MESSAGE in a bottle

Had Helen finally found true love on a windswept beach?

- Barbara Compton

Every Sunday, I pick up litter on the beach. It’s shocking the things people discard – takeaway containers, wet wipes, cigarette butts, cans, wrappers... The list is endless. All are a threat to marine life and water quality, not to mention ruining the pleasure for people who want to enjoy a walk on the sands.

There’s a crowd of us. We use litter-picker sticks. I enjoy the companionship and the easy banter.

‘Well, at least this bottle isn’t broken,’ I say to Dennis on one of our outings. ‘But you would think someone who can afford Bollinger champagne might have the brains to take their empties home. Probably more money than sense.’

Dennis rolls his eyes. He’s the quiet, thinking type. I can’t remember having a conversation with him before.

I look down, and pause... ‘There’s a note inside.’

I have to stop myself from squealing. Since I was a small girl, I’ve dreamt of finding a message in a bottle. It seems so romantic.

The neck of the bottle is sealed with waterproof tape. I can’t rip it off.

‘Helen, let me help.’ Dennis removes it in seconds. He has long artistic fingers.

I slide out a typed sheet of white paper. On it...

Dear Finder. My name is Hugh. Sometimes I get lonely. Please get in touch.

‘There’s an email address,’ I say.