Pride of Rotterdam
by Tom Harvey

The September wind skidded off the high tide into his face. Doug marched along the sand. He gave Hippy Saxophone Woman a quick wave, forcing his hands into his pockets, hoping to pass her before she called him a ‘fine fellow’ and asked how his mum was doing, or noticed he was wearing the same mashed-up clothes he’d worn all week and that he should be in school. She gave them a tin of Quality Street chocolates last Christmas; he kept the empty tin for storing precious things he found on the beach. So far, it just contained a little, orange, plastic horse.