Castles in the Sand

It was the summer of 1976, the hottest for 350 years. The sand burned my feet as I scampered along Tenby beach chasing a big, brightly colored plastic beach ball. I was seventeen years old and couldn’t have been happier.

Mum and Dad had joined Pete and me on the beach, a rare treat — taking a break from the farm did them good. I smiled across at them when I finally captured the ball; they were both snoozing in stripey deck chairs, knowing that I was keeping an eye on my younger siblings.

Millie and Greg were building sandcastles — Millie the workhorse collecting water from the fast receding shoreline, and Greg the architect, planning, building, and mapping out his grand castle design complete with moat and a driftwood bridge.

“Hey! Are you going to throw that thing over?” Pete called out, waving his arms. He was wearing black Speedos and standing on a tartan picnic blanket we had laid out earlier.

I ran back, tucking the ball under my arm, quickly jumping onto the rug.

“The sand’s too hot to stand on! It’s burning my feet.” I said, surprised.

Afraid the beach ball would get scooped up by a passing breeze, I let the air out and folded it up, tucking it into my straw beach bag alongside me as I sat down on the blanket to join the man that I loved.

Pete draped his arm gently around my shoulders, which felt hot and slightly sore.

“Let me put some more sun cream on you, you’ll burn otherwise.”

I reached into my bag and pulled out some Hawaiian Tropic sun cream which smelt of coconuts and reminded me of a tropical beach. I handed it to Pete who rubbed some gently into my shoulders and back. He handed me the bottle back and I rubbed some into my chest, tummy and legs, before passing it back to him.

My skimpy shoe-string bikini barely covered my assets and I could see Pete admiring my tanned, taut body and I felt a pang of desire as he started rubbing the sun cream into his toned chest and abs. He was a good-looking guy and I adored him. We had been together for nine months and it felt like the real deal, but we were both young and there was no rush.

We lay down side by side and he took my hand in his as we lazed in the sun.

Dad had perked up after his snooze and was looking at his watch when I looked across at him a while later. Although it was still early, I knew that he and Mum would have to dash back to the farm in time to milk the cows. I was hoping to stay out late with Pete, who would drop me back home afterward, but it all depended on Mum and whether she could cope without me for the evening milking shift.

I could see them talking and Mum was nodding her head. I hated the constraints of living on a farm. I wasn’t going to stay after my college course and had decided that I was going to leave home as soon as I could. I had a wanderlust sense of adventure and I wanted to explore the world. Hopefully, with Pete.

“We’re going to have to start to pack up and head off home, love,” Dad called over.

My heart sank. That meant that me and Pete would have to leave the beach too. I glanced at Pete and made a ‘sorry’ face and shrugged my shoulders.

“Why don’t we stop off for a quick drink on the way back?” Pete suggested, standing up and shaking some sand off a towel with bright yellow mermaids on it.

Mum and Dad had a quick conflab and nodded, “OK, just a quick one, then.”

By the time we had gathered up our stuff and rounded up Millie and Greg, who both looked as though they had been out in the sun for a bit too long, it was getting on for four o’clock. Usually, people would have been making a move but on this glorious Saturday in August, everybody looked set to stay for some time yet. I wished so much that me and Pete could have stayed but I had to do as I was told.

“Where are you parked,” Pete asked my Dad.

“Up near the Castle Hotel. Where are you?”

“We parked outside my sister’s house on Montrose Road. It’s right across from the Castle Hotel. When we get back to the car, you can follow me if you like. I know a lovely little pub on the way back, it’s called The Ship and Anchor. They serve great food too if you fancy a bite to eat.”

I knew what Pete was doing and I smiled at him and mouthed ‘thank you’. He was trying to prolong our time together and that just made me love him even more.

Dad didn’t respond to the suggestion of a meal and merely said, “We’ll see you back at the car then,” as he herded Millie and Greg onto the track leading through the sand dunes, laden with beach paraphernalia. Mum had gone on ahead.

Wearing flip-flops, shorts, and a fresh white tee-shirt that I had popped on before leaving the beach, I loaded our things into the back of Pete’s Hillman Imp and settled into the front seat, grateful for the furry seat covers protecting me from scorching the back of my legs. He turned the key in the ignition and fired the car up, the faint smell of Castrol GTX permeating my nostrils as the engine roared into life.

“Ah, here comes your Dad,” he announced, raising his hand in acknowledgment before expertly maneuvering the car out from the tightly parked cars and driving quickly away.

“Oops, I’d better slow down with your Dad following me…” he smiled and his whole face lit up into a mischievous grin. He was wearing jeans and a white cheesecloth shirt and he looked absolutely gorgeous. He smelt great too: he was wearing Denim for Men that I had bought him for his birthday.

Rod Stewart blared out, “I am sailing, I am sailing, home again ‘cross the sea,” from the eight-track stereo that Pete had installed and the traffic eased as we turned off the mini roundabout to go up The Maudlins and headed out of the town.

Pete checked the rear view mirror to see that Dad had taken the correct exit and he was pleased to see that we hadn’t lost them.

As we drove up the hill listening to Rod booming out, “We are sailing,” in his gravelly voice, Pete changed down a gear. From nowhere, a car appeared over the brow of the hill and I screamed. Everything happened so quickly; there was nowhere for Pete to go and nothing that anybody could do.

I heard a sickening crunch and felt warm and wet. Then silence. I was in terrible pain. My teeth were in agony and I couldn’t see. I could hear Mum’s voice and I sensed somebody at the side window. The door opened and she said, “Rosy! Are you alright? Oh, God, somebody, call an ambulance. Quick!”

I was drenched in blood. Dazed and stunned, surrounded by broken glass and twisted metal, I could hear sirens wailing in the distance. Neither of us could move and I sensed that Pete was badly injured.

Firemen quickly got to work on cutting Pete out of the wreckage and I was lifted out and taken to a nearby ambulance where I was carefully laid onto a stretcher. Pete was laid out on the stretcher next to me and he reached across and took my hand in his.

“I love you,” he whispered. And then his hand dropped.

The paramedics did their best to save him, but it was too late.