story contest
‘I have come to pay for the ice cream. The one your friend offered little snippets of himself. He had not knuckled down to
brought earlier.’ college straight after school, preferring to see the world. I sensed
That accent rippled into the van first, but then something else a set of disappointed parents back in Paris. His plans included
reached in through that little window and wrapped itself around beaches I could only dream of.
my chest and pulled tight. He was one of my kind; I was one of But what he hoped to find on them he seemed unable to say.
his, as simple as that. We saw it in each other. ‘You should go to college at the end of this summer,’ I heard
I can’t remember what I replied, something about not needing myself declare into the dark one night. ‘Build something more
to pay, and then I saw his gaze flutter over me. permanent.’
I forgot that I looked like a steamed dumpling, forgot I was not sure why I said it and I felt him move as though I
everything. had touched a sore spot. And then he laughed and kissed the
‘You are a student also?’ he said, making it sound like poetry. moment away.
I nodded slowly, words not coming. But I was in trouble, I knew that. I was in love too deep to skip
He grinned and looked down as if he was aware of the effect back out untouched. I could not believe that he did not feel the
he was having. It didn’t seem like smugness, just something that same way.
made him happy. That connection was there, surely he could not bear to break it
I gripped the counter. when Saturday came?
‘Perhaps when you are finished we could walk along the beach On our last night, too full of love and red wine, I flouted every
a little. You would like that?’ rule in the cool girl’s guide to holiday flings and told him how
I breathed in slowly, a hot, airless mouthful. ‘Ok,’ I said. I felt.
‘I will wait for you by the water’s edge.’ He shook his head sadly; kissed me with regret.
I was still hanging on to the counter as I watched him go. There ‘I must move on. Do not be sad. What beautiful memories we
must be some mistake; he must be joking. I would just close the have made.’
sliding window, put up the ‘gone home’ sign and lie down on the Only a man could imagine that would cheer me up.
floor forever. I disentangled my body from his. ‘It doesn’t matter what we’ve
But once the van was locked, the takings banked, I found myself made. Let it wash away like your sandcastles. That’s what you
drifting towards the water’s edge. There he was. He walked in know best.’
the water, I walked on the sand and he pointed out the different I got into my clothes somehow as he rubbed his hand through
his hair as though his head suddenly hurt. I could see he looked
sad, confused even, but then I was out of the door.
It doesn’t matter what we’ve Back in the flat I cried all over Annie. She didn’t mind; she
made. Let it wash away like
understood about building castles in the air.
‘There, there,’ she said. ‘Just one more day to get through.’
your sandcastles
It was the most wretched day of my life. Head down, I didn’t
even look at the people I served. From the beach came cheers and
clapping. Prizes were awarded, speeches were made. I blocked
sandcastles. We watched the tide come in and slowly wipe them them all out, tears running down my face and plopping on to
away. the counter.
‘Doesn’t it make you sad when all your hard work disappears?’ That evening, when I was sure he had gone, Annie and I walked
I asked. along the beach together. Now it was just a strip of sand; no life
He shrugged, suddenly very French, ‘No. It is life.’ and excitement left in it. My dark-eyed, other half was gone. Next
We walked on, the sun warm down our backs and I felt his week, on another beach, another woman would be serving him
hand take mine, smooth from all that sand. And every step we ice cream.
took I felt myself drawn closer to him. His thumb was rubbing We watched the tide come in and make the sandcastles crumble.
back and forth across my skin and I wondered if people could see Grand or tiny, they all tumbled down in front of the waves.
how all my nerve endings were pulsing with that touch? Then, further along the beach, we saw a little crowd. They were
We got as far as the pier before he turned to face me. pointing and laughing at a beautiful heart-shaped castle, flags
‘What would you like me to do now?’ he said softly. flying from its many delicate towers.
It felt natural to lift my chin and close my eyes and invite him But it was not the beauty of the sandcastle that had drawn the
to kiss me. It was hot, deep, full of limitless possibilities. The best people. It was the way that, although encircled by water, it was
kind of French kissing. standing firm.
We stood there until the sea was over our ankles and then our Lord knows what he had mixed in with the sand.
calves. I have a photograph Annie took of me standing beside that
Some time before it reached our knees we turned and walked castle with the water around my ankles and a lopsided smile on
unsteadily up the beach and to his hotel. And there, in his room, my face. She caught the precise moment when I thought the castle
with the windows open to the sound of the sea and the gulls, he was a parting gift, a little bit of permanence from a man who was
dropped more fiery kisses on me, re-igniting the warmth of the just passing through.
sun still in my skin. The moment before Philippe stepped back into the picture.
My buttoned-up ways came off with my sundress and as his Nowadays the Sandcastle Man builds things to last. Schools
hands smoothed and caressed me, I was shaped into something and galleries; hotels, homes; an enviable reputation.
beautiful and new. The once cool sheets became a hot and twisted But from time to time he peels off his suit, puts on his shorts
mess upon the floor. and lets the sun burn him brown again. And then I watch him
Later we drank dark red wine from each other’s mouths. from under my wide brimmed hat as he and the children scoop
And so it went; a pattern was established. We parted in the and pat and smooth.
morning and I watched him through the day persuading the sand Our children this time.
into beautiful shapes, remembering how his hands had skimmed From love built on something more solid than sand.
across my body in those very same movements.
Every now and again he would turn and smile and wave at
me.
‘You’re a lucky devil,’ Annie said with some force when she
About the author
was speaking to me again. ‘A lucky, lucky devil.’
Hazel osmond, a freelance advertising
I knew that, but I also knew that he would go. Move further
copywriter, is married with two daughters and lives
along the coast; back to France, on to Spain. He would not stay.
in Northumberland. she has won the Woman &
Perhaps that’s what made it so intense, the knowledge that like
Home and yeovil Literary Prize short story contests,
the heat wave it could not last.
but is still trying to get a book published.
But for now the heat was still building and as it did, Philippe
Writers
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forum #99 37
WF99JAN31.indd 7 24/11/2009 10:06:41
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