The Shell

The shell


Rosie walked along the beach, her feet sinking softly into the sand at every step. She was looking for seashells- iridescent, perfectly whole ones that she could give as a gift to her grandma. She spotted one nestling in the sand at the high water mark, its pink face just peeking at her. She carefully picked it up and smoothed it down. Beautiful. But no, it was chipped. It had a gash down the side like an angry wound. She threw it into the waves with a plop. Only the best would do for her grandma. She decided to search closer to the water, stopping every few paces to bend down and examine the treasures of the sea. The waves gently lapped over her bare feet, cool and clear.


Then she saw one- just over there- hidden amongst some seaweed. It was the size of her palm, a mother-of-pearl that shimmered like a rainbow in the sunshine. She washed it off, and carefully dried it with her shirt. It was perfect! Grandma would love it, she just knew. Her grandma used to live by the sea as a child, and she often spoke fondly of visiting the beach every day after school with her friends, always in search of the perfect shell.


She put it in her shirt pocket, along with two other shells that she’d found earlier – one a baby blue fan and the other a trumpet of gleaming white. It had taken her ages to find these three, and she thought that they looked good together- the different colours, shapes and textures contrasting and complementing each other.


She suddenly noticed that the sun was starting to set (where did all that time go?), so she walked back to her mum and dad, who were both lying on their beach towels, fast asleep, oblivious to the fact that the beach was swiftly emptying as darkness fell. Rosie stood silently, watching the shadows of her parents grown longer as the sky turned from bright blue to orange to violet and finally to navy. A chilled breeze swept over her skin, raising goosebumps, and she woke them up.

- - -

‘Happy birthday Grandma!’

Rosie exclaimed as she handed her grandmother a giftbox and a birthday card that she’d drawn herself.

‘Such a beautiful picture,’ commented the old woman, admiring the card,’ is that you and me?’

‘Of course, and look, we have matching pink dresses on.’

It was a picture of a stick woman and girl, holding hands and grinning. They also had matching curly flyaway hair, the woman’s grey and the girl’s a lemon yellow. Her grandmother silently read the card, and placed it on the table. She then picked up the gift.



‘Oh, what a lovely box.’

She said, and began to carefully unwrap it.

‘Come on Grandma, just tear it open.’

The girl encouraged impatiently.

Grandma laughed, and began to tear the wrapping off haphazardly, just as she had done as a young child. It was much more fun that way.

The seashells were arranged on some tissue paper. They had been washed and polished, and gleamed like little pieces of heaven. She loved them.

‘They’re lovely, thank you Rosie.’

She smiled and hugged her granddaughter tight.

‘It’s the perfect present. Did I ever tell you how I used to collect shells as a girl? Sit down and I’ll tell you about it.’


So Rosie sat on her lap and listened once again to the stories of her grandmother’s childhood, familiar and comforting.

- - -

That night, the old woman put the shells on her bedside table so that they would be the first thing that she saw upon waking. And the birthday card held pride of place on her mantle piece, alongside the traditional flowery cards that the rest of her family and friends had bought her. They were pleasant enough cards, but so boring and grown-up. She much preferred the fresh imagination of a child, it helped her to feel young again.


She drifted off to sleep. She and her best friend Eliza were running through the waves, their school skirts getting drenched. Eliza suddenly shouted, stooped down, and picked up a huge pink shell. It was stunning.


She wanted to find one for herself, so she ducked under the water to see if there were any more hiding there. She couldn’t see anything, so she came up for air and swam further from the beach this time.


The sound of the seagulls and Eliza’s laughter faded away, and all she could hear was the gentle swish of water on sand and her own heartbeat. It was so peaceful. Then she spotted a beautiful mother-of-pearl, reached out and made a fist around her new found treasure. It was perfect.


Her nurse found her the next morning, with a smile on her face and Rosie’s mother-of-pearl shell clutched lovingly to her chest.