two tin mugs. The beach shone like pewter. The sea had retreated to a thin white line far out in the dark. Stars spread overhead in a river, thick and sharp.

"It's the biggest sky I've ever seen," said Nathalie.

"It's the same as the one over Bordeaux."

"It's not."

"It is. We just don't look."

They sat down on a dune, wrapped in a blanket, shoulder to shoulder. The air smelled of salt and seaweed. Far out, a lighthouse winked. She poured wine. They drank in silence, listening to the surf mutter on the horizon.

"I'm happy," she said.

"So am I."

"I'd forgotten the feeling."

"I'd like to feel it more often."

"We could buy a van."

"We could," said Olivier, seriously. "A small one."

They walked back across the sand to the camper, hand in hand, leaving two lines of footprints. The van was dark and cosy. They lit the lamp. It threw a warm golden glow over the little cabin, the pile of blankets, the pair of wetsuits steaming on a hook.

"Can I ask you something?" said Olivier, softly.

"Yes."

"May I kiss my wife? In the smallest bed in France?"

"Yes," said Nathalie. "And if I say stop, you must cook breakfast on the ring."

"I would anyway."

He kissed her, slow and salty, a hand rising to her tangled hair. She kissed him back with all the warmth of seventeen years, her sunburnt fingers on his cheek. The little van rocked in the wind. The surf boomed. Neither of them noticed the cold.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Nathalie. "Very green."

They bought a van in the spring. It has a bigger kettle, and a better bed. It still has sand in everything.

More married couple romance: The Cruise · Couples Retreat · The Second Honeymoon