I went up and up and up the tower steps, gasping for breath. There was someone behind me. I could hear them getting nearer and nearer.

I kept craning back fearfully but it was so dark and I couldn’t see anything. But there was a faint glimmer ahead. I was nearly at the top.

I made one last desperate effort and stepped out onto the castle battlements, my hands ready to clasp the wall . . . but it wasn’t there!

I was standing on a tiny parapet, the wind whistling around me. If I took just one step forward I’d be treading thin air!

‘Where’s the wall?’

There was a horrible laugh from behind me. I turned my head stiffly, not daring to move any more in case I toppled over.

Prickle-Head was grinning at me from the doorway. He stamped his huge boots.

‘These are great for kicking. A few kicks at that wall and it crumbled. You’re the one that’s going to crumble now, Mummy’s Boy. You like cissy pretend games, don’t you? Well, you can play at being a weathercock now. Have fun!’

He dodged back and slammed the door shut. I heard the thud and rattle as he bolted it from the inside.

‘Please! Come back! You can’t do this!’ I screamed.

‘I said I was going to get you,’ Prickle-Head shouted from behind the door.

I heard the clump of his boots down and down and down the steps.

I was left, unable to move, my head spinning, eyes streaming, mouth screaming. It was so windy I could barely keep my balance. I had to keep still, it was my only chance, but I was being buffetted from side to side, and I felt so sick and dizzy I couldn’t keep my legs stiff. I staggered forward, arms flailing wildly – and then I fell.

Down, down, down . . .

and landed with a bump.

‘Tim?’

‘Oooh!’

‘What’re you doing on the floor?’

‘I fell out of bed. I think I was having a nightmare.’

‘Oh. Right. Night then,’ said Biscuits.

Walter Bear had fallen with me. I clutched him tight against my chest.

‘Tim?’ said Biscuits.

‘What?’

‘Why aren’t you getting back into bed?’

‘Because – because I don’t want to go back to sleep. In case the nightmare comes back.’

‘Was it a really awful maniac-killer-with-a-machine-gun nightmare?’ said Biscuits.

‘Worse!’

‘Wow. Well. Do you want to get in my bed for a bit?’

‘Yes please,’ I said.

It wasn’t very comfortable in Biscuits’s bed. Biscuits himself took up a great deal of room, and his sheets were all prickly with crumbs. But it was much much cosier squashed up with him than my own cold bed where the Prickle-Head dream was still lurking, ready to flash on the screen in my head the minute I closed my eyes.

Walter Bear had also crept in with me. He cuddled up with Dog Hog.

‘Is Tim feeling better now?’ said Dog Hog.

‘Much better, thank you,’ said Walter.

‘He doesn’t sound much better. Tell him not to worry. It was only a nightmare. It can’t come true,’ said Dog Hog.

‘It can,’ said Walter. ‘He says it’s about Prickle-Head.’

‘Ah,’ said Dog Hog. ‘Him.’

‘Yes,’ said Walter Bear. ‘He’s going to get Tim.’

‘And Biscuits,’ said Dog Hog.

‘He’s going to get me more,’ I said in my ordinary voice, forgetting to be Walter Bear. ‘He chased me up this castle and then left me right at the top and there was nothing to hold on to and it was so awful—’

‘But he couldn’t really do that,’ said Biscuits.

‘Well, all right. But he could . . .’ I paused, thinking of 1001 possibilities.

‘He can’t do anything really,’ said Biscuits firmly. ‘Not with your mum and dad around. Especially not your mum.’ He chuckled.

I started laughing too, but a little uneasily.

‘I suppose he can’t actually kill me,’ I said. ‘But – but he can still call me horrible names.’

‘We can call him horrible names back,’ said Biscuits. ‘I know! Let’s have a Horrible Names for Prickle-Head contest!’

This was enormous fun. We started off mildly enough:

Pea-brain Prickle-Head.

Pig-manure Prickle-Head.

Pukey Prickle-Head.

Then the names got longer and fancier and much much ruder.

