The Meltdown of a Banker's Wife by Gill Davy-Bowker Page B

piece of small print on an unimaginably small sign hidden in the tortuous branches of some tree. Bits of small print which said, ‘Parking permitted anytime between 0200hrs and 0200hrs on same day only’ and ‘Your vehicle will be towed away and crushed into tiny little pieces if you park here but we will make it look like a convincing parking spot so we can have a laugh at your expense! Ha! Ha! Ha!’
    So she got Kelly to search the undergrowth and skyline for possible signs before she paid at the meter and carefully placed her ample time ticket in exactly the correct position stipulated on the instructions. She felt like taking a photo of the site of the car and the ticket just in case she had a run in with some raving Hitler later on, but no, she thought. I’m just being paranoid! Relax, she told herself.
    They unloaded picnics, buckets and spades and set off for the beach. After a further half an hour, they finally found a spot to sit in amongst the heaving bodies. Flapping around them were the canvasses of a million tents, shelters and windbreaks. It was like a cross between Glastonbury Festival and the Crimean War campaign and just as smelly in places. They were not going to be able to relax because the children would immediately be lost if they wandered so much as two feet away from their tiny piece of territory. Mel searched about her to work out their position on the beach in case anyone were to stray. There were Lost Children’s Stations, which made her relax a little, but she could see that either Kelly or herself would spend the day paddling and building shingle sandcastles. People were trying to fly kites which kept tangling together and plummeting onto innocent bystanders and the pebbly beach was playing havoc with her piles, butthey were there and no matter what, there is always an exhilarating feeling of freedom when you can see the sea, albeit in little snatches between sweaty bodies and camp sites.
    â€˜Ice cream?’ suggested Kelly.
    â€˜Ice cream?! Yes that would be nice,’ and Mel tried to throw care to the wind and not think of the many strategic difficulties that may rear their ugly heads between them and their goal.
    â€˜OK!’ she said. ‘I’d better stay here.’ That was obvious really, because the children were already trying to cover each other with mounds of pebbles. So Mel laid out blankets on the ground as much as she could in their tiny space and managed to negotiate a little more space by gently moving the neighbouring people’s bits and pieces a fraction further away. She managed to get away with this infringement of territory and at last could attempt to relax.
    â€˜I’m hungry, Mummy!’ wailed Michael. So out came the picnic. Things in packets from the supermarket usually had more hope of being eaten than her own home-made sandwiches wrapped in foil, but she knew the likelihood of having to buy chips in cones and candyfloss was extremely high.

15
    Where was Kelly? She had left nearly half an hour ago. It was nearly one o’clock. Hope she can find us, thought Mel. She stood up and turned 360 degrees, slowly searching for her friend. The children were totally absorbed in sandcastle building so that was one thing she could stop worrying about for the moment. There’s probably a huge queue or something. She’ll be back soon, she reassured herself.
    Aha! Mobile phone! She’d phone Kelly. The hunt through the handbag pit began. She prayed she had it with her. Aha! Thank goodness for that!
    â€˜Credit running low. Please top up!’ it demanded. Still, must be enough to get hold of Kelly. She let it ring … no answer. Don’t say she doesn’t have it with her! She tried again … charge was running low too. Come on, Kelly! Where are you? It was nearly an hour now since she’d gone for ice creams. The children were getting antsy and she couldn’t leave all the stuff on the beach to take them