Crimson China by Betsy Tobin

she says. “If we start early, we can be there by lunchtime.” In truth she has only guessed at the distance. But Jin has told her that the highways in the UK are as smooth as glass, and that cars can travel at alarmingly fast speeds compared to home. Since buying the atlas, the desire to get to Morecambe Bay has threatened to devour her. Shewants to run her fingers through the water of Wen’s grave and feel its bitter chill. She will walk there if she has to.
    “Please,” she says to Johnny, a note of desperation creeping into her voice.
    “Okay,” he says after a moment.
    After she hangs up the phone, Lili wonders what she will have to offer in return.
    The next day he collects her from Hounslow Station at eight in the morning. Inevitably, they lose their way getting out of London, and in the end the journey takes more than five hours. After three hours, they stop for petrol at a service station just past Birmingham. By then Johnny’s good humour is wearing thin, and Lili wonders whether she has overstepped his kindness. When she sees the price of fuel she is horrified; the bill comes to nearly forty pounds.
    “So much money,” she says, her eyes widening. “I didn’t know.” She reaches in her purse, wondering whether she has even brought that much.
    “It’s okay,” says Johnny, waving her away. “My treat,” he adds in English.
    She watches a little uneasily as he pays at the counter.
    He suggests they go for coffee, so they drive to another part of the service area. It is built like a shopping mall, filled with shops and restaurants of all kinds, as if it is a destination in its own right. Outside the car park is nearly full, and inside there are throngs of people milling about. It had not occurred to her that petrol stations could be so elaborate, nor provide so many services; at home they usually consisted of a single pumping station. She insists on paying for the coffee, and when they are finally seated opposite each other, Johnny crosses his arms and fixes her with a look.
    “Okay,” he says. “Now is the time.”
    “The time for what?” She smiles nervously.
    “The time for you to tell me your story,” he replies. “The oneyou’ve not been telling me.”
    Lili hesitates; her eyes drift around the café. Across the aisle, an enormous woman wearing pale blue stretch trousers wedges her massive frame into a booth. Her short dark hair looks artificially curled and her face is bright red with exertion. Lili frowns at the women’s bulging thighs. She has seen more obese people these past two weeks than in her entire lifetime. She turns back to Johnny.
    “I had a brother,” she says finally. “He died in Morecambe Bay.”
    Johnny frowns.
    “You mean this year? In February?”
    She nods. He leans back, clearly surprised, and draws a breath.
    “I’m sorry,” he says then. “I didn’t know.”
    Lili shrugs. A lump rises in her throat. Beside her, the woman in pale blue trousers bites into an enormous cheeseburger. A large dollop of ketchup squeezes out and falls onto the table, but the woman does not notice.
    “I should have told you earlier. I just wanted to go there, and see.”
    Johnny eyes her for a moment.
    “So this trip,” he says slowly. “It’s about you and him.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    He looks away for a few moments, scans the other people at the tables that surround them, then finally turns back to her.
    “So am I.”
    They drive on and the atmosphere between them is strained. Lili keeps the map book open on her knees and as they approach Lancaster, she directs him on a series of roads leading towards the coast.
    When they finally reach the broad promenade overlooking Morecambe Bay, she feels almost ill with anticipation. Johnnypulls into a disabled parking bay and stops the car, turning to her.
    “Now what?”
    Lili stares out at the water: it is high tide now, the waves rolling in at even distances. The day is overcast, and the wind whips along the seafront. As she