Welcome to Saltmere Bay

Eira works in Booth Two at the Long Bridge. The bridge is three kilometres long. It crosses a wide, grey river, and every car must pay. Eira takes the coins, gives back change and says good morning. She does this again and again all day.

She likes the job. The booth is small and warm. She has a radio, a cup holder and a good view. Most people say thank you. Some people sing. Once, a driver gave her a whole cake.

But nobody ever gave her a postcard. Until today.

A white delivery truck stops at her window. The driver is a big man with a kind face. His name tag says Florin. He holds out one coin. In his other hand, he has a small square of card.

"Before I forget," he says. "This was in my mailbox yesterday. It has no stamp. Look at the address."

Eira reads it. It says, "To the Keeper of Booth Two, Long Bridge."

"That is me," she says.

"I thought so."

She turns the card over. The picture shows a small bay with pale sand. Three striped umbrellas stand in a row. A white lamp hangs above a rock. There are four words above the picture, in curly letters. "Greetings from Saltmere Bay."

On the back, someone wrote in blue ink. "Dear Keeper, the water is warm and the umbrellas are free. Come and see. Bring one coin for the gate."

There is no name and no date.

"Where is Saltmere Bay?" Eira asks.

"I don't know," Florin says. "I drive all over the country. I do not know it."

Eira laughs. "Maybe it is a joke."

"Maybe." Florin looks at her. "But I want to know. Will you find it? I come across this bridge every week. I will ask you each time."

It is a silly thing to promise. Eira knows this. But Florin's face is so hopeful, and the picture is so pretty.

"All right," she says. "I promise. I will find Saltmere Bay."

"Good." Florin smiles and drives away.

That night, Eira looks at the map on her phone. She types the name. Nothing. She tries different spellings. Salt Mere. Saltmeer. Salt Mirror. Nothing.

The next day, she calls the tourist office. A bored voice says, "We have no bay with that name, madam."

On the third day, she asks every driver in her line. A bus driver shakes his head. A woman on a motorbike thinks it sounds like a nice place. A young man in a sports car laughs. "On the moon," he says.

Her boss walks past and sees her with the postcard. "A place that does not exist," he says.

"It is only a hobby," Eira says.

But it is not only a hobby. A promise is a promise. Each time Florin comes, he lowers his window and asks, "Any news?" And each time, she has to say no.

After two weeks, Florin only smiles. "Don't worry," he says. "It is a mystery."

After three weeks, Eira is tired of the question. She puts the postcard on the shelf and looks at it. The three umbrellas. The little lamp. The pale sand.

Then she sees something new.

The lamp in the picture is round at the top. It has a thin iron arm. She knows this lamp. It hangs on the south side of the bridge. It is near the old stairs. And the rock under it is the big stone. It is at the bottom of the stairs. Nobody ever goes there.

She looks at the card for a long time. Then she looks at the clock. Her shift ends in ten minutes.

At six o'clock, she takes the key from her booth. It opens the door to the service stairs. She goes down 112 steps. The stairs are narrow and cold. At the bottom, she steps onto a small stretch of grey stones.

There are no umbrellas. There is no sand. There is only a rusty post and a pile of old rope. The view of the river is good.

But the rock is the same. The lamp is the same. Even the shape of the water is the same.

Eira sits down on the cold stones. She says it out loud. "I found it, and it is a mess."

She sits there for a long time. Then she has a very strange idea.

The next morning, Florin comes through. Before he speaks, she holds up her hand.

"I found Saltmere Bay," she says. "But it needs some things. Do you have a spare umbrella?"

Florin stares. "You must be joking."

"I never joke about a promise."

He thinks. Then he laughs. "I know a garden shop. The owner is my friend. Three striped umbrellas? I can find those."

That is how it begins.

Over the next month, every driver who knows Eira hears the story. A man with a truck of sand brings six sacks. He leaves them at the stairs. A bus driver gives her an old deckchair. A young man from the sports car gives her a plastic crab. A man who sells tools gives her an old tin. A woman who paints signs makes a wooden board in blue letters. The board says, "Saltmere Bay. Entry: one coin."

One afternoon, the boss walks past. He sees a driver pass a sack through the window.

"What is happening here?" he asks.

"A small project," Eira says.

He looks at her, then at the line of cars. He shrugs. "As long as the booth is clean."

On the last day, Florin arrives with the three umbrellas. They are bright blue and white. They look just like the picture.

Eira closes her booth early. They carry the umbrellas down the stairs together. They open them one by one on the new sand. The white lamp shines above their heads.

Florin stands very still. He takes out a coin. He drops it into a tin on the rusty post. It makes a happy sound.

"It's perfect," he says. "It really is Saltmere Bay."

He looks to the left and to the right. Then he looks at the river. It is grey and wide and not very warm.

"One question, though," he says. "Where is the sea?"

Eira smiles and opens a deckchair. "I found the bay, Florin," she says. "I never promised you a sea."