We were soon shaking with laughter, so that we were both in danger of tumbling right out of bed.

Then I suddenly heard a bedroom door slam. Footsteps, rapidly approaching!

‘Help!’ I hissed, and I shot out of Biscuits’s bed and into my own.

‘What on earth are you two boys playing at!’ Mum whispered fiercely, bursting into our room. ‘It’s four o’clock in the morning and you’re waking the whole hotel!’

I kept my eyes shut and tried to breathe evenly, though my heart was thudding. Biscuits gave a very realistic little snore.

‘You can’t fool me,’ said Mum – but she sounded uncertain.

She waited . . . and then we heard her tiptoeing out.

I felt the most desperate giggle shaking my whole body. I had to go down under the sheets to muffle it. Biscuits was snorting too. A little too loudly.

‘Sh! She’ll come back! We’d better go to sleep now,’ I said.

‘But I’m wide awake,’ said Biscuits. ‘And I’m starving. I’m going to ask for double sausages at breakfast. Triple.’

He did too. Mrs Jones laughed delightedly and called him Little Lord Greedyguts.

‘Anything to oblige and fill the Royal Tum,’ she said, bustling off to the kitchen.

Biscuits and I laughed too, but Mum frowned. She wasn’t in a good mood anyway because of her disturbed night.

‘Really, Biscuits! It’s very rude of you to keep asking Mrs Jones for more food. She gives you very generous portions as it is. You mustn’t do it.’

‘But she likes it when I ask for more. She thinks it’s funny,’ Biscuits protested.

‘Well, I don’t think it’s funny at all,’ said Mum. ‘And you can’t possibly want any more sausages. You’ll be sick.’

‘I’m never sick,’ said Biscuits. ‘Even on the day I had a Christmas dinner with my mum and dad and then we went to my auntie’s and we had another whole Christmas dinner with her and then we went to my gran’s in the evening and we had a big buffet and I ate all the sausages on sticks, every single one. I wasn’t sick then. And I wasn’t even sick on my birthday when—’

‘I’m getting sick of this subject,’ said Mum.

Mrs Jones was coming back with a plate of sizzling sausages, so Mum was forced to smile and be extra grateful.

Biscuits tucked into the sausages. He ate them all. The whole plateful. And then he smacked his lips happily.

‘When you die they’ll pickle your stomach and doctors will come and look at it and marvel,’ I said.

Biscuits still looked hopefully at the ice-cream stall as we went on the beach, but after one glance at Mum he could see there was no point asking.

Dad made a great to-do of getting the deckchairs positioned and the windbreak up.

‘You’re probably wasting your time. It looks as if it’s going to start raining,’ said Mum, eyeing the grey sky.

‘Nonsense!’ said Dad. ‘The sun’s just about to break through, you’ll see.’

Mum sniffed, pulled on another cardigan, and got her book out of her beach-bag. Dad reached for his paper, taking great deep breaths to show he was appreciating the balmy air, though there were goose pimples from the end of his shorts to his ankles.

‘You two boys had better run about a bit to get warm,’ Mum said.

‘I’m warm enough,’ said Biscuits, getting out his comic.

I read my own comic for a bit, and then I got my drawing book and doodled around doing a picture strip of me and Biscuits being Super-Tim and Biscuits-Boy. Super-Tim swooped up to the castle battlements and rescued damsels in distress who were swooningly grateful. He rounded up evil enemies, conquering them with a swift chop to the chops. ‘Kerpow!’ said Super-Tim and ‘Wow!’ said Biscuits-Boy, marvelling at his best friend’s bravery and brawn.

‘What are you drawing?’ said Biscuits, peering over my shoulder.

‘Just silly rubbish,’ I said, crumpling the page quickly. ‘Come on, Biscuits, let’s do something. Let’s go looking for shells and seaweed and stuff and then identify it from my seaside nature book.’

‘That sounds like super fun – not!’ said Biscuits. ‘Just like school.’

