Summer at Blue Sands Cove

by Chris Ward

  ‘Oh, Grace, you always were useless in an argument.’

  Grace sighed again. ‘And I think I have ringworm in my ankle.’

  34

  Sundown

  ‘Don’t worry: where we’re going, a hangover will be the last thing you worry about,’ Paul said, as he steered them into traffic on the A30. ‘But, if you need to stop really quick, give me as much warning as you can.’

  ‘I’ll live. I think. Where are we going, anyway?’

  ‘You’ll see. It’s not far now.’

  A short while later, they turned off the duel carriageway and into the country lanes. Paul drove at Sunday-driver speed, but even so, by the time they pulled up at a small car park next to a field, Grace was only just keeping her stomach down. The fresh air had never felt better as she staggered out of the car.

  ‘Right, this way,’ Paul said, taking a massive hold-all out of his car’s boot and slinging it over his shoulder.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘My gear.’

  Grace looked at the stile beside the gateway and the path that led across a moorland field before dropping out of sight. For South Cornwall, they were in as remote an area as it was possible to get.

  ‘Saws and butcher’s knives?’

  Paul shook his head. ‘Ropes.’

  ‘Should I be scared?’

  He laughed. ‘Not at all. Maybe next time. Come on, let’s go.’

  They headed across the field, following a path along a line of weather-beaten trees. A handful of dirty sheep and some moorland ponies wandered across the thick grass, among lumps of lichen-covered granite, for the most part ignoring Paul and Grace unless they got too close.

  After a few minutes of gentle uphill walking, they reached a gate. On the other side there were more rocks, and the ground dipped sharply away, the path leading into a rocky quarry.

  ‘Best climbing in South Cornwall,’ Paul said. ‘Don’t worry, it’s safe. All the routes here are approved for people with the proper gear.’

  ‘Rock climbing?’

  Paul grinned. ‘There’s nothing like it.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m a certified instructor.’

  Grace wondered what Joan would think. It explained the muscles she had seen through Paul’s t-shirt at their swimming sessions. She wondered how they would feel under her hands, but the thought of moving their relationship on to the next stage was tempered as Paul pointed at a sheer rock face rising some fifty feet off the ground.

  ‘On the American points system, that’s a five point eleven,’ he said, walking forward. ‘Known here in the U.K. as very hard. We’ll build you up to that one.’

  ‘What am I starting on?’

  He grinned. ‘Over here. A five point eight. A beginner climb.’

  He led her through the quarry to a lump of rock rising at a gradual angle to about ten feet.

  ‘I could do that with my bare hands.’

  ‘You’ve got to start somewhere.’ He dropped the bag on the ground. ‘Are you ready? I’ll show you how it goes.’

  Joan, stuffed a lump of caramel shortcake into her mouth and shook her head. ‘Not fair. I want a library nerd boyfriend.’

  ‘You’ve got one!’

  ‘Ha, I forgot. Just think about all those other weeds at school who used to get ribbed all the time. They’re probably all firemen and bodybuilders and pro-cyclists now.’

  ‘Probably. Even Hedges is ripped from carrying all those pasties. And according to Becky, he’s a stallion.’

  Joan put up a hand. ‘Please, please don’t talk about Hedges. So, did Paul make you go freestyle up the hard bit? Bag of chalk and all that?’

  ‘No! He was a perfect teacher. He showed me how it all worked, then helped me do it. Damn, my arms are killing me now.’

  ‘Was that wise, with the gala’s surfing competition tomorrow?’

  ‘Probably not, but I was trying to impress Paul.’

  ‘I don’t think you need to impress Paul. I think you impress him enough just being you. Has he kissed you yet?’

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘Has he? Come on, Grace. What’s he waiting for?’

  ‘We had a little … peck.’

  ‘In the quarry? Was it all misty and windswept? Was he wearing a vest?’

  ‘Look, just shut—’

  The bell tinkled as the door opened. Ethel Dottington marched inside, holding up a dog’s water bowl.

  ‘Excuse me? There was a fly in the dog’s water. Is that what you think about your customers’ pets?’

  Joan stared at her. ‘I can’t see a fly.’

