Page 65 of The Wishing Tree Beside the Shor
‘Yes, I did. My whole world fell apart without y—’
He’s cut off by the shriek of a child as they find a Boris Johnson gnome holding a butter knife in one hand and a decapitated slug in the other, swiftly followed by the yell of Tonya as she rushes off to give Mr Barley a bollocking and another lecture on child-appropriate gnomes.
He meets my eyes and the laughter we’ve both been trying to hold back bursts out.
‘We’re still a team, right?’ His eyes are crinkling at the corners and every time I think the laughter has stopped, I start giggling again.
‘Right.’
‘Well, until you go home. Then I’ll have to get used to life without you again.’ He’s suddenly serious as he looks down and then looks back up at me. ‘I’m not sure how easy that’ll be.’
It’s a good thing we’re standing near the checkout tables because I need to hold on to one for support. My voice chokes when I go to say something, and all I can do is look up and give him a nod.
It’s not going to be easy for me either. In fact, right now, going home seems like the worst plan I’ve ever had.
Chapter 15
I think it’s a joke when I get to the strawberry patch the following Saturday morning. Ryan’s waiting for me at the gate with a sack full of beach buckets and tools over his shoulder and a loop of rope running through the handles of more colourful plastic shovels and spades than I’ve ever seen before. It looks like he’s raided the contents of the Lemmon Cove surf shop and gone to a few others on the way back for good measure.
‘Are you serious?’
‘We don’t joke about the sandcastle competition in Lemmon Cove, Fee.’ He puts a stern hand on his hip, but when I reach him, he slides a palm around my waist and bends to press his lips to my cheek, and I’m surrounded by his crisp green cologne, like a mix of fresh cut grass and new leaves emerging in spring. ‘We need to get down there to secure the best spot. People are claiming the best ones already.’
‘It’s not even nine a.m. yet!’
His hand closes around mine. ‘Exactly. Don’t want to be late!’
I wave to the residents as he tugs me past the strawberry patch. Ffion is on tree duty, sitting in the deckchair with the chain draped across her, reading parts of her romance novel aloud to Baaabra Streisand. The sheep looks more interested in the sweets Godfrey is eating. The strawberry patch is open early to accommodate all the extra visitors, and there’s already a queue at the punnet table, being manned by Alys and Mr Barley.
‘Good luck!’ they all chorus as Ryan hurries us onwards.
The coastal path is busier than I can ever remember seeing it. There are families and groups of friends heading downwards, all carrying buckets and spades and various sandcastle-building paraphernalia, some of which I can’t even identify.
The hedges rise on either side as the path slopes further, and we have to wait as the path bottlenecks to a little wooden gate, and then turns sandy, with grass and brambles on either side and a picnic area full of wooden tables and benches, and then it turns into the narrow climb down a rocky path that crosses diagonally across the cliffside before turning steeply downwards towards dunes and the open beach.
Ryan’s grip on my hand tightens like he’s trying to reassure me. The path is only wide enough for one of us at a time, and he goes first, walking sideways so he can keep a check on me, so familiar with the walk that he barely even looks where he’s going.
I used to run up and down this path with ease, like one of those sure-footed goats you see on sheer mountainsides in David Attenborough documentaries, and I suddenly want nothing more than to do that again. If I lived here, I’d go down to the beach every day, get fit again. Feel alive again. I’ve felt like my lungs have expanded since I’ve been here, free of the traffic pollution in London.
The beach is already packed. There are banners up advertising the local surf shop who sponsors the competition. Someone’s hauled a food and refreshments van across from the next beach while the tide is out, and there’s a podium set up for the three judges who assign us one of the seven-by-seven metre square plots the beach has been divided into, and give us a list of rules that I look over as Ryan fills in our entry form, and gives our team the name Seaside Sycamore Champions.
It really is serious business now. Three hours’ building time, a maximum of six people per team, a strict list of permitted tools and a ban on sand additives, and the only embellishments permitted are ones found on the beach today. Last time I was here for the annual Lemmon Cove sandcastle competition, it was a few kids with buckets and spades.
‘We’re this way. See? You need to be early to snatch the ideal spots.’ Ryan takes my hand again and starts walking to one of the huge squares drawn out in the sand.
He’s wearing black three-quarter-length trousers that look like they were purpose-made to show off muscular calves, and a navy T-shirt with a surfboard on it. Sand has blown into his dark hair already, and when he stops at our assigned square, I reach up and brush it out, and for just a moment, his eyes close and I can forget we’re on a crowded beach.
‘Ooo-ooo,’ Tonya coos from above, and we jump apart to see her, Cynthia, and Alys waving from the clifftop under the tree. Mr Barley is holding Baaabra up on her hind legs and waving her hoof in our direction.
We wave back and give each other a guilty look, like they’ve caught us doing something that would make the gnomes blush, even though it was perfectly innocent.
The other teams already in place are planning their builds with military precision. There are charts and everything. One bloke has got papers spread out on the sand in front of him and is using a pointer to direct his teammates. When he catches me looking, he steps in front of his papers to block my view like I might try to steal his plans.
‘So, what are we doing?’ I go to speak to Ry, but when I turn around, he’s on his knees in the sand, plotting out our square.
‘Right, we need a moat around the edge here.’ He uses a finger to draw an imaginary line, because no actual construction work is allowed to start yet. ‘And then the building goes here, and we need the strawberry patch here, and the tree right at the end here.’
‘How often have you done this?’ I can’t hide how impressed I am. I haven’t even thought about building a sandcastle since I was still in primary school.
