Ten hours

He arrived at ten in the morning. She was going to meet him at six in the evening. In front of the pier.
He couldn't wait. And yet he had eight hours of waiting to endure. He walked along the front, looking at things that he would point out to her later - the mis-spelled sign, the house that looked like a sad face... At twelve, he stopped for fish and chips but couldn't bear to sit still long enough to eat it. He gave most of it to the gulls.

At three, he went to a bookshop where he spent an hour choosing a present for her. He wanted something that looked as though he had picked it out after only a second's thought and yet was absolutely perfect. In the end, he chose a small book of paintings by Klee - she had once commented on how much she like him. But he carefully obscured the, rather expensive, price so that it looked like a casual purchase.

And then it was five o'clock and he could, reasonably, go to the pier now - just in case she got in early...

At seven, he had to admit to himself that she wasn't coming.

And, at eight, he left.