Sulks and Smiles by The Sea

On a sunny August day in 1990, in the carpark of a beach on the northwest coast of France, the boot of a reliable oyster gold Ford Cortina had just popped open. Two boys, one ten years old, the other a month shy of eight, were handed beach towels by their grandparents, who had gladly offered to take them out for the day while the boy’s parents visited a vineyard. Scott, the eldest, was then given his football, and Michael, the youngest, his bucket and spade. Next, their granddad took out a cooler box and their nan picked out two more towels. The boot was then firmly shut, and they made their way down to the beach along a path cut through grassy dunes.

The boys ran on ahead, their nan’s voice carried to them on a breeze, warning them not to go in the water on their own. They obeyed, found a spot to lay down their towels, and turned back to sigh at how far behind their grandparents were.

As their granddad’s view became unrestricted by dunes, he looked up and down the beach, which was sparsely populated but where more than a couple of women were topless. He praised continental liberalism. His wife countered by selectively scanning the scene and commenting that the men looked like they drank a lot less lager in these parts, tapping at her husband’s stomach which, while it did have some roundness to it, and a distinct paleness that denoted an Englishman, would be unfair to have labelled a beer-belly. They both then looked ahead and smiled as they recalled it had been three years since they spent an afternoon at a beach with the boys.

When the couple had caught up with their grandchildren, and their towels were lain, the boys were coated in sunscreen by their nan, before her and her husband liberally applied it to themselves, each then giving one another’s backs a ‘good old rub’ with it. The four of them then headed for the water.

Scott and his granddad waded in and dived into the first wave that rolled their way. Michael and his nan hesitated, claiming it was too cold.

‘Nonsense. It’s perfect once you get your head under,’ Michael’s granddad responded. His wife took the plunge. Twenty seconds later, doing breaststroke with her neck tilted back and chin tickled by the water, she told Michael that his granddad was right.

Michael walked forward in small steps, exaggerating shivers as he went. When the water was just above his belly button, he stopped. He looked at his granddad, who smiled and encouraged him to take the dip. As Michael stood hesitating, he heard clunky splashes and turned to see his brother lunging towards him. Next thing Michael knew, he was underwater.

Quickly back on his feet, his instinct to be angry was overruled by the light-hearted look from Scott that communicated they both knew he needed the push. Not even noticing the cold now, Michael swam to his nan and granddad, splashing plenty of water in his wake. When he reached them, they complimented him on his swimming. He proudly reminded them that he got his fifty-metre swimming badge a month before the holiday.

The boy’s nan soon got out, having only been interested in a ‘quick dip’, and wanting to leave them to have fun with their granddad while she relaxed in the sun with a book.

The boys and their granddad had plenty of fun. Eventually, finding himself exhausted with obliging the continual requests to throw his grandchildren over waves, their granddad explained he was feeling the effects of the boys having grown for three years since he last launched them into the sea, while he had only aged, and suggested it was time to have a little rest and some lunch. The boys asked if they could be thrown just once more. Their granddad, warmed by the laughter it always brought out of them, agreed and mustered up the necessary strength.

On their way out of the water, Michael had some seaweed wrap around his ankle. Initially disgusted by its texture and eager to cast it back into the sea, when he finally had it unwrapped, he looked ahead at his brother. A ripple of mischief moved through the muscles in Michael’s face and glimmered in his eyes. He crept up behind Scott, reached to lay the seaweed on the top of his head, then sprinted back up the beach to pre-emptively seek the sympathy and protection of his nan.

After removing the seaweed from his head and spitting in anger at some of it having touched his mouth, Scott was ready to give chase and take revenge. His granddad placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘It was just a joke. No need to get upset,’ he told his grandson, keeping his hand on Scott’s shoulder to calm him as they walked.

Back at their resting spot, they each took two cheese and onion sandwiches from the cooler box. The boys made light work of theirs and thanked their nan for making them.

‘You’re welcome, pets,’ she answered, then handed them a packet of crisps each.

Michael opened his crisps, ate some, then put them to one side on noticing a big ship in the distance. He pointed it out to his nan and asked if it was the ferry they’d crossed the channel on. Scott looked over himself. ‘It looks nothing like a P&O. It’s not even a ferry!’ he thought.

While his nan humoured Michael in her response Scott, still bothered by the seaweed, was bothered further by a feeling that his little brother always had his stupid questions indulged, whereas even clever inquisitiveness on his part was often met with impatience. He inwardly groaned at the burden of being an older brother. He felt he had to do something to annoy Michael before the world could make sense again. And so, Michael’s attention still on the sea, Scott took up some sand and sprinkled it into his packet of crisps.