  ‘That’s because I tipped it out.’

  ‘I’ll fill it up again,’ Grace said, moving around the counter. ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Ethel said tersely. ‘I trust you’re sober this time?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Not very professional, is it, drinking on duty?’

  ‘We’re not—’

  ‘You can tell that to the council when they come to do an inspection,’ Ethel said, then threw her hands up in the air and marched out, Gerald stumbling behind her. A little patch of yellow water stood near where he had been standing.

  ‘Oh, that woman,’ Joan said.

  ‘I think he’s drunk enough already,’ Grace said, pointing at the pool of urine. ‘I’ll get a cloth.’

  She had just made it back behind the counter when the door opened again, and this time a group of school kids came running in. Grace had barely lifted a hand before they had trampled the urine all over the shop floor. Grace looked at Joan. She couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘Oh, that woman,’ she said.

  The sun was beginning to dip. Grace looked up as Paul came walking across the road, carrying two pints of beer, and sat down beside her on the promenade wall.

  ‘Isn’t it lovely tonight?’ she said. ‘Not a cloud in the sky.’

  Paul grinned. ‘This is the moment where I’m supposed to say, “but not as lovely as you,” isn’t it?’

  Grace rolled her eyes. ‘I was being sarcastic. It’s the last day of the gala tomorrow. The surfing competition. The sea’s flat calm, so it won’t be much of a competition if there’s no surf.’ She shrugged, then gently leaned against his shoulder. ‘But, you know, if you want to say it, I won’t be upset.’

  ‘The day you came into the library was the most wonderful day of my life,’ Paul said, waving a hand dramatically in the air. ‘Filing thirty six volumes on British Wildflowers was driving me nuts, and then I looked up to see the most beautiful wildflower of all.’

  Grace laughed. ‘You saved it at the end there.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Do you really mean it? Not that it agrees with my semi-feminist stance on relationships, of course.’

  ‘It’s another way I disappointed my dad,’ Paul said. ‘I’m not one for acting. If I say it, I mean it.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re a disappointment to him. I bet he thinks you’re great.’

  ‘He likes my cooking.’

  ‘So do Joan’s customers. She wants to offer you a job.’

  Paul grimaced. ‘I appreciate the offer, but … I’m not so into beaches. And in any case, my parents have applied to build a small café-restaurant next to the museum car park. Business picks up a lot in winter.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘But I would be happy to do a bit here and there. Perhaps one or two days a week. Assuming you’re still going to be here, of course.’

  ‘I’m planning to be.’

  ‘So you’re not going back up to Bristol at the end of the summer?’

  Grace frowned. ‘I thought about it. A lot, actually. There are things I need to do if I’m going to stay here for longer. I can’t stay in the chalet forever, so I’ll need to find somewhere to live, but Joan’s offered me a job, so we’ll see.’

  Paul put a hand over hers. ‘I’d be happy if you stayed,’ he said.

  The sun had
just begun to drop below the horizon. ‘Now would be a good time for you to kiss me,’ Grace said.

  ‘Does your inner feminist agree?’

  ‘It was my idea, so it’s okay.’

  Paul smiled. ‘Good.’

  35

  Competition

  The car parks were full, the beach packed. With a bright sun shining overhead, the lightest of breezes, and beautiful rollers slicing the sea into neat curls—the result of some overnight Atlantic storm—hundreds of people had come for the gala. All along the promenade, shops, cafes and pubs had set up little stalls for the customers milling about. Sophie from the Gourmet Kitchen was selling French donuts that looked like regular donuts at twice the price, while Mike Anderson stood nearby, flexing his muscles while he signed autographed copies of a new book about biking in the Himalayas. Grace briefly attempted to talk to him, to see if he remembered her from spinning class, but as she got within earshot she heard some squealing fan asking him what he did to get his thighs so firm. Instead, she rolled her eyes and headed for the beach.

  Paul unfortunately had to work in the morning, but promised he would try to make it down for the competition. Joan had roped Jason in to help with the Blue Sands Café’s stall before he had to join the rest of the competition’s judges, but Hedges’ wife Becky had kindly offered to help.

