Annie tilts her face to the sun.
Her tongue circles the mound of ice-cream, skimming over the softened rim of the cornet.
Waves whisper along the shoreline, seagulls wheel and circle, watching, hovering, calculating.
Then a shadow darkens the sun; a stinging slap falls on her sunburned cheek and knocks the ice-cream from her hand.
She stares at the pink ice-cream pooling at her feet, tears gathering.
And the man who gave her a shilling, telling her he’d look after her baby sister while she bought herself an ice-cream, well… he’s being dragged up the beach by two very angry policemen.
A day at the beach sounds idyllic this freezing January morning. Thanks to Rochelle, for her continued leadership of Friday Fictioneers.