The first tourists had started to arrive, their cars pulled smugly into parking spaces so early in the day. Later there would be more of them, frazzled, touring the town in search of a space, especially if the weather brightened. But looking out across the bay, at the castle dark against the grey skies, it was hard to imagine the day would brighten at all.
It was hard really to think that another May was already upon them. Before long the little town would be awash with tourists, bursting with excitement and enthusiasm, laden with fractious children, grumbling grandparents and tourist information.
Very soon there would be little time to stare at the view and dream. There would be endless drinks to serve, meals to cook, rooms to clean.
A sudden gust of wind tugged at the bar door, opening it a few inches; just enough to allow in a brief tantalising breath of air, heady with the sweet scent of new mown grass and the salt tang of sea spray. With it came the sound of waves crashing on the shore and a gull shrieking as it wheeled overhead.
A tentative thought surfaced - today, maybe today would be the day to step outside?
Almost as soon as the thought was formed, the wind dropped and the door clashed back on its hinges, clattering the glass in its frame and shattering the dream before it was even properly formed.
Originally written for Crossing the Tees and published as a podcast on www.rachelcochrane.com