‘No, we might find something mega-rare. Some extraordinary lugworm all coiled up in the sand and we’ll start digging him up and find he’s vast, one of the great loathly worms they had in the Middle Ages. Or – or we’ll pick up this ordinary old stone and we’ll see all the markings on it and it’ll be a Stone Age flint used by a caveman to make an axe to attack all the woolly mammoths and sabre-tooth tigers. Aah! I’ve got a better idea! Let’s find a cave and explore it and see if we can find any cave paintings.’

‘No, let’s find a cave that long-ago pirates used and they hid their ill-gotten gains in it, gold coins and jewels and stuff, and we’ll find it in a rotting old trunk and live like lottery winners forever,’ said Biscuits.

‘OK, OK, well, the cave could have both,’ I said. ‘Let’s find it, eh? Explorers’ gear required, Biscuits-Boy.’

‘Aye, aye, Super-Tim.’

We got the spades and ran up the beach to where the sand dunes started teetering upwards in an uneven cliff. Little sand-martins flew in and out of an entire birdy housing estate right up at the top. There were a few shallow cubby-holes at the bottom of the cliff, but none that could be seriously described as caves.

‘We’ll have to tunnel to discover the secret entrance,’ I said, attacking the soft sand vigorously with my spade.

‘Oh oh! Hard labour time again. Can’t you summon up your superhuman powers and blast your way through to save them?’ said Biscuits, sitting on the handle of his spade. ‘Then I can sit here and have a bit of a rest.’

‘You can’t have a rest now. You haven’t done any work. Come on, let’s get digging.’

But as we both set to, Mum started shouting at us. Something about Silly and Dangerous and Stop-it-at-once.

‘What’s she on about now?’ Biscuits muttered. ‘Maybe you’re not supposed to dig on a full stomach?’

‘That’s swimming,’ I said. ‘No, maybe she’s worried that we might get sand in our eyes. Actually, I already have, it’s all gritty.’

I blinked. Mum loomed large through a hazy blur.

‘You silly boys! You mustn’t ever tunnel in sandcliffs like that. It’s terribly dangerous. The sand can easily shift and fall on top of you and trap you. Never ever do that. Tim? Why are you screwing up your face like that? Oh darling, have you got sand in your eye?’

She tried making me blow my nose but it didn’t work.

‘It’s OK,’ I said, hating the fuss Mum was making in front of Biscuits. ‘It’s fine now,’ I pretended, giving my eye a quick rub with my fist.

This was a serious mistake. My eye suddenly felt as if it was being scrubbed with emery-paper.

‘Oh dear goodness. Hold still, Tim. Oh, your poor eye,’ Mum said, as I hopped about in agony, my eye squeezed shut, tears seeping down my cheeks.

‘Don’t carry on like that, Tim, it’s just a speck of sand,’ said Dad, coming over. Then he had a proper look. ‘Oh dear. It looks like you’ve got half the beach in there, old son. We need some water to wash it out.’

‘I’ll get a bucket and get some sea-water,’ said Biscuits.

‘No, dear – it’s salty, that’s no use. Come with me, Tim,’ said Mum. ‘I’ll have to take you back to the hotel and we’ll use a proper eye bath.’

So Mum whisked me off while Biscuits and Dad stayed on the beach. I tried to stop crying, terrified that Prickle-Head and Pinch-Face might bob up out of nowhere and call me a cissy crybaby, but my eye hurt so much I couldn’t help it.

‘You poor darling,’ Mum said distractedly, as we stumbled across the cabbage field and down the windy footpaths. ‘I’ll get them to phone for a doctor when we get to the hotel. Or maybe it would be better to dial 999 for an ambulance. You can’t be too careful with eyes. I think you should go to the hospital.’

I started crying harder. By the time we got to the hotel we were both convinced I was going to end up blind in both eyes. Mum was crying too.

‘What’s the matter. Has the little lad had an accident?’ said Mrs Jones. ‘Oh dear, sand in his eye, is it? Don’t you fret, we’ll sort it out in no time.’

