Buried Alive! (3 page)

‘Those old spades, dearie? Of course you two boys can borrow them.'

‘Wow! Great!' I said.

‘Wow and wow again and great and even greater,' said Biscuits.

We went to inspect the spades in the umbrella stand while Mum and Dad had coffee.

‘I'll have the one with the red handle,' said Biscuits, grabbing it.

‘But you had the red holiday diary,' I said.

‘Yes, so red's my colour,' said Biscuits. ‘You can have the blue.'

‘But I was the one who asked about the spades,' I said. ‘And I let you have first pick of the holiday diaries so I should have first pick now.'

‘It's only an old
spade
,' said Biscuits, but he hung on to it. He lifted it in the air like a sword. ‘I challenge you to a duel, Super-Tim.'

‘OK, OK, Biscuits-Boy,' I said, seizing the blue spade reluctantly.

I hoped he was joking. Biscuits seemed a lot stronger than me – and the spades were heavy, with sharp edges.

Biscuits lunged. I dodged. Biscuits went on lunging, slightly off balance – and very nearly speared one of the old ladies shuffling out of the dining room. She shrieked. Her friend shrieked too. Mum came running and she shrieked as well. She couldn't get cross with Biscuits because he was our guest. So she got cross with me. Which wasn't fair. Not one bit.

‘Sorry you got the telling off, Tim,' Biscuits said, when we were in our room.

‘It's OK,' I said, though I was still feeling ever so miffed.

‘Look. You can have the red spade if you really want it,' said Biscuits.

‘It's OK,' I repeated, not quite so miffed.

‘I insist,' said Biscuits.

‘Right! The red spade's mine,' I said, suddenly not miffed at all. I giggled. ‘You didn't half make that old lady jump, Biscuits.'

‘I nearly skewered her like a kebab,' said Biscuits, and he giggled too.

We mimed the mock duel all over again. We couldn't act it out because we'd been told
very firmly
that the spades had to be kept in the umbrella stand all the time we were in the hotel.

We had a duel with our toothbrushes instead and that was great fun, even though Biscuits kept winning. Then Mum came in to settle us down and she made a bit of a fuss about the frothy toothpaste all over everywhere but she didn't get too narky this time.

‘I suppose boys will be boys,' she said. ‘Now, it's been a long day and you were up very early, Tim. Time to snuggle down and go to sleep.'

We snuggled down. But of course we didn't go to sleep. We held an amazingly rude competition. Then we had a joke-telling bonanza. Biscuits knows some wonderfully disgusting jokes. I snorted so much I had to bury my head in the pillow. So did Biscuits. And then he realized he'd lain on his night-time
emergency pack of biscuits. There were an awful lot of crumbs. He had to eat them all up to get rid of them.

Then he nodded off. Biscuits makes little munching noises even in his sleep. Then I went to sleep too and dreamed I was down on the beach, building the biggest sandcastle in the world. I stepped inside and explored, climbing the narrow steps round and round, right to the top of the golden tower . . .

Then I woke up and it was morning. The first thing I thought of was Castle.

Then Biscuits woke up and the first thing he did was sniff hopefully.

‘Hi, Biscuits! Are you seeing if you can smell the sea air?'

‘Hi, Tim! No, I'm seeing if I can sniff sausages for breakfast!' said Biscuits.

‘No, no, no, Mr Cannibal,' said Dog Hog, struggling out from under the sheets and attacking Biscuits.

Walter Bear and I watched, cuddling peacefully.

‘You are crackers, Biscuits,' I said. ‘Hey, can I really have the red spade today?'

‘Well, I said you could have it yesterday so really it should be my turn today,' said Biscuits.

‘But I never got to use it yesterday!' I said indignantly.

‘I'll fight you for the spade, right?' said Biscuits, and he picked up his pillow and thumped me with it.

I thumped back with mine.

We were soon bouncing backwards and forwards on the beds, thumping and bumping, clouting and shouting. Shouting a little too loudly.

‘Boys, boys! Stop it at once!' Mum hissed, rushing into our room in her nightie and dressing gown. ‘Honestly! What am I going to do with you? It isn't seven o'clock yet and you're already behaving like horrible hooligans. Now get back into bed and try to have another little snooze.'

We didn't feel the least bit sleepy. We had another weeny-teeny pillow fight, and Biscuits called me a horrible hooligan and I called Biscuits a horrible hooligan. Then we did a horrible hooligan dance, swaying our hips to be hula-hula hooligans, and Biscuits swayed so much his pyjamas fell down round his ankles. I laughed so hard I fell over in a heap on my bed. Mum came in, Mega-Mad, saying we were waking up all the other guests in the Gwesty and there would be Complaints at Breakfast.

But no-one did complain, though the old lady Biscuits had practically skewered flinched
nervously as he thundered past her table. Mum was still a bit narky but Dad cheered her up by suggesting we drive to the nearest small town and buy some picnic food and maybe have a little look round the shops.

‘Oh n-o-o-o-o-o-o. Biscuits and I want to go straight on the beach with our spades,' I wailed.

But Biscuits seemed to think picnic food might be a seriously good idea, so I didn't make too much fuss. We went to a town called Abercoch. Another name that gave Biscuits and me the giggles. Dad went on about how big it had become and moaned like anything about the amusement arcades and caravan sites and the supermarket in the town centre.

