I gripped the cold metal railing, mesmerised by the distant hum of car engines driving over the bridge that clung to Wales and England. The man in a suit had been sitting on the bench behind me for as long as I’d been here. He angled his conker brogues toe to toe, swinging them out and in again like the waves against the rocks below. The subtle scent of saltwater wafted through the air, carried by the breeze. He glanced over with a smile that didn’t quite make it all the way.

I took it as an invitation and sat on the opposite side of the bench. ‘Hi.’ The wind blew my hair, and I patted it down, rearranging my fringe.

His smile grew, and his feet stopped dancing. ‘Hello.’

We said nothing else and stared at the sea separating the two countries. The silvery clouds waltzed to a slow beat, and the wind picked up. Dog walkers passed, children zipped by on scooters, and prams were wearily pushed along.

‘This is where my dad came for some peace and quiet,’ I said, clearing my throat as my voice fell out embarrassingly mousy. ‘Not that it’s actually quiet with the traffic. It’s quite noisy, actually, but you know, white noise, I suppose.’ I smiled, and his coffee-bean eyes smiled back. ‘He’s in a care home now. Still with it mostly, but you know, I remember him at his best here. I don’t know. Sometimes, it feels like part of him is gone.’ I winced. ‘Sorry, too much information? Sorry – you probably want peace and quiet too.’ I laughed and stopped.

‘Not at all,’ he replied with a smirk, shifting a little closer to me. ‘It’s why I come here too. My aunt…’ He rubbed his brow. ‘I take care of her at home. She’s fine, in her mind, I mean, but she struggles physically now. She brought me up, so she’s like a mum to me,’ his voice was soft, assured. I’m glad one of us was. ‘She came here too, years ago, wanted peace and quiet from me, I think.’ His laugh was beautiful. He laughed again, and I realised I’d been staring at his mouth for too long.

‘She came here a lot then?’ I swallowed, wishing I’d brought water with me. The wind was drying my lips out.

He nodded, amused. Was he blushing? ‘She was born in Wales. Came over this side to raise me when my parents…’ He stared at the rolling waves. ‘She was here every Friday afternoon when a neighbour could watch me.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘I was a handful!’

‘Friday?’ I echoed in disbelief, remembering Dad talking of a woman he never spoke to but always saw, always wished he had spoken to. On Friday afternoons.

His feet started to dance again. Maybe he wasn’t as assured as he sounded.

I tried to shake the thought out of my head. ‘Sorry. It’s…No, this is probably nothing…but…’

He looked up, serious, like he wanted me to continue. I felt like I’d known him for hours, not ten minutes.

‘My Dad would come here on a Friday after he finished early at work,’ I told him. ‘There was this woman who always stood right under the bridge looking out to sea…’ His eyes narrowed as he touched his lips. They were lovely. ‘Oh, it’s…’

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘my aunt used to tell me about a man who trudged along the beach just by the bridge.’

I laughed. It had to be.

‘He was a bit of a grump, apparently,’ he said, his lips slightly curled at the corners and his eyes harbouring a playful glint. ‘Tall, lean, curly grey hair. Wore a wool jumper and white trainers.’

I couldn’t stop my face from beaming. ‘That was Dad.’ My eyes watered at the picture of him from someone else’s lips. ‘Well,’ I raised my eyebrows, ‘this woman had long, sandy hair and the most beautiful, serious face he’d ever seen.’ I paused, sad that he had never seen that in my mum. But they separated long before I could remember.

‘That’s Rosie,’ he exclaimed. ‘Serious, beautiful, and fiercely loves people close to her.’

We laughed for a moment and fell into quiet remembrance again. Navy, pregnant clouds hung over the bridge, and the sea hummed with the heaving rush hour.

‘Dad always regretted not talking to her.’

He nodded. ‘So did Rosie.’

I counted the concrete blocks holding the bridge up. A boat sailed through the choppy waters.

‘Isn’t it amazing how quickly we can travel between countries,’ the man said, and I realised I didn’t even know his name.

Drops fell on my head, and the wind gasped in my ears. I didn’t want to leave. Just then, I saw the bridge as two hands clasped together, joining the countries, a humble agreement to visit one another, and I wondered if this man and I could be those hands for Dad and Rosie. Or was it too late?