She picked me up in her big strong arms as if I were no bigger than baby Keanu. She swept me into her kitchen, sat me down on her draining board, and ran some cold water into a cup. She held it against my hurting eye, tipped my head back, and told me to open the sore eye as wide as possible. It stopped hurting quite so badly. She did it again. It got much better. She had a good peer into my eye, gently holding it wide open.

‘Aha! There’s one little gritty bit left. We’ll get it out in half a tick, you’ll see.’ She took the corner of her linen tea-towel and gave a quick flick.

‘That’s it!’ she said triumphantly. ‘Now, one more rinse for luck and you’ll be as right as rain, young man.’

‘It’s stopped hurting! Well, it’s still a bit sore, but it’s much much better,’ I said, blinking happily.

Mum thanked Mrs Jones again and again. She still felt I should see a doctor to make sure my eye was really all right, but it would mean going all the way to Abercoch to the nearest health centre.

‘We don’t want to do that, Mum, it would take all morning,’ I said.

‘We could have a quick look round the shops while we were there. We didn’t really get a proper chance last time with your dad and your pal Biscuits.’

‘I want to go back on the beach, Mum! Please!’

Mum sighed. ‘All right then, dear. But I can’t quite see the charm of Llanpistyll beach myself. It’s not even sunny enough to get a tan. It’s not my idea of fun hunched up in a deckchair hour after hour.’

Mum mumbled and grumbled all the way back to the beach. I raced to the top of the cliff, ready to hurtle down.

‘Tim! For goodness sake! Do you want to get more sand in that eye? Use the path!’

I stopped listening to Mum. I saw who else was on the beach. Kelly and Kelly’s mum and Kelly’s mum’s boyfriend Dave and Kelly’s little brother Dean and Kelly’s baby brother Keanu.

‘Look who’s here, Mum!’ I said, and I charged down the sandy slope, too impatient to bother with the path.

Kelly’s mum was sitting in my mum’s deckchair beside Dad. Kelly’s mum’s boyfriend Dave was sitting on the sand with baby Keanu on his lap. Dean was scrunched up in Keanu’s buggy pretending to be a baby. Kelly and Biscuits were sitting on a beach towel, Kelly wriggling and pushing, Biscuits refusing to budge. They all had ice-creams. I felt a little left out – and then as I slid nearer I saw Kelly was holding an ice-cream in each hand.

‘Hey, Tim! Is your eye better? I was worried when your dad told us. I’ve saved you an ice-cream anyway,’ Kelly shouted. ‘Better come quick. Biscuits has been after it!’

‘Well, it’s all started to melt,’ said Biscuits.

‘You’re an old greedy-guts, you are,’ said Kelly, bounding forward to meet me.

She nudged Biscuits a bit in the process. He dropped his own ice-cream in the sand. It was nearly finished anyway, but he gave an immense howl of protest.

I suggested he had half of my ice-cream to make up. I could see it might be a bit difficult to keep things peaceful between Biscuits and Kelly. I liked Biscuits ever so much and I sort of liked Kelly a lot too. I couldn’t see why they didn’t seem to like each other much.

Mum didn’t look at all pleased when she arrived on the beach. She glared at me.

‘I told you not to go down the sandy way, Tim,’ she hissed. Then she smiled, though her lips were very thin and showing too much teeth. ‘Well, this is a lovely surprise.’

‘Oh, we can’t keep our Kelly away from your Tim,’ Kelly’s mum laughed, still sprawling in Mum’s deckchair, her skirt pulled up so she showed a lot of long brown leg.

Mum’s smile got even thinner as she sat down heavily on the sand.

‘Oh don’t sit down! I want you to come with me,’ said Kelly’s mum. She leapt up and started hopping around, brushing the sand off her feet and stuffing them into strappy little sandals. ‘There’s meant to be a huge great market this morning in a field the other side of Abercoch. I’ve been trying to get your old man and mine interested, but you know what men are like when it comes to shopping. But you’ll come, won’t you?’

‘There you are, Mum! You can go shopping after all,’ I said, trying to squeeze in between Kelly and Biscuits. It was a terrible squash.