  ‘I’m just aching all over,’ she was saying to Joan as Grace arrived, surfboard under her arm. ‘I told him I had to help you out today, but when you’re married to a man like that, you just want him to dominate you, don’t you?’ She squealed with delight before handing a vanilla ice-cream to a customer.

  Joan, her face blank, stared at Grace. ‘Help me,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll be back soon with the trophy,’ Grace said.

  Joan winked. ‘Go get the tro.’

  Grace rolled her eyes. ‘I would, but I think Daniel’s got other ideas.’

  Nearby, on the Low Anchor’s temporary promenade bar, Daniel was waiting with his surfboard while Isabella gave him a shoulder massage. His two children were jumping up and down, shouting, ‘Go, Dad! Go, Dad!’

  ‘You’ll be such a spoilsport if you beat him,’ Joan said.

  ‘I’m doing it for the café.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  A gong sounded from outside the lifeguard hut, and an amplified voice announced five minutes until the start of the competition, requesting all competitors and judges get to their positions.

  ‘See you in an hour or so,’ Grace said.

  ‘If I’m still alive,’ Joan answered, while beside her Becky began to do dramatic back stretches.

  ‘Oh, he’s such a titan between the sheets,’ she said, laughing. ‘I don’t know how I got so lucky.’

  Grace picked up her surfboard and headed over to the beach. She was nearly at the shoreline when Daniel called out to her.

  ‘Hey, Grace,’ he said, coming up beside her. ‘Just like the old days, isn’t it?’

  She smiled. ‘Only this time I’m not going to go easy on you. This time I’m going to kick your butt.’

  He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Is that a challenge?’

  ‘It sure is.’

  ‘Well, may the best person win.’

  The announcer began to read out the names of the competitors in the mixed surfing competition. ‘…Rob Williams from Zennor, Brett James from Bude, Daniel Woakes from Blue Sands, Grace Clelland from Blue Sands, Eliza Wood from Penzance … and Frank Davis from Blue Sands.’

  At the mention of the last name, a ripple of surprise passed through the crowd. Grace turned to see Paul’s dad, in full Masked Surfer gear, striding purposely down the beach. As he reached the rest of the assembled competitors, he reached up and pulled the mask over his head, revealing a grizzled version of the stern but entertaining teacher Grace remembered from school.

  ‘No damn way,’ Daniel said from behind her, as the now unmasked surfer smiled.

  ‘May the best surfer win,’ Frank said, in a voice which was clearly still in character for his upcoming movie. ‘Might not be Sharker’s Rock, but there’s some blood to be taken out there, and some nature to be tamed.’

  Daniel was sniggering. A couple of other local competitors were staring in disbelief. Grace smiled. ‘Nice to meet you again, Paul’s dad,’ she said.

  Frank Davis lifted an eyebrow. ‘He’s met a good one in you, lass,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t mean I’m going to cut you any slack, though.’

  ‘May the best surfer win.’

  Frank Davis nodded. ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Into the water!’ came a booming voice from the loud speaker. Frank Davis immediately broke into a run. Grace turned to follow, but Daniel was still laughing.

  ‘Oh, that guy,’ he said.

  ‘Hurry up or you’ll miss the start.’

  The competition was a non-event. Every time Frank Davis paddled into a wave, roaring ‘Mine!’ at the same time, the rest of the competitors pulled back to watch as the old man cut and hacked his way across the surf like someone twenty years younger. From the start it was clear the battle was for second place, but Grace was proud of her performance, with a couple of solid rides, even pulling off a decent little flip on her final wave. As she carried her board back up the beach, however, she knew the best she could hope for was that she had beaten Daniel.

  The competitors assembled outside the lifeguard hut for the announcement of the results. A crowd quickly gathered around them, clapping and cheering.

  ‘You were awesome!’

  Grace looked around. Joan gave her a wave as Becky pushed her chair over the gravel.

  ‘We thought we’d better come over and commiserate with you,’ Joan said. ‘You were epic, but I don’t think anyone was beating old Frank.’

  ‘Who’s looking after the café and the stall?’ Grace asked, putting her board down on the rocks and giving Joan a wet high-five.

