Chapter 13
Thirteen
Member of the Danish Skagen Group. Realist painter of beach scenes. Examine cloud formations and depiction of light.
(Taken from Calliope Thorne’s teaching notes.)
Having waved goodbye to Tracey, Johnny took Callie’s hand and led her along the promenade and down the concrete slope to the beach.
She tried not to dwell on how natural it felt to hold hands with him.
After being resolutely man-less for most of her adult life she couldn’t believe how easy it was being with him.
As they picked their way through the family groups on the beach, she asked, ‘Where are we going?’
He grinned, impassive behind his sunglasses. ‘You’ll see.’
The sand was flat and wet, the tide having not long receded, the sun shone high above and a gentle breeze wafted briny air towards them.
It was a perfect day for the beach. As they strolled towards a red and white striped tent, from which Bay Radio blasted out golden oldies, her suspicions grew.
Squeals and laughter rose above ‘Club Tropicana’ and she could see small groups of children hard at work with spades.
‘Hi,’ an affable-looking youth in a high-vis jacket carrying a clipboard said. ‘You looking to enter?’
‘We are,’ Johnny answered, equally cheerfully. He peered at the name badge the boy wore. ‘If that’s okay, Eli.’
‘Cool. Just let me have the names and ages of your children and I’ll jot them down and they can get started.
’ Eli peered behind them. ‘No buckets and spades? No worries, we have spares.’ He paused, looking uncertain, his dark hair flopping over his forehead.
‘Sorry, I can’t see your children. They can’t begin until I enter them. ’
‘It’s us who’d like to enter,’ Johnny said.
‘You?’ Eli’s mouth fell open.
‘Yes, hope that’s not a problem? I can give you our names and ages, if you like.’ Johnny turned to Callie. ‘Unless you don’t want to reveal your age?’
‘I’m fine with that,’ she answered on a long breath, beginning to get a fit of the giggles.
‘Erm… ah… I don’t think it’s against the rules,’ Eli stuttered, making Callie feel sorry for him. He didn’t look much beyond twenty. ‘But I’ll have to check. Hold on a sec.’ He disappeared into the red and white tent from where they heard an animated discussion and then uproarious laughter.
‘Are you serious, Johnny?’ Callie hissed over Katy Perry. ‘California Gurls’ had replaced Wham. ‘A sandcastle competition?’
‘Why not? Think we need to do something frivolous, don’t you? And we’re by the seaside and on holiday. It’s what you do. Besides, I can use it for the article.’
‘What article?’
‘The one I’m writing on British seaside holidays. Great research.’
‘Oh yes, I remember you mentioning it.’ She grinned, slightly mollified. ‘I suppose, if it’s in the interests of research, I don’t see how we can’t not do it. Consider me a fellow constructor in sand, then.’
Eli returned, looking pink and flustered. ‘Boss says you’re good to go. We’ll waive the questions, but you still need to pay the entrance fee. It’s three pounds each. All proceeds to the RNLI. It’s a Lifeboat Week fundraiser.’
‘In that case, I’ll add a donation.’ Johnny popped a few twenty-pound notes into the yellow bucket Eli held out.
‘Wow. Thanks, that’s well cool. Go through out the other side of the tent and you’ll see what to do.
Well,’ he amended, ‘I suppose you’ll know what to do.
You being adults and that. Have fun guys.
’ Callie could feel Eli’s bemused gaze on their backs until his attention was claimed by a family of five.
They went into the tent. A deck had been set up by Bay Radio, from where a middle-aged man wearing headphones grinned at them. ‘When I’m Sixty-four’ by The Beatles began to play.
‘Cheek.’ Callie said to Johnny. ‘I’m only forty-two.’
He grabbed a couple of pastel sparkly spades and two buckets from a dark corner of the tent and pointed them, through the open flap, towards the sea. ‘Come on. Work to do. We need to find our spot. Optimum sand to sea ratio.’
‘Thought this was supposed to be fun,’ Callie teased, following him.
This part of the beach, the one nearest town, was pegged out with blue nylon rope enclosing the space.
It was awash with groups of children industriously creating sandcastles of all shapes and sizes.
What looked like the judge, in a high-vis waistcoat and with another clipboard, passed between them, taking pictures and putting a flag into those which had been finished.
Although Callie was relieved to see family groups which included adults, she couldn’t see any child-free adults.
Embarrassingly, it looked as if they were the only participants over ten years of age.
Scanning the beach, a hand held up to shield her eyes from the blazing sun, she grinned.
There was another adult. And he was definitely making sandcastles.
