“Where’s it gone?” Iggy said.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Just out.”
“So there’s more beach for us to be on,” said Dad, and he took his shoes off and squidged his toes into the sand.
“Come on,” he said, “you do it too.”
So we did. We took our shoes off and we squidged. The sand was warm on the top and cold underneath. It was fine and scratchy between our toes. The nearer we got to the water, the wetter the sand felt under our feet.
Mum found a spot for us to put our things. We took off everything apart from our swimsuits and then we raced all the way to the beginning of the sea. The water was cold and swirling and frothy. It was never still.
“Jump!” Dad said when a wave came in and nipped at our ankles. So we jumped.
“Run!” Dad said when a bigger wave suddenly appeared out of nowhere and tried to get at our knees. So we ran.
We waded out until the water was all the way up to our tummies. The coldness of it made us hold our breaths.
“Swim!” said Dad when the biggest wave of all came rolling towards us, and he dived straight in like a dolphin.
So we swam.
The water was salty and it rushed past my ears and up my nose and when I opened my eyes under there it was all cloudy and green and full of things. Not like a swimming pool at all.
“Ewwww!” shouted Iggy, standing up and spluttering. “There’s stuff in there!”
“What stuff?” said Mum.
“Plants and stuff.”
“Seaweed,” I said.
“Ewwww!” shouted Iggy again, and she pulled a face and jumped up and down. “I don’t like it!”
“Why not?” said Dad.
“Slimy,” said Iggy.
“It’s just seaweed,” Mum said.
“It’s all around my legs,” Iggy said. She turned and started to wade back towards the sand.
“It’s just seaweed and seashells,” Mum called after her.
“And fish,” Dad said. “And crabs.”
“You’re not helping,” Mum said. Iggy was still walking.
“And starfish,” I told her. “And dolphins,” I said.
Iggy slowed down a bit.
“And whales.”
I thought hard. “And sunken treasure,” I said. “And Mermaids.”
Iggy stopped. She turned around. “Mermaids?” she said.
I nodded. “Yep. They’re in here somewhere.”
Mum nodded too, and Dad said, “Definitely.”
“Really?” Iggy said. “In here?”
“Yes,” I said. “They love seaweed. They eat seaweed like sweets.”
“Yuk,” said Iggy.
“They like it,” I said. “If you were a mermaid you’d think seaweed was delicious.”
Iggy has always wanted to be a mermaid. At home she plays mermaids in the bath and at the swimming pool and sometimes even on dry land. She pretends to be a girl with legs who turns into a mermaid whenever she chooses. It is one of Iggy’s favourite games.
“We could play mermaids,” I said.
“Could we?” Iggy said. She started to hop back towards us.
“We could play it in the sea, where the real mermaids are,” I said.
“And treasure?” Iggy said. “Did you say treasure?”
“Yep. Tons of treasure.”
“Could we be mermaids finding treasure?” Iggy suggested.
“That’s a good idea,” I said. “Let’s play mermaids looking for treasure.”
“Do you think we’ll find some?” she asked.
“We might,” I said. “If we keep looking.”
“Ok,” said Iggy, taking a deep breath before she plunged underwater again. “Let’s go.”
“Be careful,” said Mum.
“And watch out for the whales,” Dad said, swimming with us, spouting water from between his teeth and splashing his feet like big fins.
We played in the water until we couldn’t feel our fingers or toes anymore. Iggy said we must be turning into mermaids for real. Then we got out and lay in the sun.
We made Iggy a mermaid’s tail out of sand, right where she was lying.
Iggy took a picture of Barnaby with my sunglasses on.
We ate our lunch and lazed around and went for a little explore in the rock pools and sand dunes.
It was a very busy day.
By the time we had walked to the very top of the big hill, everybody’s legs were weak and feeble. We had fish and chips in a café and then we went back to the van.
Iggy said, “That was the best day of our holiday so far.”
“That was the first and only day of our holiday so far,” Dad said.
“True,” she said. “But it was still the best. I love the seaside.”
