Everyone else had gone to get ice cream. We turned down such childish treats. Our preference was press ups and protein shakes. No one minded. They needed someone to watch the bags.
To begin with we played on our phones. But we needed more stimulus. It began with scooping sand with our open palms. Then our task became more serious.
We had the tools. Plastic spades and buckets, designed for sandcastles rather than industrial work. But they did the job.
I assumed we would hit rock at some point. But the sand kept going. Soon we had created a tiny cavern filled with gloomy water from deep below.
We got more technical, and used a bucket to deal with any excess. My brother managed the slag heap of waste produce. He reinforced the walls with wet sand, which set harder than concrete.
It got to a stage where the depth of our masterpiece was chest height. I worried that someone from the council might turn up, and declare this hole a hazard.
After more digging,the sand compacted into a grainy mud. We found shells down here unlike the usual beach discoveries. Scarlet knobbly lumps the size of your fist. One still contained the snotty remains of a pale mollusc, white as dead flesh.
I wanted to stop when my brother was able to stand in the hole, lift his arms in the air, and remain hidden. One collapse, and we were in serious trouble. But raw excitement kept us going.
My brother looked up, grinning with sheer delight at our handiwork, then vanished. The last few handfuls of rock before he fell were the colour of pure gold.
I glanced down in a state of raw panic, and glorious sunshine flashed into my retinas. Below was a green sky full of willowy clouds. The faces that stared at me were pale, their ears long and floppy. One had wrinkles and a triangular chin. On the other curls of hair surrounded wide purple eyes.
They looked so scared.