Mum went on about how small it was and why didn't it have a Marks & Spencer and weren't there any decent clothes shops at all? But after we'd got the food we all had an ice-cream and then we got back in the car and parked it at the Gwesty Bryn Nodfa and collected all our beach stuff (including the spades) and walked along the footpaths and around the fields and over the stile and ran all the way down the sandy slope and AT LAST we were on the beach.

I was all set to build the best castle in the world. But guess what. The tide was in. Right
in, so that the water was way up, lapping the skirts of the sandy slope. There was barely room to put down our towels and picnic.

‘Oh
rats rats rats
,' I said. ‘I want to build my castle!'

‘Don't say “rats” like that, dear. Now, never mind. You can sit down quietly with Biscuits and read your comics or do some writing in your holiday diaries,' said Mum.

‘Never mind, Tim, we can all go for a swim,' said Dad.

‘Never mind, Tim, we can maybe have our picnic now instead,' said Biscuits.

‘But I wanted to build my
castle
.'

I tried digging in the soft powdery sand of the slope but it was useless. It just slithered and slopped around and wouldn't stand firm at all.

‘It's not
fair
.'

‘Oh Tim, don't be such a baby,' said Dad. ‘Stop making such a fuss about a silly sandcastle. Let's go for a swim.'

‘Are you sure the sea is clean enough? You hear such horrible tales about pollution nowadays,' said Mum.

‘It's clear as crystal. You come in too,' said Dad.

‘Somebody's got to sit here and mind all the picnic things,' said Mum.

‘I'll do that,' said Biscuits.

He wasn't all that keen on swimming either. But Dad practically pulled us in.

It was f-r-e-e-z-i-n-g. Biscuits and I stood shivering, hugging our elbows, knees knocking, feet solid ice.

‘Come on, you two, get in properly,' Dad yelled. ‘It's lovely once you're under.' His teeth were chattering too, and his face was purple.

‘This isn't my idea of fun,' said Biscuits.

‘You can say that again,' I said.

‘This isn't my idea of fun,' said Biscuits.

‘You can say that— aaaah!' I yelled, because Dad suddenly splashed me.

I splashed him back. And Biscuits. They both splashed each other. And me. Suddenly we were all jumping about and it wasn't quite so cold. It was almost fun.

It was freezing again afterwards, on the beach getting dry, but then we had our picnic and this was very
much
Biscuits' idea of fun – and mine too.

Afterwards Mum laid back and had a little sunbathe. Dad did too. They both started snoring gently, little smiles under their sun-hats.

‘Let's build our castle!' I said joyfully, because the tide had gone out far enough now and had left gleaming wet wondrous sand just
waiting for us to build the best sandcastle in the world.

So we set to, Biscuits and me. I pretty soon realized it wasn't going to be as easy-peasy as I'd thought, even with good sand and sharp spades.

‘It's a bit too much like hard work,' Biscuits panted, leaning on his spade. ‘Shall we have a sunbathe too, Tim?'

‘No, let's make the castle,
please
. Look, you gather shells and seaweed and stuff for decoration if you want a bit of a rest. I'll carry on,' I said nobly.

I carried on. And on and on. I thought of my vision of a castle bigger than me. Now I wondered about a medium-size castle. Or even a small one. I'd only managed a very small mound, so I decided to go for miniature perfection instead of massive bulk.

I squatted down beside my castle and tried to mould it into shape. It was far more finicky than I'd thought. Sand got right up my nails and invaded the legs of my shorts. Little gritty bits embedded themselves in my knees. I tried to fashion a little drawbridge but it was hopeless. My arrow-slit windows weren't exact enough. The tower kept wobbling and collapsing.

‘That'll do,' said Biscuits. ‘Here, we'll stick
little shells in front to make a path, right?'

‘You don't have a
path
. We could make a moat. And fill it with water from the sea.'

‘Oh-oh,' said Biscuits. ‘Something tells me that sounds like hard work.'

We didn't have a bucket so we had to make do with old paper cups. We ran to the sea and filled them up and ran back to the castle and tipped the water in the proposed moat. It immediately disappeared down through the sand.

‘Rats,' I said again. I stared at my lop-sided little castle with its empty moat and sighed. ‘It's not much of a castle, is it, Biscuits?'

‘I think it's a super castle,' said Biscuits. ‘Truly. A fantastic creation. Practically the Eighth Wonder of the World. Honest, Tim.'

‘Ooooh! Let's see this super-duper castle, eh?' said a loud voice behind us, making us both jump.

Two boys had crept up behind us. One was about our age and very pale and pinched looking. He didn't look very tough but his smile was spiteful. He was the sort of boy you treated with caution.

The other boy was much bigger. And much tougher too. His hair was shaved so short it was just prickles, which looked as sharp as spikes. If he head-butted you you'd get
severely perforated. He was the sort of boy that made Red Alert Alarm system, buzz inside your brain.

He was wearing great big Doc Martens even on the beach. I looked at the boy. I looked at the boots. I knew what was going to happen next.

‘What a dinky ducky castle you two little cissy boys have made,' he said, his eyes beady. ‘Shame it's just sand. Someone could accidentally trip and . . .'

He kicked hard. The castle collapsed. He laughed. His mate laughed.

‘You! You big bully! I saw that! You kicked my Tim's castle over deliberately!'

Oh no. It was Mum. She came rushing towards us, red in the face, her dress still tucked up to get her legs sunburnt.

The boys spluttered with laughter.

‘Mummy's boys!' said the big prickly kicker. ‘Don't worry. We'll be back.'

They ran off, laughing and laughing.

Biscuits and I didn't laugh at all.

Prickle-Head and Pinch-Face were going to get us!