  ‘Mum’s in the shop, and we’ve got a special guest doing the ice-creams,’ Joan said.

  Grace looked across the beach to the promenade. Wearing a chef’s hat, Paul lifted a hand and gave her a thumbs’ up.

  ‘You really were awesome,’ Joan said, shaking her head. ‘Like you’d never been away.’

  ‘As long as I beat Daniel I’ll be happy.’

  ‘Thank you everyone for coming,’ came the announcer’s voice over the loud speaker. ‘What a great competition! Some wonderful surfing from locals, and from those from farther afield. And now … the judges’ results are in. In third place … Brett James from Bude.’

  ‘Wow, Daniel must have sucked,’ Joan said, as Brett James gave a wave to claps and cheers from the crowd.

  ‘And in second place … Daniel Woakes from Blue Sands.’

  Grace turned to stare at Joan, who just shrugged. ‘Perhaps Mr. Davis was only in it as a guest—’

  ‘And in first place, with a performance that will long be remembered, the legendary Frank Davis from Blue Sands!’

  A huge cheer went up from the crowd. To many backslaps, Frank Davis went to collect his trophy, shouting, ‘Call me Ark!’ as he went.

  ‘What happened?’ Joan asked, shaking her head. ‘You were awesome.’

  Grace just sighed. ‘Oh, well. Not awesome enough.’

  ‘Here’s Jason,’ Joan said, as Jason pushed through the crowd to meet them. He was frowning, his face etched with disappointment.

  ‘So?’ Joan said, as Jason gave a guilty grin. ‘What happened? Grace was way better than that kid from Bude.’

  Jason gave a sheepish grin. ‘Yeah … turns out that wearing a J’s Surf Shack wetsuit was a conflict of interest,’ he said to Grace. ‘You, um, got disqualified, and my results got nullified.’ Then, with a cheerful pout, he added, ‘If it makes you feel better, I had you in equal second place.’

  ‘Equal?’ Joan said.

  ‘With that kid from Zennor,’ Jason said. ‘We went to the same surf school. He got disqualified as well.’

  Grace could only laugh. ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘The best ma
n won.’

  On a makeshift podium made out of a picnic table carried down to the beach, Frank Davis was making a dramatic speech about the importance of education and physical fitness. He finished with a plug for his upcoming movie, then offered free surfing lessons to anyone willing to accompany him out to Sharker’s Rock. Over on the promenade, Paul climbed up onto the wall and shouted, ‘Go, Dad! You’re a legend!’

  ‘He’s so embarrassing,’ Joan said.

  ‘Ah, it’s sweet.’

  ‘You’re so gone. If you hadn’t been disqualified you’d probably have lost anyway, because you were daydreaming about holding hands as you walked across the beach at sunset.’

  ‘While eating honeycomb ice-creams.’

  ‘Told you.’

  ‘There’s still the Melrose Hill Bicycle Race,’ Jason said. ‘You’ll have to beat me and Mike Anderson, though.’ He grinned. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘And Steve!’ Becky shouted, clapping her hands together. ‘He’s been training in secret for months.’

  ‘What?’ Joan said, turning to Becky. ‘Hedges—I mean Steve—has entered the bicycle race?’

  ‘He needed somewhere to put his energy,’ Becky gasped. ‘There were only so many hours of sleep I could go without.’

  Joan rolled her eyes at Grace. ‘Becky, could you look after the stall until the start of the race? I want to give these two a pep talk.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll probably need a chair, because I’m still exhausted from last night.’

  ‘If Jason will give me a piggyback, you can have mine.’

  Becky laughed, but Grace grabbed the handles of Joan’s chair and pushed her quickly away before she could make her offer serious. Jason trailed along behind them, occasionally pausing to turn and clap as Frank Davis’s victory speech stretched over the ten-minute mark, with no sign of abatement.

  Paul met them on the promenade and pulled a still-dripping wet Grace into a hug.

  ‘You were fantastic,’ he said. ‘Yeah, I know Dad won, but you were still awesome.’

  ‘I got disqualified,’ she said. ‘The wetsuit. I didn’t realise the competition rules would be so strict, but I guess I was wrong.’