"Come along, Matty, papa will go and wade with you in the sea," Francis said, extending his hand to his quieter son. Matty bit his lip, looked contemplatively at the waves, then took a few steps forward and took his father's hand. His heary swelled with pride at the show of trust.
The beach was not as busy as he had feared it would be. It seemed that most English people did not see fit to spend the last day before their children returned to school at the beach but Francis could think of no better adventure. It had taken an amount of effort he had not anticipated to make England agree to him plan but, in the end, she had accepted and they had pilled into the car with a picnic and headed to a nice quiet beach.
Al had been as enthusiastic about the beech as he was about everything, stripping down to his swim suit the moment they hit the sand and running into the waves. Francis had followed him quickly. The plan had been forming in his mind for a week or so now so he had brought swimming trunks and a loose shirt with him. Matty and his mother had been more hesitant. England had set up well away from the sea and insisted that everyone be covered in sunscreen. Al had objected to this to the point where Francis had caught him and carried him back to his mother.
He could not seem to decide if England enjoyed the beach or hated it. She enjoyed it, surely, but she complained. She refused to wear a bathing suit, instead dressing in shorts and a t-shirt, and she sat on a towel reading a book rather then playing. She complained about the sand getting in everything but she sat there with a smile on her face and when Matty had asked her to help find shells to decorate his sand castle she had.
Matty's sand castle was a sight to behold. Matty had been working on it with tight concentration for most of the day, using a plastic bucket and spade to craft towers and build walls and using shells and seaweed to decorate. It looked beautiful, even if his pride as a father demanded that he say so.
Alfred, as expected, had been more boisterous and Francis had enjoyed running and playing with him in the surf. He was very grateful for that. Al had been more then a little reluctant towards him, he had hoped this outing would allow them to bond and that did seem to be the case.
As the hour had begun to grow late Francis had noted this and began to set his final plans into motion. He wanted to drag Matty to the sea at least once, or this would not be a trip to the seaside, then they would head to a supermarket as he would insist on cooking dinner for them and they would end with a pleasant evening in the living room.
Matty seemed oddly distrusting of the water. He studied the ground intensely before every step and gripped Francis' hand tightly. It was quite adorable. He would jump and shiver every time a wave washed over their feet.
Francis knelt and was about to pull Matty up into his arms, sparing the child a walk he did not enjoy and taking him back to his family when he heard a familiar scream. A scream of outrage. He spun then froze. The scream had been England. She sat on her blanket, her mouth hanging open and her book on her lap entirely covered in sand. It may have been hilarious were it not for Al stood grinning triumphantly in the ruins of Matty’s castle.
"Alfred," England screamed, jumping to her feet. "Do you have any idea how hard your brother’s been working on that?"
Francis didn't hear Alfred's reply but he did hear the soft sound of a choked sob from his other son. Quickly he completed his earlier motion, pulling Matty into his arms and standing, holding his close.
"No, my love, do not cry," he mumbled, rubbing Matty's back. "I'm sure it was only an accident. My love, it is all going to be alright."
"Life can be difficult" 3.3/?
The beach was not as busy as he had feared it would be. It seemed that most English people did not see fit to spend the last day before their children returned to school at the beach but Francis could think of no better adventure. It had taken an amount of effort he had not anticipated to make England agree to him plan but, in the end, she had accepted and they had pilled into the car with a picnic and headed to a nice quiet beach.
Al had been as enthusiastic about the beech as he was about everything, stripping down to his swim suit the moment they hit the sand and running into the waves. Francis had followed him quickly. The plan had been forming in his mind for a week or so now so he had brought swimming trunks and a loose shirt with him. Matty and his mother had been more hesitant. England had set up well away from the sea and insisted that everyone be covered in sunscreen. Al had objected to this to the point where Francis had caught him and carried him back to his mother.
He could not seem to decide if England enjoyed the beach or hated it. She enjoyed it, surely, but she complained. She refused to wear a bathing suit, instead dressing in shorts and a t-shirt, and she sat on a towel reading a book rather then playing. She complained about the sand getting in everything but she sat there with a smile on her face and when Matty had asked her to help find shells to decorate his sand castle she had.
Matty's sand castle was a sight to behold. Matty had been working on it with tight concentration for most of the day, using a plastic bucket and spade to craft towers and build walls and using shells and seaweed to decorate. It looked beautiful, even if his pride as a father demanded that he say so.
Alfred, as expected, had been more boisterous and Francis had enjoyed running and playing with him in the surf. He was very grateful for that. Al had been more then a little reluctant towards him, he had hoped this outing would allow them to bond and that did seem to be the case.
As the hour had begun to grow late Francis had noted this and began to set his final plans into motion. He wanted to drag Matty to the sea at least once, or this would not be a trip to the seaside, then they would head to a supermarket as he would insist on cooking dinner for them and they would end with a pleasant evening in the living room.
Matty seemed oddly distrusting of the water. He studied the ground intensely before every step and gripped Francis' hand tightly. It was quite adorable. He would jump and shiver every time a wave washed over their feet.
Francis knelt and was about to pull Matty up into his arms, sparing the child a walk he did not enjoy and taking him back to his family when he heard a familiar scream. A scream of outrage. He spun then froze. The scream had been England. She sat on her blanket, her mouth hanging open and her book on her lap entirely covered in sand. It may have been hilarious were it not for Al stood grinning triumphantly in the ruins of Matty’s castle.
"Alfred," England screamed, jumping to her feet. "Do you have any idea how hard your brother’s been working on that?"
Francis didn't hear Alfred's reply but he did hear the soft sound of a choked sob from his other son. Quickly he completed his earlier motion, pulling Matty into his arms and standing, holding his close.
"No, my love, do not cry," he mumbled, rubbing Matty's back. "I'm sure it was only an accident. My love, it is all going to be alright."