A Day At The Beach

A family faces drama in this perceptive short story by Laura Tapper.

CAN we go crabbing later, Dad? Please?” Steve nodded and laughed as his eight-year-old daughter, Seren, ran around him, chased by their King

Charles spaniel.

“Hang on, you two! You’ll have me tied up in knots.”

He bent down to undo Buster’s lead and the boisterous pair darted off across the sand, with Wesley in tow.

Only six, he was determined to keep up with his older sibling, despite her reputation as the fastest runner in her class.

“Just what we need to complete our holiday – hours spent dangling disgusting pieces of bacon on a bit of string, so we can collect crustaceans in a bucket. Perfect.”

Steve turned to look at twelve-year-old Rosalind. Naturally tall and athletic, with striking features, she was growing up so fast.

“It’ll be good for them to have some fun, and they’ll enjoy it twice as much if their big sister shows them how it’s done.

“You loved crabbing when we all went to Torquay.”

“What was I then? Nine?” There was disgust in her voice. “All my friends go on proper holidays. It’s so unfair.”

Buster’s frantic barking drew Steve’s eyes back down the beach.

There was hardly anyone around and groups of seagulls kept landing on the sand.

As soon as they got settled, Buster would burst into the centre of them, sending them soaring and swooping into the sky.

The children laughed and chased joyfully after the dog as he was dive-bombed by the birds, who seemed intent on teasing him to get their own back.

It was clearly a game that was going to continue until they were all exhausted, and Steve took the opportunity to breathe deeply.

“Things are a bit tight at the moment and this was all I could manage. I just wanted us to have some family time together.”

“Well, Amber G. has gone to Croatia and Ebony W. is going to Italy. Even Leah T., who never goes anywhere, might be having a weekend in Bruges or something.

“And we get three days here – in a caravan.” Steve could hear the sneer in his daughter’s voice.

“What’s the deal with all the initials after everyone’s names? Are you Rosy C.?” he asked, hoping to deflect attention away from travel destinations.

“Nobody calls me Rosy any more.” It was immediately clear that he could hardly have said anything more ridiculous.

“In our year we’ve got three Leahs, four Ambers and two Ebonys. That’s because they’re decent names.

“Nobody else’s parents considered Rosalind a name worth choosing, so . . .” She didn’t bother to finish the sentence.

Steve winced. Out of the corner of his eye, he could pick up the slight tilt of her head and he knew that her eyebrows would be raised to increase the intensity of her death stare.

When and how did all this happen? Was it hormones, high school or the fact that, no matter how amicably they’d parted, he and Verity hadn’t been able to stay married?

It was almost three years since they’d realised they worked better as friends than as a couple, but they had remained absolutely a team in terms of parenting.

In their fortnightly meetings for coffee to chat about the kids, Steve had heard from Verity that she was often at her wits’ end with their eldest child, who seemed to be angry all the time about almost everything.

Now, he tried to shift direction again, searching for something to relieve the relentless negativity.

“A holiday in Britain felt like a good idea, so that we could bring Buster.

“I know you guys miss having him around every day.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Rosalind spat the words at him.

Standing still, Steve put his hand gently on his daughter’s arm to halt her progress across the sand.

“Hang on a minute. Your mum and I talked it through and agreed that it was the right thing for Buster to live with me.

“She never wanted a dog in the first place and, goodness knows, she’s got enough to do, looking after you three during the week and going to work.

“It wouldn’t be fair for her to have to walk the dog in all weathers as well. It’s important for me to do my share.” His voice softened.

It was their chance to spend time together as a family . . .

“This way, Buster will always be your dog and you still get to spend lots of time with him. Your mum and I are doing our best, you know.”

Sounds of screaming and crying made father and daughter return their attention to the expanse of sand between them and the next groyne.

Seren and Wesley were running along the bottom of the steep cliff, their heads tipped back, shrieking up at Buster.

He was climbing ever higher in pursuit of a seagull which had presumably taunted him and then flown to safety, out of the little dog’s reach.

Dumbfounded, Steve and Rosalind watched the scene for a moment or two, until Wesley went to climb the cliff after his pet.

“Stop right there, Wes!” Steve’s words were whipped away on the wind as adrenalin suddenly pumped blood into his leg muscles.