“Me too,” I said. “I love it as well.”
Iggy makes a Friend
Every day at the beach we played mermaids in the sea for so long our fingers and toes went all tingly and blue. Dad was a killer whale and Iggy was the mermaid princess and I was her servant and Mum read the paper.
One day, Iggy wanted to build something in the sand instead. She wanted to use our buckets and spades and make something amazing, but she didn’t know what.
“Let’s make a castle for Barnaby to live in,” I said.
“King Barnaby,” Iggy said. “That’s a good idea.”
So we got our spades and I drew a big circle around us in the sand and we started to dig a moat. The sun was warm and the sea was shushing and the seagulls were soaring above us in the sky. Our spades made a slicing, sucking sound in the damp sand.
“What’s a moat?” said Iggy, digging.
“It’s a ditch filled with water around a castle,” I told her.
“What for?” she said.
“It keeps the enemy out.”
We dug a little bit more.
“What enemy?” Iggy said.
“The invading enemy,” I told her. “In the olden days.”
“Why does a ditch filled with water keep them out?” she said.
“It’s got crocodiles in it,” a voice said. It wasn’t my voice. It wasn’t Iggy’s. It wasn’t Mum’s or Dad’s either. They were both lying down with their eyes and their mouths closed.
“Who said that?” Iggy gasped and her whole body went completely still apart from her eyes, which darted about.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“It was me,” the voice said.
It was a little boy’s voice. He was behind us. He was peering out over some rocks. He had fiery red hair and hundreds of freckles and a patch of very white sun cream on his nose.
“It’s the crocodiles in the moat that get them,” he said.
Iggy shuddered. “I hate crocodiles,” she said. “They’ve got too many teeth.”
“Hello,” I said.
“Hello,” said the little boy, and he smiled. He didn’t have too many teeth. He had mostly gaps.
“Who are you?” said Iggy.
“I’m Clyde,” the little boy said.
“I’m Iggy,” Iggy said, and I told him I was Flo.
“What are you doing?” Clyde said.
“Making a castle,” I said.
“Making a moat,” said Iggy. “But I’m not putting crocodiles in it. Or anything bitey.”
“Can I help?” Clyde asked, and he showed us his blue spade and his special silver castle-shaped bucket.
“Yes,” said Iggy. “You can definitely help. It’s for King Barnaby.”
“Who’s King Barnaby?” Clyde asked, clambering over the rocks towards us.
I pointed to where Barnaby was sitting, on Iggy’s towel, in between my mum and dad. Mum was reading and she waved. Dad had the newspaper over his face. I think he was trying to sleep.
Iggy said, “Barnaby is mine. I’m in charge of him. He is my very important job from school.”
“Cool,” Clyde said, and Iggy grew a little bit, and she smiled.
Clyde was wearing red shor
ts and special red beach shoes.
“I like your shoes,” Iggy said.
“Thanks,” he said. “They’re amphibious.”
“Cool,” Iggy said, and she twirled her hair.
“It means they can live on land and in the water,” I whispered.
“I know,” Iggy fibbed.
Clyde was good at moat building. He dug and he scooped and he threw the sand into a big pile for making castles with. We had the whole circle done in no time at all.
We stood back to look at our work.
“That was quick,” I said.
“Yeah,” Clyde said. “We should put crabs in it.”
“No,” Iggy said. “Please nothing bitey.”
“Crabs don’t bite,” Clyde corrected her. “They pinch, with their pincers.”
“Well nothing pinchy then,” Iggy said.
Clyde frowned. “I put crabs in it before. It was good.”
“When before?” Iggy asked him.
He shrugged. “I’ve done this loads of times.”
“Have you?” Iggy said. “How come?”
“I live here,” he said.
Iggy’s eyes went as big and round as our moat.
“On the beach?” Iggy said.
“Near the beach,” Clyde said, scooping some dug-up sand into his big castle-shaped bucket.
“You’re lucky,” Iggy said. “We just live near traffic lights.”
