A Break On The Beach

An accident has unexpected results in this delightful short story by Eirin Thompson.

going to find the money,” I told Sonia at Parents and Toddlers.

“But you need to get away, especially after last summer was ruined for you all,” she replied.

“If you don’t mind a ‘staycation’, I think there’s a place the church uses on the coast.

“Ask Hannah about it. I hear there’s only a nominal charge.”

I’d nothing to lose, so when Hannah, the curate, called us to the hatch for tea and biscuits, I enquired.

“Emma, I’m glad you asked. I was just thinking it might be of use to you and the kids.”

“But I don’t belong to the church,” I admitted.

“You don’t have to be regular attendees to use the caravans. They’re for anyone who needs them.

“There’s a flat fee of twenty pounds to cover cleaning when you’ve gone, but other than that you just provide your own food.

“I must warn you, it’s basic – the site is pretty much a small paddock at the back of Andy and Sheena’s house.

“The two caravans have running hot and cold water, electricity and flushing toilets, but that’s about it.

“There’s a path to a small beach, and the little seaside town is a fiveminute drive away.”

“Sounds great! How do I apply?”

“You’ve just done it. I’ll text you the weeks that are still available.”

“And you say there are two caravans?”

“Yep. You might be lucky and find you’ve booked the same week as another family. I can’t say for sure.”

****

Although it had been raining when we arrived, the sun came out while we had our snack.

“Can we go to the beach?” Jodie and Kit began to clamour.

“Just the little nearby one today,” I said. “We still have our unpacking to do.”

They tugged their swimming things from the beach bag and went to change.

I put Sophie in a swimming nappy and her UV-protective suit, slathered her face in sun cream and donned my own togs.

I checked the beach bag held everything we needed, and off we went.

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone in the other caravan,” Jodie observed, as we passed it on our way to the path.

“Maybe they’ll arrive later this evening,” I replied. “Or perhaps they can’t come until tomorrow.”

The beach was tiny and perfect – no-one to bother us, and enough room for Jodie and Kit to play Frisbee on the sand.

A week away at the coast was just the thing the kids and I needed!

It was Sophie’s first time in the sea, and she seemed to go into a trance when I put her in her floating seat and held her hands.

Her brother and sister jumped over the waves, splashed each other and swam, under orders not to go out too far.

It seemed our holiday was off to the best of starts.

****

I was playing “Peep-o” with Sophie from behind a towel, with one eye on Kit and Jodie still in the water, when a new figure came striding down “our” path.

He was tall, with dark, longish hair, and wearing blue jeans and a white, collarless shirt that billowed in the breeze.

I’d have guessed he was in his early thirties like me. “Hi!” I said.

The man made a noise that sounded a lot like a grunt.

He walked past me and Sophie without making eye contact, looked around as if dissatisfied with the smallness of the beach, then, with apparent reluctance, sat down on the sand next to us.

I saw that he was holding a paperback book.

“Any good?” I asked, trying to be friendly.

“Would I be reading it if it wasn’t?” he replied.

Ouch!

I determined not to attempt any further conversation, but instead returned to my game with my daughter.

“Peep-o! Peep-o, Sophie!” The man gave a huge sigh.

Well, really! He didn’t own the beach, we were only playing, and we had been there first.

“I take it you are staying in the other caravan,” he said, without looking up from his book.

“Yes,” I replied, still sure I didn’t intend to be friendly. “Staying the full week?” “Until next Saturday – yes.”

“And are all these yours?” he asked, as though I had brought three hundred children to torment him on this beach, instead of merely three.

“Yes, all mine,” I confirmed brightly. “Peep-o, Sophie! PEEP-O!”

Sophie looked at me as if I’d gone mad.

****

“Caravan dinners aren’t like dinners at home,” I explained, when the children looked askance at their boiled potatoes, slice of cold ham and chunk of tomato.

“It’s all about the art of the possible.”

“Couldn’t we have had fish fingers?” Kit asked.

“No freezer,” Jodie pointed out.

“Oh.”

