Seaside II Chapter 5

 

    “So you are saying that your dad dug his car key into your head, when you were 11 years old, as you walked across the car park that we just parked in?” Bonnie asked me this as we sat drinking coffee in a small cafe bar on the seafront. I could see Dreamland in the distance.

    “Yes. It sounds nuts, I know, “ I was starting to regret telling her, not because she was being unreasonable in her response but because I had started to wonder if I had made it all up. It felt so vivid and so fuzzy at once.

    “Look, I’ve met your parents and yes, they are a bit odd but this seems, well, you know, really out of character. Your dad especially, he seems like such a gentle man.”

    “A bit odd?”

    “Ok, maybe very odd. Your mum is something else.”

    “Do you believe me?” Bonnie sighed and twirled a teaspoon in her fingers.

    “I believe that you believe it, yes, absolutely, “ she put the spoon down, “but it was over forty years ago and memories are strange, aren’t they?”

    “Memories are strange?”

    “I mean, how we can remember something seemingly perfectly from ages ago, yet forget something that happened just yesterday.” I sipped my coffee and stared out across the water. 

    “But you did seem like you’d seen a ghost when we pulled into that car park. I definitely believe that something happened and that the location triggered something.” I shrugged. I wasn’t upset by this memory. It was so very distant. I put my hand up to my head and felt for an indentation. There wasn’t one but my fingers felt warm on that particular spot. I looked once more over the water. There was a bank of cloud over the horizon that stretched as far as I could see in that direction. Between the clouds and the sea, there was a thin strip of blue sky. The clouds seemed to be pressing down on it, squeezing its colour into the water. 

    “Shall we go for a walk?” Bonnie had put her hand on the hand of mine that was on my head and was gently moving it back towards the table. 

    “Sure,” I said. The cafe was filling up with young people in beanie hats and I suddenly felt odd. A large clock behind the counter indicated that it had just turned midday. Bonnie and I stood up together and walked behind the beanie hats to the door. 

 

I stepped out onto the pavement and next door a young woman was putting out some tables and chairs. I looked up and saw a sign that said ‘Micro Pub’. Bonnie looked up too and I looked across to her.

    “I suppose…” she started.

    “No, it’s a bit early,” I replied, still looking at the sign.

    “You don’t fool me Chris,” she said, tugging on the sleeve of my jacket, “anyway, you’ve had a funny morning, you know, what with the car park stuff.” She led me by the hand into the pub. It was like I was a toddler who had fallen and scraped his knee and was allowed ice cream to help him recover from the ordeal. 

    

We were the only people in the pub. We sat in the window and I had almost the same view as from next door except that it was slightly lower. The walls were covered with photos and paintings of Margate. Behind the bar was a large glass window through which you could see the beer being dispensed from the barrels. There were no taps on the bar and despite the modern decor, it felt like we had visited an earlier time. Two older men came in just after us and sat at a table on the other side of the pub discussing reduced items from Morrisons and pubs that they used to frequent in Margate but had now closed. I wondered if they were around the day I was on the beach in 1978. They would have been in their early twenties then and I smiled to myself imagining these two in their prime attempting to chat up women back in the day. What would they have thought if they could have looked through a portal to today to see themselves talking about beef trimmings, pork belly strips and current government immigration policy. I drained my first pint and Bonnie took my glass and waggled it in an apparent ‘another one?’ gesture.

    “I mean, sure, ok. Are you sure though?” Bonnie was on diet coke and it felt almost cruel to be indulging in beer whilst she looked on without her customary glass of wine.

    “Of course, I’ll get them,” she said and approached the bar with our empties. I looked at the beach properly for the first time. I was too far away to make out every detail but there were certainly bodies braving the grey sky, hoping that the strip of blue would win the battle for supremacy. Bonnie returned with our drinks and set them down on the table.

    “How are you feeling?” She asked this earnestly, her whole face a vista of concern.

    “You mean about the car park memory thing? I dunno. If it happened then yeah, it’s a bit upsetting. But I don’t know if it did happen so it doesn’t feel authentic to get upset.”

    “It doesn’t feel like the sort of thing that you, or anyone would make up though, does it? It’s very specific.”

    “I guess. But if it might just be a figment of my imagination, how can it be upsetting? Even if it was true, if it did happen, it’s not great but worse things happen to kids. It’s not exactly trauma, is it?”

    “Are you just here for the day then?” The young woman from the bar had just been wiping the tables outside and had stopped to say hello.

    “Yes, well, we stayed last night,” Bonnie replied as I started my pint.

    “Oh lovely. Where do you live?”

    “Brighton.”

    “Oh right. I’ve never been to Brighton, bet it’s lovely.”

    “It’s too busy now,” I joined in, “half of Croydon is there every weekend.”

    “Oh blimey, that doesn’t sound good!” She stood with cloth in hand and the conversation stood still too.

    “So, do you live in Margate?” Bonnie came to the rescue.

    “Yeah, born and bred,” she said it happily, with pride. A man walked through the door behind her and headed for the bar. She smiled and went off to serve him a drink.

    “I can’t imagine living here all of your life,” I said, “it’s a holiday place and you forget people live here too.”

    “Of course people live here. And in Brighton. And even Skegness presumably. But I know what you mean,” Bonnie replied, swirling the remains of her diet coke.

    “Yeah, when I first moved to Brighton it felt like I was on holiday every day. The novelty did wear off but it took a while,” I said. Bonnie poured the rest of her drink from the can to her glass. It felt as if she was doing it deliberately slowly to make the point that she wasn’t drinking. 

    “We’ll go after this drink, Bon, ok?”

    “Sure. Where shall we go?”

    “Well the Turner gallery is closed this week, they’re changing over exhibitions, I read it online earlier. So, maybe just walk along the front and then Dreamland.”

    “What exactly is Dreamland? You mentioned it before but I didn’t really think about what it actually was.”

 

    “Dreamland Amusement Park in Margate, United Kingdom, boasts a storied history dating back to the late 19th century. Established in 1880, it quickly became a beloved seaside attraction, offering thrilling rides and entertainment to generations of visitors. Dreamland's iconic Scenic Railway, opened in 1920, remains one of the world's oldest roller coasters still in operation.

Throughout the decades, the park faced periods of decline and closure but was lovingly restored in the 21st century. Reopened in 2015, Dreamland now blends its rich heritage with modern attractions, events, and vintage charm. It continues to enchant visitors, preserving its legacy as a timeless destination for family fun and nostalgia.”

 

Bonnie passed me back my phone.

“Oh, right. Well that looks like fun.”

“Such enthusiasm.”

“Well, amusement parks aren’t really my thing, Chris.”

“This is Dreamland Bon, it’s literally full of dreams!”

“Hmm, maybe you shouldn’t have had that second pint.”