Clyde filled the bucket and then turned it upside down. He tapped the bottom four times with his spade. Then he gently pulled it and underneath was a perfect castle-shaped sandcastle with turrets and windows and archways and a door.
“Wow,” Iggy said. “You are clever.”
She filled our ordinary bucket and she turned it upside down and tapped it, just the way Clyde had. When she gently pulled, underneath was a perfect bucket-shaped sandcastle.
“Not bad,” said Clyde. “Not bad at all.”
Iggy beamed.
When Mum called us over for more sun cream, Clyde came too.
“Hello,” said Mum. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Clyde,” Iggy said. “He’s our friend. He’s an expert at building castles.”
Clyde grew a little bit then too, and he smiled.
“Just look at his bucket,” Iggy said.
Clyde held it up for them to see.
“Hello, Clyde,” Mum and Dad said.
“Hello.”
“He lives here,” Iggy said. “He lives at the seaside.”
“That’s nice,” Mum said.
Dad offered Clyde a chicken sandwich.
“No thanks,” said Clyde. “I’m a vegetarian.”
“What’s one of those?” Iggy said. “Can I be one?”
“It means you don’t eat any meat,” I told her.
“Ewww, meat, yuk,” Iggy said. “I hate that.”
This is not strictly true. Iggy likes sausages and roast chicken very much. And she hardly eats any vegetables. She drops them on the floor when Mum’s not looking.
She grinned at Clyde and he grinned back.
“How old are you, Clyde?” Mum asked.
“I’m seven,” he said, “and a quarter.”
“I’m six,” Iggy told him, “and a bit.”
“Cool,” Clyde said.
“Cool,” Iggy copied him.
“Cool,” Dad said, and winked at me and Mum.
“Who are you here with, Clyde?” Mum asked.
“He’s here with me,” Iggy said. She was standing very close to him.
“My Mum and Dad are over there,” Clyde said, and he pointed.
His mum and dad were quite far away. They were just two little people with a red tent. Clyde waved. They waved back and so did we.
Iggy and Clyde spent the whole afternoon making sandcastles. They didn’t stop.
I went swimming really far out with Dad. Mum and I drew an enormous picture of a ship in the sand using sticks. We played noughts and crosses and catch and French cricket. Four times I asked Iggy and Clyde if they wanted to join in, but they didn’t. They were much too busy.
When the sun was going down and it was getting colder, they were still hard at work and they hadn’t finished.
We packed up our towels and things and we went over for a closer look.
“Time to go, Iggy,” called Dad.
“Five more minutes,” she said. Clyde didn’t look up from his bucket. His tongue was sticking out and he was frowning with concentration.
Iggy and Clyde hadn’t just made a castle for King Barnaby, they had made a whole city.
It was very impressive.
“Brilliant,” said Dad.
“It actually is,” said Mum.
Clyde’s mum and dad had packed up too and they came to see.
“Very good, son,” said Clyde’s dad. He had fiery red hair and freckles just like Clyde did.
“Very nice dear,” said Clyde’s mum. She had the same shoes as Clyde, but hers were purple.
“You should take a picture,” I said.
Clyde climbed carefully into the middle of the city and placed Barnaby on a castle. Iggy took a picture.
“That’s going to be a good one,” Clyde said.
I said, “Take one of Barnaby with Clyde.”
Clyde stood up dead straight and smiled at the camera.
“Say cheese,” Iggy said.
“Cheese.”
“Say sausages.”
“Sausages.”
“Now say Goodnight,” Dad said.
“Goodnight,” said Clyde.
“I don’t want to,” Iggy said.
“We’ve got to go,” said Mum.
“But I don’t want to,” Iggy said.
“Back to the magic van,” I said.
Iggy’s eyebrows went a bit pink. “I really don’t want to,” she said.
Mum said, “I’m sure Clyde will be back tomorrow, won’t you Clyde?”
Clyde looked at his mum and dad. They nodded.
“Yeah,” said Clyde.
“So we’ll see Clyde tomorrow,” Mum said. “OK?”