Mum got a bit dithery, but eventually agreed.

‘Come along then, children,’ she said.

‘Oh, we won’t take the kids. They’ll be a terrible bore. The boys hate shopping.’

‘Tim enjoys it,’ said Mum. ‘And I daresay Biscuits will come if there’s any food in the offing.’

‘Me?’ said Biscuits.

‘No, let them play on the beach and have fun. The boys might behave themselves but my Kelly will be on and on at me to buy her everything.’

‘Me?’ said Kelly.

‘And Dean won’t hold my hand and I’m always on pins in case I lose him – and the baby’s so grizzly with his teething he’s driving me round the bend. No, we’ll leave the kids with the men.’

‘Oh, I don’t think we could do that,’ said Mum. ‘They’d let them run wild.’

‘I daresay!’ said Kelly’s mum. She linked her arm through my mum’s. ‘They can have fun and we’ll have fun too. Come on. I insist!’

So Mum went off with Kelly’s mum. As soon as she started picking her way across the sand Biscuits said, ‘Hooray!’

And so did Kelly.

So I did too.

‘Now, what are we going to do?’ said Kelly. ‘Let’s explore those rocks over there, right?’

‘OK. There might be shrimps,’ I said.

‘The sort you can eat?’ said Biscuits.

‘You’d eat any sort,’ said Kelly scornfully. ‘You are a pig, Biscuits. And you’ve got ice-cream all round your mouth.’

‘You’ve got your breakfast orange juice all round yours,’ said Biscuits.

Don’t be stupid. It’s lipstick. My mum’s Coral Peach. Honestly!’ said Kelly, tossing her pony-tail. ‘Come on, Tim.’

I dithered between them. I wished they felt more friendly towards each other.

‘Where are you three off to?’ said Dad.

‘We’re just going to climb about on those rocks,’ said Kelly, giving him a dazzling smile.

‘Good idea,’ said Dad.

‘Me too, me too, me too,’ said Dean, trying to climb out of the baby buggy. He tripped over the safety strap and sprawled headlong in the sand.

‘Quick!’ said Kelly. ‘We don’t want to get lumbered with him.’

She ran. I ran too. And Biscuits ran, awkwardly, because he’d only had time to put one trainer on.

We got to the rocks at the edge of the beach and started climbing up them. It was quite hard, with big gaps in between the rocks, but I was desperate to show Kelly I could do it. At least I had my trainers on. Biscuits winced and whimpered at every second step.

‘You’re such a wimp, Biscuits,’ said Kelly. ‘Look, I haven’t got shoes on either, have I, but I’m not making a fuss.’

The soles of Kelly’s feet were hard and dark and leathery, almost as if she had shoes built into her skin. Biscuits’s feet were pale pink and as smooth as satin cushions. Kelly wasn’t really being fair.

‘Ouch!’ said Biscuits, stepping on a really spikey rock with his bare foot.

‘Try treading on the seaweedy parts, it’ll be softer,’ I suggested.

It was bad advice. The seaweed was like an oiled slide. Biscuits stepped, slipped, screamed. His arms went up. His legs went up too. He landed very heavily indeed on his bottom.

I felt so sorry for him. But he also looked so funny. Kelly shrieked with laughter. I struggled to stay straight-faced. But Biscuits looked so comical sitting in the seaweed. I snorted and then I couldn’t stop. I laughed too.

‘Oh ha ha ha ha,’ said Biscuits sourly.

‘I’m sorry, Biscuits,’ I spluttered. ‘Oh dear, have you hurt yourself?’

‘Probably,’ said Biscuits, standing up gingerly.

‘Are your legs all right? You haven’t broken anything?’ I asked, patting and prodding him.

Kelly was still laughing.

‘Kelly!’ I said.

‘Look at his shorts! It looks as if he’s wet himself!’ said Kelly.

‘Don’t be mean,’ I said – but my voice shook. I was very nearly laughing again. The seaweed was very wet and slimy. Biscuits’s shorts were wet in the very worst places.

