On a Ferry to London…

Excerpt from UNI|VERSE — a travel memoir, forthcoming 2026.

I sat down in a blue velvet chair on the ferry to London after circling the deck in search of an empty seat, after searching the entire deck for a place to rest.

I asked the gentleman sitting beside it if the space was taken.

“No,” he said. “Sit down. No one’s been there.”

I thanked him and reached for my AirPods, pulling them out of their case.

As my hand lifted toward my ear, he asked, “Are you on holiday?”

I smiled politely. “I am.”

Again, I raised my hand towards my ear.

“Whereabouts are you staying?”

“Heading to London,” I said—cordial, but uninterested. I felt exhausted and just wanted some time to myself.

“I’m a Jock,” he added.

I raised my eyebrows, unsure what he meant.

“I was born in Scotland,” he explained, seeing the confusion on my face, “but I haven’t lived there for over fifty years.”

I nodded, smiled, and once attempted to lodge the air pod into my ear, hoping the gesture would speak for itself.

“I was in France visiting my children,” he continued, “and now I’m heading back to London.”

I nodded again.

“My daughter is right there,” he said, pointing.

I followed his hand to a woman about my mother’s age, holding a small girl on her lap.

“That little one—her name is Grace. She just lost her mum. She’s four.”

I turned fully toward the child. She was tiny and blonde, pink and purple butterflies painted across her cheeks.

“Oh my,” I said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“My name is Grace as well,” I told him, then asked, “What’s your name?”

“Hugh.”

He paused, then said, “My daughter and I have been caring for my wife. She has Alzheimer’s. But we can’t anymore. She had to be placed in a facility.”

His voice cracked.

I looked into his blue eyes as tears gathered and spilled onto his tired skin.

The AirPods stopped turning in my fingers. I shifted my chair toward him.

He grew quiet. Somber.

He stared past me, at the little girl who was too distracted to notice; but I could see sadness heavy in his eyes. Like a sponge oversaturated with water, his tears began to leak freely.

He shook his head, eyes wide.

“I’m losing her. I’ve lost her. She’s still here—but I’ve lost her.”

I knew he meant his wife.

I stayed silent and listened.

“Once in a while—just for a second—she recognizes me. But only for a second. Then she’s gone.”

His chin trembled as he fought back sobs.

“I’m losing her. I’ve lost her. And I’ll never get her back.”
He broke. “I wish I could trade places with her. In a split second, I would.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, wiping his face. “I’m a blubbering fool.”

“No,” I told him. “You’re not. You’re in love.”

I asked her name.

“Jean,” he said, smiling.
“Jean Marie.”

“Tell me something about her,” I said. “Your first date, maybe.”

His eyes drifted to a time before electronics—before dating apps, before speed, before dopamine and distraction hollowed out attention and satisfaction.

In his Scottish accent he said, “You’ll never believe it.”

“I think I will,” I replied, smiling, leaning into listen.

“A friend asked me to go on a double date to a club. I didn’t want to go, but I did. It was a long time ago—seventy years, probably.” I did the math in my head — the 1950s.

He shook his head, smiling.

“The moment I saw her, I knew I was in love.”

“I told her,” he said. “I said, ‘This may sound forward, but you’re the one I want to marry.’”

He shook his head in shock still, "I had been with others before her; I had dated and had girlfriends, but once I met her, I knew everything else was not love."

"And I knew then, I could not live life with out her in it, it would never be the same."

“I’ve never met anyone like her,” he said. “Not then. Not now.”

“I worshipped the ground she walked on.”

He reached behind his thick glasses and wiped his tears.

“I still worship her.”

They had five children, twelve grandchildren, and eighteen great-grandchildren.

“Her parents never approved of me,” he said with a nod. “But that’s all right.”
Though they’d been gone for decades, as he explained, I could still feel the ache.

I held back my own tears as I listened to this man tell me his life.

“We had our ups and downs,” he said. “When things were bad, I’d put on my jacket and go for a walk. We always came back to each other.”

Time passed.

I stopped noticing the cliffs, the water, the ferry’s progress. I did not notice that the deck had completely emptied as passengers already disembarked, because Hugh and I remained in our blue velvet chairs, now turned completely towards one another.

I reached for his hand as tears slid down his face.

“If I die today,” he said, “I’ll die happy. We had a great life.”

“Thank you,” I said, “for telling me all of this.”

His eyes drifted back to Jean.

“I am in love with her. She’s the only one. She will always be the only one.”

We stood. He was hunched over, as he looked up at me.

“I hope you enjoy your holiday,” he said, smiling with tears.

Then he walked slowly through the quiet cafeteria, turned the corner, and disappeared.

I placed the AirPods—still resting in my palm—back into their case and wiped the tears from my eyes.