Buried Alive! Read online

  She rubbed us all over with this sunscreen stuff. It was ever so tickly and Biscuits and I both got the giggles. Then the sun went in and soon we needed our T-shirts back on, and our sweaters.

  ‘How about a game of French cricket to get warm?’ said Dad.

  ‘Oh Dad. No! I hate games like that,’ I said.

  ‘You’ve never even played it. Come on, it’s fun, Tim,’ said Dad.

  ‘Why don’t you all make a nice sandcastle?’ said Mum quickly.

  ‘Oh yes!’ I said.

  I know about castles. I did this special project at school.

  ‘Let’s build a motte and bailey castle, eh, Biscuits?’ I said.

  ‘You what?’ said Biscuits. ‘Bot and naily?’

  ‘You twit! Motte. That’s a castle that’s up on a mound, right? And the bailey is the walk right round it.’

  ‘No, don’t let’s build a boring old motte and bailey castle, Tim. We’ll do my bot and naily castle. All the soldiers stand up the top and moon at the enemy showing their bots, right?’

  ‘OK, OK,’ I said, giggling. ‘And then they cut off all their horny old toenails and flick them over the parapets so that it’s like confetti and all these daggy old nailies get in the enemies’ hair, right, Biscuits?’

  ‘What on earth are you two going on about?’ said Dad, getting a bit irritated. ‘OK, let’s build a sandcastle.’

  There was just one problem. We didn’t have any decent spades. There was a little kiosk right along at the top of the beach so we trailed all the way there but they just had little baby plastic spades for toddlers. They had ice-cream though so we had that instead.

  I was a bit disappointed. I had this vision of a brilliant turreted castle on a mound with garderobes and arrow-slit windows and a little drawbridge. But Biscuits licked his ice-cream happily and didn’t seem to mind a bit.

  When we went back to the hotel I spotted something in the umbrella stand in the hall. Two big spades with painted wooden handles and hard metal blades. They were very old and chipped but still sturdy. They looked as if they’d been lolling in the umbrella stand a very long time.

  The hotel lady, Mrs Jones, made a fuss of Biscuits at dinner because he had mushroom soup and a roll and then chicken and chips and peas and then apple pie and cream and he said it was all extra yummy, especially the pie. Mrs Jones said it was her own special home-made pie and she brought him another slice because she said it was good to see a young man who appreciated his food.

  I hadn’t been able to finish my pie and I didn’t like the skin on my chicken and I don’t like soup, especially not mushroom.

  Mum apologized for me being such a picky eater but Mrs Jones just laughed and ruffled my hair. She seemed to like me too even though I don’t appreciate my food like Biscuits. So I plucked up courage to ask about the spades.

  ‘Those old spades, dearie? Of course you two boys can borrow them.’

  ‘Wow! Great!’ I said.

  ‘Wow and wow again and great and even greater,’ said Biscuits.

  We went to inspect the spades in the umbrella stand while Mum and Dad had coffee.

  ‘I’ll have the one with the red handle,’ said Biscuits, grabbing it.

  ‘But you had the red holiday diary,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, so red’s my colour,’ said Biscuits. ‘You can have the blue.’

  ‘But I was the one who asked about the spades,’ I said. ‘And I let you have first pick of the holiday diaries so I should have first pick now.’

  ‘It’s only an old spade,’ said Biscuits, but he hung on to it. He lifted it in the air like a sword. ‘I challenge you to a duel, Super-Tim.’

  ‘OK, OK, Biscuits-Boy,’ I said, seizing the blue spade reluctantly.

  I hoped he was joking. Biscuits seemed a lot stronger than me – and the spades were heavy, with sharp edges.

  Biscuits lunged. I dodged. Biscuits went on lunging, slightly off balance – and very nearly speared one of the old ladies shuffling out of the dining room. She shrieked. Her friend shrieked too. Mum came running and she shrieked as well. She couldn’t get cross with Biscuits because he was our guest. So she got cross with me. Which wasn’t fair. Not one bit.

  ‘Sorry you got the telling off, Tim,’ Biscuits said, when we were in our room.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said, though I was still feeling ever so miffed.

  ‘Look. You can have the red spade if you really want it,’ said Biscuits.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I repeated, not quite so miffed.

  ‘I insist,’ said Biscuits.

  ‘Right! The red spade’s mine,’ I said, suddenly not miffed at all. I giggled. ‘You didn’t half make that old lady jump, Biscuits.’

  ‘I nearly skewered her like a kebab,’ said Biscuits, and he giggled too.

  We mimed the mock duel all over again. We couldn’t act it out because we’d been told very firmly that the spades had to be kept in the umbrella stand all the time we were in the hotel.

  We had a duel with our toothbrushes instead and that was great fun, even though Biscuits kept winning. Then Mum came in to settle us down and she made a bit of a fuss about the frothy toothpaste all over everywhere but she didn’t get too narky this time.

  ‘I suppose boys will be boys,’ she said. ‘Now, it’s been a long day and you were up very early, Tim. Time to snuggle down and go to sleep.’

  We snuggled down. But of course we didn’t go to sleep. We held an amazingly rude competition. Then we had a joke-telling bonanza. Biscuits knows some wonderfully disgusting jokes. I snorted so much I had to bury my head in the pillow. So did Biscuits. And then he realized he’d lain on his night-time emergency pack of biscuits. There were an awful lot of crumbs. He had to eat them all up to get rid of them.

  Then he nodded off. Biscuits makes little munching noises even in his sleep. Then I went to sleep too and dreamed I was down on the beach, building the biggest sandcastle in the world. I stepped inside and explored, climbing the narrow steps round and round, right to the top of the golden tower . . .

  Then I woke up and it was morning. The first thing I thought of was Castle.

  Then Biscuits woke up and the first thing he did was sniff hopefully.

  ‘Hi, Biscuits! Are you seeing if you can smell the sea air?’

  ‘Hi, Tim! No, I’m seeing if I can sniff sausages for breakfast!’ said Biscuits.

  ‘No, no, no, Mr Cannibal,’ said Dog Hog, struggling out from under the sheets and attacking Biscuits.

  Walter Bear and I watched, cuddling peacefully.

  ‘You are crackers, Biscuits,’ I said. ‘Hey, can I really have the red spade today?’

  ‘Well, I said you could have it yesterday so really it should be my turn today,’ said Biscuits.

  ‘But I never got to use it yesterday!’ I said indignantly.

  ‘I’ll fight you for the spade, right?’ said Biscuits, and he picked up his pillow and thumped me with it.

  I thumped back with mine.

  We were soon bouncing backwards and forwards on the beds, thumping and bumping, clouting and shouting. Shouting a little too loudly.

  ‘Boys, boys! Stop it at once!’ Mum hissed, rushing into our room in her nightie and dressing gown. ‘Honestly! What am I going to do with you? It isn’t seven o’clock yet and you’re already behaving like horrible hooligans. Now get back into bed and try to have another little snooze.’

  We didn’t feel the least bit sleepy. We had another weeny-teeny pillow fight, and Biscuits called me a horrible hooligan and I called Biscuits a horrible hooligan. Then we did a horrible hooligan dance, swaying our hips to be hula-hula hooligans, and Biscuits swayed so much his pyjamas fell down round his ankles. I laughed so hard I fell over in a heap on my bed. Mum came in, Mega-Mad, saying we were waking up all the other guests in the Gwesty and there would be Complaints at Breakfast.

  But no-one did complain, though the old lady Biscuits had practically skewered flinched nervously as he thundered past her table. Mum was still a bit narky but Dad che