Soldier's Daughters by Fiona Field

while James stood by the water and watched Sam.
    ‘Come on, slowcoach,’ she yelled at him over the subdued thump of the small waves that broke rhythmically on the shore.
    ‘Too cold. Don’t want to get my trousers wet,’ he said as a larger wave broke, and surged threateningly towards him.
    Sam had no such inhibitions and her jeans were soaked from the knees down. She made her way back out of the water.
    ‘Stick-in-the-mud,’ she said.
    She gathered up her shoes and socks and wandered back up the pebbly sand to the rugs, where she sat down and brushed off as much sand as she could and dried her feet on her socks before slipping them into her trainers.
    ‘Ooh, gritty feet,’ she complained.
    ‘Well if you will get as wet as that with no change of clothes…’ said James.
    ‘You sound like a mother.’
    ‘Really? What’s she like – your mother?’
    ‘I never knew her.’
    ‘Shit, I am so sorry.’
    So Sam told James about her odd upbringing, the endless moves, some of the places they lived, being sent off to boarding school at an early age and all the rest of the baggage that went with being a soldier’s daughter.
    ‘Still, it taught me to be independent,’ she said as she finished.
    ‘You don’t sound as if you enjoyed it much.’
    ‘It’s difficult to judge, isn’t it? I mean, it’s the only childhood I know about.’
    ‘Poor you.’
    ‘I wouldn’t worry about it. I don’t.’ Sam’s stomach rumbled loudly. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, giggling. She glanced at her watch. ‘Oi! Oi, you two,’ she yelled to the other two. ‘It’s lunchtime. Let’s go and find some scoff.’
    The other two wandered over, puffing and panting from their exercise, while James got to his feet and held out his hand to help Sam to hers. She took it and pulled herself upright, then dusted more sand off the seat and the upper part of her trousers, giving up when she got to her knees. ‘Yuck,’ she said. ‘Cold, wet jeans. Still, it was worth it.’
    The four of them picked up the rugs, shaking them out before folding them up, and then the group wandered companionably up the beach, discussing what they fancied eating. They strolled along the promenade, past the beach huts and the seaside residences, the smell of frying and vinegar leading them by their noses until they found a mobile catering van.
    They each ordered a portion of cod and chips and took their hot parcels of food to a nearby sheltered bench, where they tucked in and basked in the warm October sun in silence till they’d finished.
    ‘I am stuffed,’ said Sam, finally admitting defeat and laying her little wooden chip fork back on the newspaper. ‘Full to busting.’
    ‘Me too.’ James scrumpled up his paper and the remains of his meal and took Sam’s leftovers too. He shoved them in a nearby bin, watched beadily by an opportunist seagull, which took flight with an angry cry when it realised it was out of luck.
    ‘Now what?’ said Sam. She pulled her fleece on. A sudden veiling of cloud had encroached over the sun and while it was still glorious the temperature had fallen by a degree or two.
    ‘Home, I suppose,’ said Ben. ‘It’s getting too nippy for my taste.’
    Sam nodded. ‘It was lovely, but the weather’s on the turn, isn’t it?’
    They began to walk back to the car.
    Sam sighed contentedly. ‘That was a lovely way to spend a Saturday.’
    ‘I bet it beat sitting in your room.’
    ‘It did. Maybe I’ll try hanging around downstairs a bit more in the future.’
    ‘You should. As I said yesterday, we don’t bite.’
    Sam shrieked with laughter as Ben suddenly pounced in front of her with a snarl and a growl. ‘Except then the moon is full.’
    ‘You’re nuts!’
    As Sam and her friends were driving back from the coast Maddy was heading over to Jenna’s flat and trying to ignore any feelings of guilt about abandoning Seb and Nate.
    ‘Come in, come in,’ said Jenna as she opened the door to Maddy.
    ‘Hey, this is nice.’