He plays on the beach. Looking out at the water as he carves out a sandcastle with his plastic spade. He imagines sharks and dolphins and all the little eels swimming together in the depths of the ocean. His mum lounges on a chair a few feet away, the whiteness of the lotion spilling into her skin. She looks at him drowsily and occasionally nods off to sleep, only to return to wakefulness at the sound of the waves crashing and the cawing of the seagulls aggressively searching for leftovers of crisps and chips and chocolate.

The boy etches away. Carving out a hole for the gateway, a turret like the one he saw on his visit to the Tower of London. He looks around and finds the beach is empty. Only him and his mum and the sharks and primitive fishes that lurk only a few feet away from him. Maybe he’ll go in. Maybe he’ll see what it’s like to ride on the back of a dolphin and then have a seal nuzzle his neck and guide him safely back to the shore. He looks at his mum. She is asleep under the intense blaze of the sun. Dropping his spade, he wades towards the water.