He reached his son in seconds, wrapped his arm around the boy’s waist and plucked him off the foot of the cliff, returning him to safety. He stood him on the sand next to Seren.

“Never, ever climb the cliffs – do you hear me?” He leaned over them, his voice extremely stern.

“They look solid, but they are very dangerous. They can collapse at any time. People can die on cliffs.”

Seren’s face crumpled into tears and Wesley’s mouth opened in a wail.

Rosalind put her hand on her father’s arm.

“All right, Dad – I think they get the message.”

“I hope so. This is important stuff. You guys mean the world to me and it’s my job to keep you safe!”

“But . . . but . . .” Seren struggled to get her words out between sniffs and hiccupping sobs. “What about Buster?”

They all looked up the cliffs to see the spaniel shivering down at them from his position on a grass-tufted ledge, his curly ears drooping.

“I don’t think he knows how to get down!” Wesley burst into a fresh bout of wailing.

“What if the cliff collapses? He’ll get crushed and die! You have to save him, Daddy!”

Steve looked from his son to the pathetic dog, far out of his reach on the side of the cliff.

As he’d said to the kids, it did look safe enough, with tufts of grass growing here and there.

Look more closely, though, and it was easy to see the evidence of previous cliff falls and places where the ground had slipped and slumped.

If little Wesley climbing up there was a risk, then Steve’s 12-stone body must surely create even more of a hazard.

He felt a small hand slip inside his.

“What are you going to do, Dad? How are you going to save Buster?”

The tracks of Seren’s tears were clear to see on her freckled cheeks and he knew he couldn’t be the one to betray the trust in her eyes.

“If he won’t come down, I guess I’ll have to go up and get him, sweetheart.”

The girl began to cry again.

“But I don’t want you to die, Dad!”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Rosalind got her mobile out of her pocket, her moment of empathy having evaporated in the sunshine as quickly as it appeared.

“I’m phoning the coastguard or something.” She swiped the screen and scowled.

“Or I would, if this stupid place had signal anywhere!”

She plonked herself some distance away from them, folded her arms and stared out to sea.

With Buster watching on dolefully from his lofty position, Steve kneeled on the sand and held his arms out to his two younger children.

He wanted a moment to gather his thoughts and everybody needed to calm down.

A woman in navy shorts and a T-shirt was running along the beach towards them. She had a baseball cap on, with a ponytail of hair gently bouncing behind her as she ran.

Despite his current difficulties, part of Steve took a moment to be impressed by her ability to run so easily on the sand.

He and the kids had run races when they arrived yesterday evening and he’d been exhausted in seconds. She made it look effortless.

“Are you guys OK?” The woman stopped a few paces away from them.

Between them, they explained their predicament and pointed out the unfortunate Buster, who added a pathetic whining into the mix for good measure.

The woman listened calmly and carefully to each person, nodding and clarifying here and there.

“Right, well, how about if you two go over there and start playing a runningaround game?”

Looking from Wesley to Seren, she gestured towards an area of smooth sand a little further along the beach, and away from the cliff.

“And I wonder if your sister might be able to help out with that?”

Rosalind turned round and the newcomer made eye contact with her.

“The noisier and more exciting you can make the game, the more likely it is that Buster will want to find a way down the cliff to join in,” she explained.

“He got himself up there and he should be able to get himself down – I think he’s just lost his nerve.”

Nobody spoke for a moment and all eyes were on Rosalind.

Then the twelve-year-old simply shrugged her shoulders and stood up.

Without warning, she darted towards her younger siblings, roaring like a wild animal, and they scuttled away from her, squealing and giggling.

“Try not to let him think you are too concerned – it’ll make him more nervous.” The woman turned her attention to Steve.

“Do you have any treats for him? Something he really likes?”

Shuffling through the clutter in the bag on his hip, Steve pulled out a couple of bone-shaped biscuits.

“Great. Let’s pop them on that rock.”

She pointed to a large, flat-topped boulder which was slightly away from the cliff, between Buster’s position and where the children were playing.

“Then we can sit on the sand and look like we’re involved in a conversation, a little bit further along.

“If Buster’s anything like my dog, as soon as nobody’s paying him any attention he’ll be desperate to get in on the action.”

She took the biscuits from his hand and held them up, enabling Buster to see them, before laying them on the rock.

