A The SandCastle

The day had already begun badly with a row which started over
nothing, a trivial disagreement, and blossomed rapidly into the angry
release of tension and stress which Martin and Liz were becoming
familiar with. Since Martin lost his job at the telecoms company where
he had worked for nearly 15 years the rows had got worse and worse and
Martins depression had elongated and deepened. Liz, a still handsome
woman in her late thirties, slim and graceful with her blonde bobbed
hair and her well-cut features, had sympathised at first with his
predicament but as the depression took hold she had found it harder and
harder to cope with the situation. The row technically over she worked
at the kitchen sink, washing up the last dishes form breakfast and
wiping over the worktops, her eyes reddened with crying and the tracks
of tears still visible on her cheek.

Martin busied himself with loading the car, trying to avoid her,
desperate to cool the atmosphere and forget the row. Older than his
wife by several years Martin was a quiet, nervous man who had never
quite become comfortable with his own body. His brown hair was thinning
now, and his blue eyes were acquiring the deep circles that mean many
sleepless nights. His two sons, David and Michael, played around in
front of the garage, chattering excitedly and squabbling in their
normal fashion. David was nine, a good-looking boy with tousled brown
hair and an engaging smile. His younger brother Michael was slighter in
build, paler, less strong, less confident. Little Amy, pretty Amy, only
4, was in the kitchen helping her mother.

The trip to the beach had been planned all week and at least the
weather was being kind. It was May already and the morning was bright
and clear and warm enough although it was not exactly sunbathing
weather.

Martin chivvied the children into the car and their safety-belts and
loaded Angus the labrador into the back of the big estate car where he
began to bark with excitement.

His wife emerged from the front door, laden with various coats, bags
and all the necessary accessories to the trip. Martin rushed to help
her and smiling at her tried to re-establish some kind of
understanding. She was not ready and ignored him, while busying herself
with loading all the stuff, and checking the children were safely
seated.

"OK folks," said Martin in his best cheerful Dad voice, "Lets hit the
road !".

"David ! ", Liz was trying to arbitrate, "Leave him alone !".

Martin reversed carefully out of the driveway and turned left, heading
for the A42 and the coast road along to West Bingham beach. He tried to
just concentrate on his driving, trying to ignore the cacophony coming
from the back of the car, the kids fighting, the dog yapping. Liz sat
quietly, staring ahead, praying that the day would be OK, but sure
inside herself that it wouldn't be.

They got stuck in traffic, of course, and crawled along for about
twenty minutes to get through Barnham and out onto the long quiet road
that would take them through the woods and down to West Bingham and the
long sandy beach. Martin could feel himself becoming more and more
tense. Liz sensed his mood collapsing and tried to help.

"Just relax Martin, we'll get there," she offered.

"Yeah, of course, I know," he returned trying to maintain some
semblance of calm. He felt as if he was falling again, as if everything
around him was exploding silently.

Mercifully they finally got through the congested little town and
joined the faster moving traffic heading to the sea. Martin began to
feel a little better, he loved the tall lines of poplars which stood
sentry along this long quiet road , the green hedgerows and the dusty
tracks which led away from the road. They pulled up on the grass above
the beach and unpacked for the day, Liz marshalling the children and
giving each of them something to carry. Slowly the little delegation
moved down onto the beach and after the usual search for a good spot,
settled down on the sand. The children rushed off to play and Martin
and Liz sat on the big tartan travel rug, watching them laughing and
running around on the warm sand. The sea twinkled and sparkled in the
sunlight, its vast blue mass stretching away to the horizon.

"Just try to relax, love," Liz pleaded with him.

Martin smiled at her, everything would be OK now they were at the
beach, he would enjoy the day and forget his stress for a while.

"OK I will, I'm sorry - I ?, " he tailed off.

"Its OK, I know,"

Martin broke out the buckets and spades and set off the join the
children on the sand, leaving Liz to read her book in peace. They saw
him coming and rushed to join in, eagerly grabbing a plastic spade
each.

"Come on Daddy," cried little Amy, "lets make the biggest one ever
!"

Martin drew out the shape of the castle on the damp sand and they began
to dig. After a few minutes Liz came over to help out. The sandcastle
was taking shape, an outer wall with turrets positioned every foot
along its length and an inner keep which would keep the defenders safe
against attack. Liz and the kids were totally absorbed in the task of
building the sand castle, enjoying themselves, forgetting everything
else. As they dug the water kept flowing in, threatening to flood the
castle and the boys kept digging manfully, baling out the water.

Martin drew back for a moment and realised what they were doing. There
on the sand they were all working together to build something which
would make them safe, walls against the world which would save the
family from fragmentation and disaster.

They were trying to save the marriage, as the afternoon ticked by and
the seagulls wheeled and cawed overhead.