When Michael finally stopped with his questions and got back to his crisps his reaction to crunching on sand and the desperation to get it out of his mouth made Scott burst out laughing. While washing his mouth out with a bottle of water his nan gave him, Michael started crying.

‘There was no need for that,’ Scott’s granddad shouted at him.

‘It was just a joke,’ Scott first replied, snarkily. ‘He doesn’t have to be such a baby about it,’ he followed, turning to look his brother in his teary eyes with a degree of callousness.

Scott got an additional telling off from his nan as she comforted Michael. She then asked Scott to apologise. He claimed there was no need, as they were now even for Michael dumping slimy seaweed on him. Michael sobbed that he only did that because Scott pushed him in the sea.

Scott’s granddad now insisted he apologise. Knowing full well Michael wasn’t bothered by the push, Scott sullenly complied. His granddad then took him for a walk.

When Michael stopped crying, his nan suggested he have a play around the rock pools in the near distance. After a couple last sniffles, he got to his feet and picked up his bucket and spade.

‘Make sure you stay where I can see you. And don’t go climbing up those bigger rocks,’ his nan stipulated, pointing out the massive groin in need of repairs the rock pools were skirted by.

‘OK,’ Michael answered, wiping the remaining tears from his eyes and retracting his pouting bottom lip. There were still obvious traces of a sulky mood in his bearing as he pottered off toward the rock pools though, his little body betraying a spirit weighed down by the unfairness of being a younger brother and the frequent indignities he had to suffer for it.

Every memory of being brought to tears seemed to fill Michael’s mind, convincing him that most of his life was spent crying. Close to the rock pools now, where the sand was wetter and firmer, he kicked up a couple of clumps in protest of his own sensitivity.

Then he heard a woman’s voice saying things he didn’t understand, but in an accent and tone that seemed so reassuring. He looked around and became instantly embarrassed. A tanned young woman with long dark hair, green eyes, an aquiline nose, and dimpled cheeks, was looking down on Michael with her plump lips pursed sympathetically. Her face caused Michael no embarrassment, though he was sure it was one of the prettiest he’d ever seen. He was embarrassed because she was topless. She smiled at his innocence and asked him another question. He didn’t answer. ‘English?’ she then asked, suspecting his inability to respond might not be down to embarrassment.

Michael nodded.

‘Whatever is wrong, it can’t be that bad,’ she began again. ‘Smile, monsieur,’ she then requested.

Michael’s embarrassment couldn’t stop him replying with a bright smile.

‘Much better,’ the woman responded with a glistening smile of her own. ‘Stay happy,’ she instructed and resumed her walk.

Michael watched her carry on into the water. When thigh-deep, she arched the top of her back, stretched out her hands to join above her and dived into a wave. Michael was jealous that his brother knew how to dive properly, while he didn’t, but wondered if the lady would be impressed that he’d recently got his fifty-metre swimming badge. He watched her swimming gracefully for a minute, the sunlight seeming to sparkle on the water more wherever she went. His mood improved.

On reaching the first rock pool, he looked back to his nan and exchanged a wave. Then, on inspection, he found a crab peering from the space between two moss-covered rocks. He reached into the water to stir it, hoping to draw the crab out. It scurried back out of sight.

Michael waited a minute, but the crab didn’t come back out, and he didn’t want to mess with his house by moving rocks, so he moved on to the next pool. He found a starfish there. Its deep orange colour and its shape impressed him, but he didn’t want to touch it or pick it up, and it didn’t do much, so he soon moved on again. The next few pools were empty.

Eventually, Michael found another crab. As he leaned in for a closer look, this one tilted its shiny red shell up, baring its white abdomen, then briskly stepped side-to-side, its pincers clicking as though chatting cheerily to Michael. Thinking back on the shyness of the first crab, he decided it could use some sociable company. He scooped the friendly crab up in his bucket. When back at the first pool, he gently lowered it in with his spade, offering an apology for the disturbance and an explanation of his noble motive.

The first crab soon peered out from between the mossy rocks. Its curiosity gradually drew him out to mingle. Pleased with himself, Michael couldn’t help but suddenly think he would be having more fun if he weren’t alone. He looked back over to Scott, who was talking to his grandparents. Michael felt he was still the topic. Having successfully distracted himself from his sulking, now that he looked back on the cause, Michael knew he’d overreacted. He would have liked to just go back to say as much and make up with his brother. He didn’t know how to approach it though.

Unsure if Scott would be interested in looking at crabs with him, Michael surveyed the haphazard terrain of the groin and knew Scott would definitely enjoy climbing there. If Michael were to get up and do a little reconnaissance, he thought, it might give him something interesting to report back to Scott. ‘Nan said not to climb there though,’ he said with some regret. ‘I won’t climb too high,’ he then told himself, his excitable mind quickly made up to defy her. Seeing his grandparent’s attention still on Scott, Michael dropped his bucket and spade and ran to the part of the groin that looked best suited to start his ascent.