‘Oh, there is one grown-up on his own,’ she said. ‘Look over there.’
In the drier sand near the wall separating beach from prom, was a man carving sand sculptures. He’d gathered quite a crowd. Amongst his creations was a tyrannosaurus rex, a giant gorilla, and most impressive, a detailed and to scale pirate ship.
‘Hope you’re not going to attempt to rival that.’ She laughed, as Johnny glanced at the sand sculptor.
‘You never know. I’m a man of many talents.’ He resumed studying the beach for the perfect spot. ‘Over there,’ he pointed and strode off seawards.
Callie was thankful he’d chosen to be away from most of the children; it made her slightly less self-conscious.
The sea lapped contentedly not far from their feet, frothing as it met the sand.
Gulls called and swooped and the air smelled of seaweed, salt and hot sun.
It was the most delicious day. All introspection from earlier fled and she gave herself up to the simple pleasures of sun, sea and sand. ‘What’s the plan?’
Johnny slid his sunglasses onto the top of his head and surveyed her with narrowed eyes. ‘Moat, I think, don’t you? With a channel to the sea. And Camelot?’ He chuckled.
‘Nothing like ambition. Does that make you King Arthur?’ She began to mark out a circle for the moat.
‘Only if you’ll be my Guinevere,’ he answered cheerfully, beginning to dig.
‘Didn’t she come to a sticky end, what with Lancelot and all? Can I be Morgan le Faye instead?’ She paused and looked up. ‘Always fancied being a baddie.’
He frowned over. ‘Is that the one depicted in all those torrid Victorian paintings, with all the hair and dramatic robing?’
‘Torrid Victorian paintings? Wash your mouth out, Johnny Starling. Nineteenth century art happens to be a favourite of mine, especially the Pre-Raphaelites. They loved a bit of red hair.’
‘I can definitely see you in wind-blown purple velvet. Somewhere in my memory I can picture a painting of Morgan le Faye.’ He straightened, thinking. ‘Or was that Samson and Delilah? A head in a pot?’
Callie giggled. ‘Maybe you’re thinking of Isabella and the pot of basil.
Samson got away with only his hair cut off, not his head.
There’s a painting which is an illustration of a Keats poem of Isabella and her murdered lover, Lorenzo.
It’s a Holman Hunt. Poor Lorenzo’s head was chopped off and Isabella buried it in a pot of basil and watered it with her tears. ’
‘Jeez,’ Johnny said affably.
‘You may be a bit of a writer, but you know diddly-squat about art.’
‘Or Keats apparently. That poem slipped by me.’ He pointed his sparkly mauve plastic spade at her. ‘And here’s me having visited most of the major galleries in the world. A shocking admission.’
‘Then I’ll just have to complete your education.’
‘Is that a threat or a promise?’ He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
‘Whatever you want it to be. Now, get digging, King Arthur, or the tide’ll be back and sweep your castle out with it.’
For thirty contented minutes they dug, filled buckets and finally cut a channel to the sea which allowed the moat to fill.
‘If I say so myself, that’s a pretty good effort.’ Callie stood back. Rubbing her sandy hands vigorously down her shorts, she took a photo on her phone. ‘Wait until Frida sees this. She’ll think I’ve lost my mind.’
Johnny laughed, took a few pics on his phone and then slung a casual arm around her shoulder. ‘Love the crenellated walls. It’s a masterpiece.’
The girl with the flags approached. She had lustrous dark red hair and a beaming smile. ‘Hey. Looking good. Have your kids finished this? If so, I’ll take a pic and stick a flag in it. I’m judging them all at the end of the day.’
‘Thing is, we don’t–’ Callie began.
The woman did a double take as realisation dawned.
‘Oh yeah, Eli said. My little brother,’ she explained.
‘Grudgingly helping me out, claiming to be bored rigid. Think you’ve livened up his day no end.
You guys entered yourselves, didn’t you?
Fabbie. And you put in a really generous donation too.
Can’t wait until I tell Jamie, that’s my husband.
He crews on our lifeboat.’ She shoved the clipboard under her arm and thrust out a hand.
‘I’m Lucie. Can I say thank you on behalf of Lullbury Bay RNLI?
If you ever fancy a pint of rough cider, you can find me and Jamie plus some of the other crew in The Old Harbour on a Friday night. Come on down. It’s a good craic.’
Callie took her hand and shook it. ‘Callie Thorne.’
Johnny stepped forward. ‘And Johnny Starling. Nice to meet you, Lucie. And thanks for the invite. We may well take you up on your offer. I’m writing an article on British seaside holidays. I’d love to get your viewpoint.’
