The pebble pauses on the cusp between momentum and gravity before dropping into the green-grey waters of the estuary. Widening ripples are the only evidence of its journey.

I should be leaving now. The car’s packed to the roof with suitcases and boxes, and Emma’s having one more cuppa with her Mum. I bet she’s wondering what’s taking me so long.

Still, I hesitate. Is this the last time I’ll stand on this marshy bank to commune with my old friend the river? Only a few days ago I couldn’t wait to leave and begin my new life, but this moment feels so final.

I have to let it go. I turn to follow the secret path that zig-zags between the glutinous saltmarsh rills back to the higher sea wall.

A squabble of seagulls overhead seems to morph into words. ‘Thank you for your offering.’

I stop and look around, trying to pinpoint where the sound came from. There’s nobody in sight and nowhere to hide out here, just me in this place that’s neither land nor sea yet both at once. ‘Who said that?’

The voice deepens into the whirr of winter wind through ash trees. ‘Do you not know me? I have always been here.’

Ah, of course. ‘Come on, Gav, I know it’s you. Stop mucking around, barmy idiot!’

‘I am your friend, but not he.’ That doesn’t sound like my best mate.

‘Who are you?’ There’s no reason to be afraid, yet a shiver skims down my back and I pull my coat closed against the cool air. Am I going mad?

‘I am the spirit of this place, where the rivers reach their fingers deep into the land and the promontories stand guard over the estuaries.’ The voice washes through me with the gentle inexorability of the tide.  ‘I am the flood caressing the mud and distributing life. I am the oysters dreaming quiet dreams on the sea bed, the crabs scuttling in the murky dark, the terns gliding on air currents above the water’s surface. I am the salt air, the crumbling shore, the stubborn salt-bush.’

I shake my head. ‘This is ridiculous.’ I’m going to end up on local radio as the victim of Prank of the Week. But I don’t turn and walk away like I should; have I become glued to the spot, trapped by the sucking mud? I experimentally shift my heel, just in case.

‘I have known you since you were born,’ the voice continues. ‘I have watched you fish and sail and paddle and throw stones and grow up. And now you are running away.’

‘I’m not running away! I’m just… in a bit of a hurry. We’ll be late if we don’t leave soon.’

‘I do not mean that. I sense in you an intention to flee, to leave behind all you know without thought of return.’

My face grows hot. Whoever—whatever—this is, I don’t have to listen. Tension vibrates though my legs at a point just below movement. What am I waiting for?

Aware I’m either in the presence of a supernatural force or having a daft conversation with the mud, I draw a deep breath. ‘It’s not…’ Swallow, try again. ‘I’m not fleeing. We’ve been planning this for ages—there are tons of jobs down in London right now, and we’ve found a decent place to rent that won’t break the bank. Em’s already got work lined up, and I have five interviews next week. And when we’re not working, there’s so much to do—sports, concerts, shows, exhibitions. You know… adult things?’ Well, that was lame.

My suspicion rises. ‘Are you trying to stop me from leaving?’ I force fake defiance into my tone as I address this unfathomable entity.

A sigh, the breath of sea breeze through elder branches, ruffles my hair. ‘Son, you misunderstand what life is, if you believe that of me.’

I can’t help laughing. ‘Son? I’m thirty-two.’

The sigh slides into the mournful call of a curlew. ‘I am far older, and you are all my sons and daughters. It is against my nature to prevent any of you from going where your path takes you; life must move on, must change and evolve in its myriad of tiny and momentous ways.’

‘Really. Because I could have sworn you don’t want me to go.’ Perhaps I should be more cautious, but this conversation is drawing me in, making me bolder.

‘I do not wish you to run from here without clarity of what you are running towards; that is how life becomes dry and diminished, its roots torn from the ground without finding new soils and springs to nourish them.’

I scuff the toe of my trainer through the shreds of seaweed deposited on the side of the track. ‘Well, that’s good then… but, well, don’t you lose us when we go somewhere else?’ I don’t know why I need the answer, but it feels important.

‘Oh, my son, my son.’ Is the voice in my head now? ‘The seas and rivers and land are all joined, and nobody is ever truly lost to me. You may go on to dwell beside new waters, but there will still be a connection. You will always take part of me with you, and part of you will always remain here. You will be welcomed when you return.’

I nod at the sense, the rightness in this, despite the weird way the message has been delivered. ‘Look, ah, thank you for that. But I do need to go, so—goodbye. For now.’ And, feeling more than a little foolish, I wave at the muddy river before making my way to the familiar solidity of the sea wall. My steps are lighter now, a weight eased though I wasn’t aware of it on my shoulders.

The tide can carry me out, and back again.