CHILDREN

 

I kept making sandcastles, and my son kept destroying them. I wanted to make a little sandcastle village with, like, a hundred sandcastles, but my son wouldn’t let me. He had other ideas, as sons often do.
  It was a grey, gloomy sort of day. A bit of a wind, a few spots of rain, some glimmers of sunshine. A bit of everything, but not much of anything. I didn’t feel too tired, but I didn’t have much energy either. It was a five out of ten sort of day. I’ve been having a lot of those lately.
  I had given up building sandcastles and was just staring out to sea when wife joined me. She had walked down from the beach hut, like someone coming to check on the progress of a subordinate.
  “How’s it going?” she said.
  “It’s all right,” I said.
  Wife stood there for a moment watching the kids. They had followed all sorts of trails, and were lost in an imaginary thicket.
  “They’re having fun,” she said.
  “Yeah, they love it here,” I said.
  “I was just talking to your dad about you.”
  “What were you saying?” 
  “Well, Lee was running around like a maniac. He’s really on one today. Have you noticed?”
  “Yeah, he’s...”
  “And I asked your dad if that’s what you were like when you were that age.”
  “And what did he say?”
  “He said you were a hundred times worse. He said you would have made Lee look calm and timid.”
  “And so I asked him what happened, if there was anything that happened that changed you.”
  “And what did he say?”
  “Well, it was really interesting, actually. He said he didn’t know whether anything had happened, but that he could pinpoint the time that you changed. He said it was when you moved school.”
  “Oh right.”
  “What do you think happened?”
  “I don’t know. Puberty, probably. I kissed a girl for the first time. Maybe the guilt complex kicked in.”
  “It’s interesting.”
  “Yeah.”
  I looked out to sea. In front of me Lee was throwing pebbles into the sea.
  “No throwing!” I called out. “Don’t throw stones! You could hurt something.”

The park was quiet. They were the only kids there. I took photos of all the litter. There was litter everywhere. It was disgusting. The local teenagers had been having some sort of drugs party in the children’s playground. There were hundreds of those cream chargers that you see everywhere nowadays. I’ve no idea what they use them for, but there you go. 

  When we got back it was almost dinner time. Daughter found a stick on the way home, and son was upset that he didn’t have one, so we went out in the garden to look for one. He found one pretty much straightaway. 

  “Here’s one,” he said, holding up the stick, pleased with himself. 

  The kids went down the alleyway with the chalks, and I started getting ready to make dinner. 

  I went outside to smoke. I looked up. I could see the neighbour’s balding head bobbing over the fence. He gestured towards the gates that offered communication between our properties. He appeared holding a large plant, about the height of an average man.

  “You would like?” he said.

  “For us? Really?” I said.

  “Yes. Tomato.”

  “It’s a tomato plant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow, it’s like a tree.”

  “Yes, like a tree. Yes. Turkish tomatoes.”

  “Wow, lovely. Turkish tomatoes.”

  “Very delicious.”

  “Thank you. That’s so kind of you.”

  “I’ve got ten.”

  “You’ve got ten plants?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you so much,” I said. “Maybe we’ll give you something one day.” The neighbours had given us so much over the years. We’d given them almost nothing back.

  “Oh, no, no.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He noticed the broken panels on my gate. They came off the other day. They got caught on something, and when I pulled the gate they came loose. There were several nails sticking out. The neighbour ran his fingers over the nails in the gatepost, and looked at the broken panels with their own versions of nails sticking out like little dangerous plants reaching for the sun. 

  He looked at me seriously, solemnly, with sad eyes, as if searching for something inside me.

  “I will fix it tomorrow,” he said. “Not safe for children.”