Before he knew it, he was high up, looking over the beach and the sea with a swell of self-assurance. ‘Nan really would be cross if she saw me up here on my own,’ he then told himself, looking back at his family. His initial fear of being spotted was quickly replaced by a greater fear, as he looked back along the path he’d climbed, realising he hadn’t factored in the descent.

He soon mapped a new route though. To begin with, he found it easy. His confidence grew and pace quickened until, having got his foot wet in a mini pool, he slipped, sped over a few rocks, and was faced with a split-second decision that made him veer from his route, jumping down onto a small clearing with compact sand, catching his elbow on a jagged rock as he went.

His elbow was bleeding. The injury became a secondary concern after assessing the spot he’d landed in. Climbing back up to his path wasn’t achievable. The long jump down might have been doable if a clearing of sand was beneath, but there were too many rocks to risk it. The only way down would lead to a point where the sea was crashing into the rocks. He was stuck. Beset with panic, his elbow now throbbing, he was nonetheless determined not to cry. He began shouting for help.

Meanwhile, back at the resting spot, Scott-having first spent some time venting his frustrations to his granddad about the over-sensitivity of his little brother-was brought back to sit with both grandparents, where he was reminded of some of his own overreactions over the years. He was then told how much Michael looked up to him. Finally, they said they understood the frustration he might sometimes feel as an older brother, but that he was actually a very sturdy one, recalling a few of the many times Scott had looked out for Michael. Their words were effective. Scott soon softened and came around to the idea of reconciliation.

It rarely did take much for the boys to forgive each other. In fact, the most annoying aspect of their disagreements for each of them was the inability to stay annoyed at one another for long. Both were commonly held back by the same obstacle though; how to initiate the resolution. ‘Tell Michael you want to play football with him,’ Scott’s nan suggested. His granddad volunteered himself as a goalkeeper.

Michael thought this a good idea. He looked towards the rock pools.

‘Look!’ he shouted, immediately springing to his feet and pointing to Michael, the sturdy older brother in him fully awakened. Before his grandparents could respond, Scott sprinted off. Full of worry and a sense of a dereliction of duty, his grandparents followed as fast as they could.

Michael’s calls for assistance, too feint to reach any loungers on the beach, had been heard by the topless swimmer. When Scott arrived on the scene, she was already stood below Michael, her arms stretched up, one foot planted in wet sand and the other pressing hard on the flat of a rock.

‘I will catch. I promise,’ she told the frightened child. There was something so comforting in her voice, but Michael still hesitated.

After a guilty look at the topless lady Scott locked eyes with his brother. ‘Be brave, Michael. You can do it. I know you can,’ he told him, conveying absolute confidence.

This gave Michael the courage he needed. With trembling knees and a pounding heart he opened out his arms, looked down at the lady, then jumped.

She kept her promise and caught him. ‘You poor thing,’ she said on noticing his bleeding elbow, and decided to cradle him until they reached his grandparents.

Her wet hair brushing his forehead, and a soft breast pressing his cheek, Michael forgave himself for relishing her pity on account of him shedding no tears during his ordeal.

He soon apologised to Scott for being a baby and for dumping seaweed on him. Scott told Michael he wasn’t a baby and apologised again for pushing him in the water and putting sand in his crisps. Then he praised his brother’s bravery, pretending that he would have been too scared to jump if he were stuck up there. ‘Do you think you’ll be OK for a game of football?’ he then asked. ‘Granddad’s going in goals,’ he followed, excitedly.

‘I think I’ll be OK,’ Michael answered, rubbing his wounded elbow, which didn’t hurt much, indulging in his new role as a resilient little champ.

Michael’s rescuer listened to the conversation-not understanding all that was said, but in no doubt as to the sentiment-with a tender smile that lingered the whole short journey.

When they made it to his grandparents Michael was set down, voicing only his appreciation, and not the sadness at his removal from a position of blissful comfort. His grandparents, both apologetic and grateful, thanked the woman profusely, his granddad managing to maintain eye contact for ninety percent of the interaction out of deference to the situation. Michael then received a strong hug and a soft telling off from his nan, neither of which he paid much attention to, his eyes fixed on his rescuer with unshakable reverence. With a coyness that made her smile adoringly, he asked if she wanted to stay to play football.

‘I’m sorry, but I have to go,’ she answered, her heart melting at the disappointment in his little face.

Before leaving, she crouched down to meet Michael at eye-level. ‘Smile, monsieur,’ she told him with a playful pout. Michael obliged. ‘Au revoir, mon ami,’ she followed, planting a kiss on his forehead, and a memory in his heart that got him through many boring French classes in his teenage years.