Iggy looked at Clyde. “Promise?” she said.
“Promise.”
“Swear?” Iggy said.
“Swear.”
“Can we make castles again?” Iggy said.
“Yeah,” said Clyde. “And I’ll show you a starfish if you want.”
Iggy smiled. She beamed. She puffed up. “I do,” she said in squeaky little voice. “I do want.”
“See you tomorrow,” I said.
“Cool,” Clyde said.
“Yeah, cool,” said Dad.
All the way up the hill, Iggy talked about Clyde. She talked about him while we ate our supper, and afterwards while we played hopscotch, and when we were cleaning our teeth. She talked about him after Mum and Dad had closed the curtains and kissed us goodnight.
She said, “Clyde is so clever,” and “Clyde is quite tall.”
She said, “Clyde’s teacher is called Mrs Jones.”
She said, “Clyde’s bucket is the best bucket I’ve ever seen.”
She said, “Clyde is going to show me a starfish.”
She said, “Clyde is my best friend.”
Dad said, “Clyde is asleep and so should you be.”
Iggy said, “Night, Mum. Night, Dad. Night, Flo,”
“Night, Iggy,” we all said, and we counted to ten in the silence before Iggy spoke again.
“Night, Clyde,” Iggy said.
Where Is Iggy?
“Wow,” said Iggy. “Today is busy.”
We were standing at the top of our hill before the long walk down to the beach. We couldn’t just see the blue and grey sea and the yellow and brown sand and the black and grey rocks. Today we could see all the colours of the rainbow. We could see umbrellas and tents and towels and rugs and swimsuits and people and dogs and flags and kites and beach balls and surfboards. Our beach was packed.
“It’s rush hour,” Dad said.
“It’s Saturday,” said Mum.
“It’s crowded,” said Iggy. “How will we find Clyde?”
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “I’ll help you.”
We went to our usual spot but it was full of another family. We went to the spot where Clyde’s mum and dad usually sat, but that was full of another family too. In the end, Dad found a nice sheltered patch in a dune. The sand was dry and golden and dusty. When the wind blew, the sand blew too. It stuck to the sun cream on our arms and legs and faces.
“Ooh,” said Iggy. “I’m all scratchy.”
“Like sandpaper,” Dad said.
“Like sandpeople you mean,” said Iggy.
It was hot and cosy in the dunes and Mum and Dad lay down with their eyes closed, even though we really hadn’t been out of bed for that long.
“Can we go the sea?” I said.
“You can paddle,” said Mum. “But don’t swim. Not without us.”
“OK,” I said.
“Promise?” Mum said.
We promised.
“Can we take Barnaby?” Iggy said. “He hasn’t been for a paddle yet.”
“I’m not sure he’ll like it,” Dad said.
“Oh, I think he will,” said Iggy.
“Well don’t drop him in,” Mum said. “I don’t think he can swim.”
We walked down to the water. Iggy held my hand so she could look for Clyde while she was walking, instead of where she was going. She had Barnaby tucked safely under her other arm. He was wearing his flowery holiday shirt and a tiny pair of white shorts.
“I can’t see Clyde,” Iggy said. “He’s not here.”
“Maybe he’s in the water,” I told her. “Or maybe he’ll be here later.”
The water was very crowded too. All along it there were people paddling and splashing and squealing and shouting. I held tight to Iggy’s hand and she held tight to Barnaby and we put our feet in. It was cold and frothy again and it was also thick and brown with churned up sand from so many paddlers.
“Oh, look,” said Iggy.
A little dog was standing next to Iggy with its feet in the water just like us. It was sniffing at Barnaby’s paws.
Iggy loves dogs. She bent down to stroke it and I bent down to look at its collar.
“Spencer,” I read. “His name is Spencer.”
“Hello, Spencer,” Iggy said, picking up his paw and shaking it, like it was a real hand, like they were saying how do you do.
Spencer was brown and white and grey and he was dripping wet and he had sand in the fur all round his mouth.
Iggy and Me on Holiday Page 3
