Free Buried Alive! by Jacqueline Wilson

blinked. Mum loomed large through a hazy blur.
    â€˜You
silly
boys! You mustn’t
ever
tunnel in sandcliffs like that. It’s terribly dangerous. The sand can easily shift and fall on top of you and trap you. Never ever do that. Tim? Why are you screwing up your face like that? Oh darling, have you got sand in your eye?’
    She tried making me blow my nose but it didn’t work.
    â€˜It’s OK,’ I said, hating the fuss Mum was making in front of Biscuits. ‘It’s fine now,’ I pretended, giving my eye a quick rub with my fist.
    This was a serious mistake. My eyesuddenly felt as if it was being scrubbed with emery-paper.
    â€˜Oh dear goodness. Hold still, Tim. Oh, your poor eye,’ Mum said, as I hopped about in agony, my eye squeezed shut, tears seeping down my cheeks.
    â€˜Don’t carry on like that, Tim, it’s just a speck of sand,’ said Dad, coming over. Then he had a proper look. ‘Oh dear. It looks like you’ve got half the beach in there, old son. We need some water to wash it out.’
    â€˜I’ll get a bucket and get some sea-water,’ said Biscuits.
    â€˜No, dear – it’s salty, that’s no use. Come with me, Tim,’ said Mum. ‘I’ll have to take you back to the hotel and we’ll use a proper eye bath.’
    So Mum whisked me off while Biscuits and Dad stayed on the beach. I tried to stop crying, terrified that Prickle-Head and Pinch-Face might bob up out of nowhere and call me a cissy crybaby, but my eye hurt so much I couldn’t help it.
    â€˜You poor darling,’ Mum said distractedly, as we stumbled across the cabbage field and down the windy footpaths. ‘I’ll get them to phone for a doctor when we get to the hotel. Or maybe it would be better to dial 999 for an ambulance. You can’t be too careful with eyes.I think you should go to the hospital.’
    I started crying harder. By the time we got to the hotel we were both convinced I was going to end up blind in both eyes. Mum was crying too.
    â€˜What’s the matter. Has the little lad had an accident?’ said Mrs Jones. ‘Oh dear, sand in his eye, is it? Don’t you fret, we’ll sort it out in no time.’
    She picked me up in her big strong arms as if I were no bigger than baby Keanu. She swept me into her kitchen, sat me down on her draining board, and ran some cold water into a cup. She held it against my hurting eye, tipped my head back, and told me to open the sore eye as wide as possible. It stopped hurting quite so badly. She did it again. It got much better. She had a good peer into my eye, gently holding it wide open.
    â€˜Aha! There’s one little gritty bit left. We’ll get it out in half a tick, you’ll see.’ She took the corner of her linen tea-towel and gave a quick flick.
    â€˜That’s it!’ she said triumphantly. ‘Now, one more rinse for luck and you’ll be as right as rain, young man.’
    â€˜It’s stopped hurting! Well, it’s still a bit sore, but it’s much much better,’ I said, blinking happily.
    Mum thanked Mrs Jones again and again. She still felt I should see a doctor to make sure my eye was really all right, but it would mean going all the way to Abercoch to the nearest health centre.
    â€˜We don’t want to do that, Mum, it would take all morning,’ I said.
    â€˜We could have a quick look round the shops while we were there. We didn’t really get a proper chance last time with your dad and your pal Biscuits.’
    â€˜I want to go back on the beach, Mum! Please!’
    Mum sighed. ‘All right then, dear. But I can’t quite see the charm of Llanpistyll beach myself. It’s not even sunny enough to get a tan. It’s not my idea of fun hunched up in a deckchair hour after hour.’
    Mum mumbled and grumbled all the way back to the beach. I raced to the top of the cliff, ready to hurtle down.
    â€˜Tim! For