‘That why you entered the sandcastle comp?’ Lucie giggled.
Johnny glanced at Callie with a conspiratorial smile. ‘It was one reason.’
‘Well, if you want the lowdown on Lullbury Bay, it’s no problem. Me and Jamie have lived here all our lives so what we don’t know about the town isn’t worth knowing. I was a Wiscombe before I married, still am really. Big local family, there are millions of us around.’
‘I know Dave Wiscombe from the Art School,’ Callie said.
‘My uncle. Have you entered the competition? Hang on,’ Lucie gave Callie a penetrating look.
‘You’re Calliope Thorne, the artist who does those huge flowery abstracts, aren’t you?
They’re fabulous. I had a quick look-see when Uncle Dave was putting them up.
I’d love one but haven’t the wall space.
I live in a little flat next to the yacht club. ’
‘I am.’ Callie blushed, embarrassed at being recognised. ‘Lovely place to live.’
‘It’s ace and handy for Jamie to get to a shout but it’s not huge. And I’m a student, so moving out isn’t an option any time soon.’
‘What are you studying?’ Johnny asked.
‘English lit.’ Lucie pulled a face. ‘Which I love as I’m a real bookworm but it’s not exactly going to get me walking into a job.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m an English lit grad. I’ve made a living of a sorts from journalism.’
‘Have you?’ Lucie looked animated. ‘I’d love to talk to you about all that sometime, if I can. I’d like to write books, but fiction doesn’t pay the rent unless you’re JK Rowling.’
‘Be more than happy to. Then I’ll–’ he glanced at Callie, ‘–we’ll see you in the pub.’
‘Just don’t ask him anything about Keats,’ Callie put in, unable to resist, receiving a poke from Johnny’s elbow.
‘Okaaay,’ Lucie said, looking bemused. ‘It’s a date, then,’ she added, more cheerfully. ‘And I take it you’ll both be at the Shakespeare up at the castle?’
‘Oh yes. Wouldn’t miss it,’ Johnny said.
‘See you there too then. And can I just say again how brilliant it is that you’ve entered the sandcastle comp.
I’ve just about had enough today, of precocious Fenellas and Tarquins and their helicopter mummies doing all the work for them.
Oof, better go, duty calls.’ Lucie looked over to where Eli was trying to deal with a queue.
‘Need to rescue Eli. Don’t forget to take a pic of your masterpiece. ’
‘Already done.’ Callie waggled her phone. ‘But thanks for the reminder. My daughter would never forgive me if she thought she’d missed out on this.’
Lucie giggled. ‘Here, hand me your buckets and spades, I’ll take them back for you and then you can escape.’ She began to jog over to the tent and put up a hand as she went. ‘See you sometime then.’
As they meandered through the sandcastles, Callie said, ‘You were very kind to Lucie.’
Johnny frowned. ‘Was I? I didn’t think I did much. When I started out, I had a fantastic mentor. I like opportunities to pay it forward. And I like talking to young people.’
‘Have you any children of your own?’
He shook his head. ‘None that I know of.’
‘Would you like some?’
‘Think I’m happy being an uncle. All the fun and none of the responsibility.’
‘True.’ Callie looked about her happily, neatly dodging a beach ball.
She stooped and threw it back to the owner.
‘You know, I don’t think I’ve been anywhere so friendly.
Almost straight away I met an eccentric but charming old man called Austin, then there’s Tracey in the Sea Spray Café and another woman I met in there called Avril.
She was lovely. Hadn’t moved here all that long ago herself. ’
Clambering up the steep sandy steps to the promenade, they strolled westwards, the sun in their eyes.
Callie sucked in a deep breath of briny sea air, inhaling scents of vinegary chips and sweet cloying candyfloss.
‘I mean, I know it’s a cliché, running away to the seaside but I could almost see myself living here. ’
Johnny raised his brows. ‘Big change.’
‘And a pipe dream. Mortgage to pay. Life and friends in Worcester.’
He shrugged, putting a companionable arm through hers. ‘Mortgages can be covered by renting property out. It’s only a jaunt up the M5 back to see your friends.’ He spread an arm to the busy seaside-y scene. ‘And, living here, you’d be popular with visitors.’
‘Oh yes, a really quick jaunt up the M5. On all days except an August Saturday.’ Callie lifted her face to the sun.
‘You’ve moved all over the world. Moving somewhere new isn’t a big thing for you.
I haven’t. I’ve lived in the same city all my life.
’ If only I could relocate here. The treacherous thought nagged.
She shoved it away. It was nothing more than a dream.