She never liked it when the sand was messy, preferring to find an unfrequented patch of shore, where the only footprints were those of seagulls. Yet he would insist on plunging into the beach with both hands, digging and gouging like a wayward child seeking China.   What was worse were the artless structures he would erect, piled high and higher still, leaning this way and that – ugly but fragile – begging to be slammed to the ground, and then pummeled into the beach, where they towered like sentinels.   He was helped in this by the waves, as he would build always at the water’s edge, taunting the sea to reclaim his monoliths – or perhaps he meant them as an offering.…