Then she led the way to a spot from which they would be able to discreetly observe the children in one direction and the wayward pet in the other.

Steve followed her lead, relieved that someone seemed to have a plan.

“Do you think this will work? He looked pretty stuck up there.” Steve lowered himself on to the sand a small distance away from the woman.

“I’ve seen this happen a few times before.” She sat cross-legged and scooped up a handful of soft sand, letting it pour through her fingers to make a pile next to her.

“In my experience, the best thing is to take the pressure off and give them time to work it out for themselves.

“It just takes a bit of patience, that’s all.”

They sat for a few moments watching the children playing a game which seemed to be some combination of “stuck in the mud” and “dinosaurs”, the rules of which were clearly continuing to evolve.

There was a distant hush of waves on sand, as the tide was quite far out and yet to turn.

At least that was one issue they didn’t have to worry about.

“As we’re trying to look as though we’re having a conversation, we might as well get to know each other a bit.” Steve smiled.

“I’m Steve and those are my children: Rosy – sorry, Rosalind – Seren and Wesley.

“We’re on holiday for a few days in a caravan, although I mostly seem to be in the dog-house.” He pulled a wry face.

“In fact, it’s probably my fault that Buster is up there, because I took my eye off him to try to talk something through with my eldest.”

“Pleased to meet you, Steve. My name’s Emma and I’m a local.

“Living on the coast, I know all about changeable weather, so I can recognise sunshine and showers when I see them.

“Your daughter’s at a tricky age, where their moods are all over the place – I remember it well.” She rolled her eyes.

“All those people who say they’re the best years of your life have got very short, selective memories!”

Steve chuckled and then sighed.

“I worry that I don’t get it because, well . . .” He shrugged. “I can’t, you know. But her mum is having the same problems.”

He looked directly at Emma.

“We’re not together, you see, but we’re totally united when it comes to the kids.”

“Don’t turn round, but there’s something happening on the cliff,” Emma whispered.

“Come on, little fella. You can do it.”

Straining his eyes to the side without turning his head, Steve could just pick out some furry movement on his periphery.

It was all he could do to stop himself from calling out, either to Buster or to the kids, but he put all his faith in Emma, whose judgement had been completely on the money so far.

Sure enough, inch by inch, the little dog crept, squirmed and picked his way down the side of the cliff.

At one point, Rosalind quite clearly glanced over and Steve was worried that she might unintentionally put Buster off.

Instead, she turned and roared again at the other two, causing them to squeal and scatter, making the game louder and more exciting than ever.

At last, a furry bundle, with wet nose, four sandy paws and a wagging tail bounded in between Emma and Steve, smearing slobber and dog- biscuit crumbs liberally across both their legs.

“That’s the kind of greeting I like!” Emma got up, laughing and ruffling Buster’s ears before he ran off to chase the children around on the sand.

Moments later, they were all together and the foolish animal was back on the lead where they could be sure of his safety.

“I realise that Buster has shown his appreciation, but we all have a lot to thank you for.” Steve glanced round at his children and nodded to them, which caused the two younger ones to thank her.

“I’m just glad I was passing and that nobody was silly enough to climb the cliffs, no matter how worried they were about Buster.

“Otherwise, things could have been very different, and I would have been running in the opposite direction to answer this thing.”

Emma reached down to the waistband of her shorts and tapped a small device attached there.

“What do you mean?” Rosalind frowned.

“Well, now Buster is safe, let’s do some proper introductions.

“My name’s Emma and I’m a coxswain of the inshore lifeboat. Tell me your names.”

“I’m Wesley!” the little boy shouted, jumping up and down. “What’s a cotsmun?”

“Pleased to meet you, Wesley.” Emma shook his hand.

“It’s like a captain of the lifeboat. I help everybody know what they have to do, so that we don’t get in each other’s way.”

“I’m Seren and I’m eight and three-quarters.” Seren pulled herself up as tall as she could.

“You must be one of the oldest in your year, then. Were you a September baby?”

Seren nodded proudly. “I saw you running earlier – I bet you’re the fastest.” The little girl beamed. “My name’s Rosalind.” The older girl’s voice was flat, her eyes slightly downcast.

“What a pretty name,” Emma said, “and quite unusual.

“There were two