Harry Humber

He sat with marram grass whispering behind him, blades bowing and lifting again. Far beyond the breakers, grey seals rolled slow in the swell. Salt pressed thick in the air, and under it, the low, wild musk of dune flowers.     Down the slope, his wife ran, skirt wet to the knees, chasing the […]

He arrives after dusk, wearing a charcoal suit and a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He hands you lilies. “For your loss,” he murmurs, and you nod, though you haven’t told anyone yet.   He takes off his shoes at the door and compliments your wallpaper. He sits at your table, straight-backed, hands