Biscuits stood dripping in his damp shorts. He took Dog Hog out of his pocket and dabbed him dry. Poor Dog Hog had endured several salt-water baths this holiday.

‘You could change into your swimming trunks,’ I suggested.

Biscuits didn’t bother to reply. He gave Dog Hog one last squeeze and then stuffed him back in his sodden pocket. He turned with as much dignity as he could muster, very nearly slipped over again, wobbled dangerously, and then started his descent.

‘Oh dear,’ I said, watching Biscuits plod across the beach. ‘Poor Biscuits. Do you think I should go after him?’

‘No! Leave him be. He’ll go and eat a biscuit or two – or three or four or five or six – and cheer himself up. It’s nice to be without him for a bit. He’s worse than our Dean for tagging on when he’s not wanted,’ said Kelly, climbing again.

‘I want Biscuits around,’ I said.

‘Well I don’t,’ said Kelly, as if that settled it. ‘Come on, Tim, let’s get to the top.’

She hauled me up and up and up. It was getting uncomfortably high.

‘Hang on. Look, here’s a little rockpool. What’s this blobby red thing? I think it’s a sea anemone.’

‘Mmm,’ said Kelly, clearly not interested. She pulled at a few mussels clinging to the rock.

‘Don’t dislodge them!’

‘Are they oysters?’ Kelly asked. ‘I could do with a pearl to ring the changes with my diamond.’

‘Oysters!’ I said, sighing. ‘Oysters are completely different, and they’re way down on the sea bed. You have to dive for them.’

‘Theresa can dive for them then,’ said Kelly, getting her old troll doll out of the pocket of her sweatshirt.

I wished my Walter Bear was little enough to fit in a pocket. Kelly and Biscuits were so lucky to have mascots so discreetly small. I’d need a pocket the size of a shopping bag to accommodate Walter.

Kelly ripped Theresa’s dress off and made her dive down into the pool.

‘Wheee! She likes it, see. She’s a great swimmer. Find me some oysters, please, I want some pearls.’

‘You don’t get pearls in every oyster. They’re very rare. Though of course you can farm oysters and have cultivated pearls—’

‘Tim,’ Kelly interrupted. ‘Do you want to be a school teacher when you grow up?’

‘Why?’

‘Because you don’t half act like one sometimes.’

‘Oh,’ I said.

‘Ooooooooh!’ said Kelly.

I blinked at her. I wondered if she was mocking me. Or playing the fool with Theresa? She scooped her troll out of the little pool and was holding her at arm’s length.

‘Help! Look what’s in her hair!’ Kelly yelled.

I looked. Then I laughed.

‘Oh Kelly. It’s just a weeny little crab. Theresa used her hair like a fishing net.’

‘Get it off her. She doesn’t like it,’ Kelly said urgently, waggling Theresa frantically.

‘Hold her still then. Come here.’ I held the little wet troll doll and gently untangled the tiny crab from her long purple locks.

‘Yuck!’ said Kelly, snatching Theresa back and combing her hair with her fingers. ‘Poor poor poor Theresa – under mega-attack from a sea monster!’

‘It’s only a baby crab, Kelly. Nothing to be scared of,’ I said, letting the crab scuttle up my arm.

‘I’m not afraid of it. Theresa is. It practically bit her head off. Ugh, put it back in the water.’

I popped the little crab back into his swimming pool. He paddled out of sight, probably very relieved.

‘That’s it, you go back to Mummy Crab,’ I said.

‘Mummy?’ said Kelly.

She started climbing higher very quickly. I climbed too. I was getting the knack of it now and leapt from rock to rock almost as if I were Super-Tim himself. I felt great (though a bit guilty about Biscuits).

‘Wow!’ said Kelly, from up above. ‘There’s an even better beach the other side of these rocks. A little cove.’

It took me a minute or two to get up to the top. Then I saw the beach for myself. It was fantastic, a miniature bay of soft white sand circled by tall cliffs.

‘Maybe no-one’s ever spotted it before,’ said Kelly. ‘It looks like you can only reach it by going over the rocks from our beach. Hey, let’s get right down there and make it ours. We can call it Kelly-and-Tim beach. Come on!’