“If we buy a small packet tomorrow, just before tea-time, and bring them back pretty quickly, we could manage, I suppose,” I offered.

“Ham,” Jodie mouthed at Sophie.

“Amm. Amm,” Sophie managed.

“Clever Sophie!” Kit observed. “Can I go out and play keepy-up now, Mum?” “Dishes first,” I told him. “OK. I’ll load the dishwasher, and Jodie can wash the pot.”

“Dishwasher?” Jodie arched an eyebrow. “Do you see a dishwasher, Kit?”

“You’ve got to be kidding – we have to wash the dishes like in the olden days?”

“’Fraid so,” I told him. “But, hey, tell you what, since it’s our first night, I’ll do them.”

“Aw, thanks Mum!”

I even got a kiss for that. “I’ll help tomorrow, I promise, but bags I dry and someone else can wash.”

Kit went off with his football and Jodie took Sophie and our big rug out on to the paddock with some books and the Argos catalogue, which Sophie liked to look at and then shred.

It didn’t take long to wash up, and soon I joined the kids outside, using the caravan step as my perch.

I’d brought a bottle of white wine, but with no space in the minuscule fridge, the glass I’d poured out for myself was lukewarm.

Nevertheless, I savoured it as the three children entertained themselves.

Our neighbour was enjoying the evening sun in a deckchair across the way.

Seeing him all alone with his book, I decided to try again.

“Can I offer you a glass of wine?” I called over. “It’s a bit warm, but at least it’s wet.”

Nothing. He didn’t even look up.

How rude!

“Suit yourself,” I muttered.

I was starting to get some idea of why he had ended up on holiday all on his own.

****

The flimsy caravan curtains did nothing to keep out the early morning sun, and Sophie was up and raring to go at halfpast five.

We hadn’t brought many toys, as we knew the caravan would be small, so I encouraged her to amuse herself with a selection of large spoons and a balloon whisk.

This bought me about another seven minutes before I had to get up, get dressed and try harder.

“How about a story, little miss?” I suggested, and we reassembled the bed into a table and banquettes and settled down with Peppa Pig.

It wasn’t long before the light woke Jodie and Kit, too.

Jodie wanted breakfast. Kit wanted to go to the bigger beach.

“It’s six-thirty!” I exclaimed.

I managed to persuade everyone to have some holiday porridge, which was pretty much the same as ordinary porridge except that we sprinkled it with sachets of brown sugar I’d collected from cups of coffee-shop coffee over the year.

That kept us all busy until seven o’clock.

“At least let us go into the paddock and play,” Kit begged. “I mean, I like the caravan – the way it’s all small and everything – but there’s nothing to do inside.”

“Tell you what – go for a run around. A big one,” I told them.

“But you mustn’t make any noise – there’s a chap in the other caravan and I get the idea he isn’t overly impressed by us.

“Don’t wind him up.”

I let them slip out and watched over the half-door as Kit and Jodie tore

The door flew open and the unpleasant man leapt out

across the paddock.

“We’ll pack the car and take off to town for the day,” I said, turning back to Sophie. “See the bigger beach and leave the grumpy man to his own devices.”

I poured myself a cuppa, gave Sophie a sippy-cup of milk, and had just settled down for another story when the shrieking started. First Kit, then Jodie.

Oh, no. How could they? I’d specifically told them not to annoy our holiday neighbour!

Kit’s voice was particularly piercing.

Less than pleased, I returned to the half-door, ready to read them the riot act.

But then I noticed that

Kit was at the far side of the paddock on the ground, holding his leg.

Jodie was kneeling beside him.

I grabbed Sophie and rushed off towards them,

“Shush, Kit. I’m coming,” I called.

As I passed the second caravan, the door flew open and the unpleasant man leapt out.

“They’re not being noisy!” I began. “Kit’s hurt.”

“I can see that,” the man said. “I was coming to find out if you needed help.”

“I don’t.” I resented his assumption that I wouldn’t be equal to the situation – he didn’t know what

I’d come through.