‘Well. Hadn’t we better get Biscuits too?’

‘No!’

‘It’s not really fair if we go off without him.’

‘He’s the one that went off, not us.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Look, if we go all the way back to get him and then have to climb back all over the rocks, it’ll take forever. Let’s just slip down to the beach and claim it – and then we’ll go back and make friends with him if we must, OK?’

‘OK,’ I said.

‘Great,’ said Kelly. She was immediately off like a mountain goat down the other side of the rocks to the perfect private beach.

‘Kelly, wait. I can’t go as fast. And it’s all difficult and slippery. Suppose we can’t get back up?’

‘Of course we’ll be able to,’ Kelly said, leaping a long way down.

She landed lightly on a flat rock, but it wasn’t wedged securely. It wobbled. Kelly wobbled too, but leapt again before she fell. She landed on another lower rock, safely – but only just.

‘Kelly! Do be careful. If you slip and break your leg how could I possibly carry you all the way back?’ I protested.

‘You’re such a worryguts, Tim. I’m not going to slip,’ Kelly shouted.

She leapt.

She landed.

She slipped – and fell.

I screamed.

She grabbed another rock, hung there, stretched one leg to another rock, steadied herself, edged downwards, and stood properly on her two tough feet.

‘Kelly! Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘I thought you were going to fall all the way down.’

‘I didn’t fall at all. I slid that bit on purpose,’ Kelly insisted.

But when we both got down to the soft sand I saw a great gash on Kelly’s leg.

‘You’re bleeding!’

‘It’s nothing,’ said Kelly, dabbing her leg impatiently. ‘Hey, isn’t this beach fantastic? Aren’t you pleased I discovered it for you?’

‘It’s a deep cut, Kelly. You must clean it.’

‘Oh Tim, stop fussing. I’m always getting cuts. They’re usually far far worse than that. I climbed over a wall with all this broken glass stuck on top once. Look!’ Kelly lifted her T-shirt and showed a zig-zag scar across her tummy.

‘Gosh!’ I said, very impressed.

‘I used to kid the guys in my class it was like a zip and I could shove my hand straight into my stomach.’

‘You couldn’t, could you?’

‘No!’

‘Well anyway, you ought to go paddling. The sea’s salty. It’s very healing. My dad had a boil on his bottom once, and he sat in a basin of salty water.’

Kelly snorted with laughter. So did I. We laughed so much we nearly fell over on the sand.

‘What a place to have a boil!’ said Kelly. ‘OK, OK. I’ll paddle, just to keep you happy.’

We both paddled. Kelly winced a bit as the water washed over her leg but she didn’t complain.

‘You’re ever so brave, Kelly,’ I said.

Kelly beamed at me. A wave splashed high and she jumped to stop her shorts getting wet. Soon we were both holding hands and jumping every wave. We got wet after all but it didn’t really matter. Little droplets of water on my eyelashes made me see rainbows everywhere.

‘This is our beach, right? We’re the only ones who can come here,’ said Kelly. ‘Let’s stake it out as ours.’

She searched the sands until she found a big stick. She went near the water’s edge where the sand was firm and wrote a message in spiky capital letters.

KELLY-AND-TIM BEACH. PRIVATE. KEEP OUT.

Then she bent over and started drawing a big heart. Well, it was meant to be a heart but it went a bit wobbly and lop-sided. She wrote K L T inside.

‘What’s it say?’ I said. ‘Klut? Klot?’

‘You’re the clot,’ said Kelly, pink from bending over. ‘It says Kelly Loves Tim. Right?’

‘Oh. Right,’ I said.

‘Well?’ said Kelly. She held out the stick.

Obediently I drew my own heart and put T L K inside.

‘Right!’ said Kelly. She came up very close. ‘Shut your eyes!’ she commanded.

I did as I was told. I felt this quick dab on my cheek. I think she kissed me. But when I opened my eyes she’d already darted right across the sand towards the rocks.