Page 11 of Summer Showers at Elder Fell Farm

‘Yes?’

‘Are you ever going to get a boyfriend? ‘Cos now Dad’s got Laurie, you could get a boyfriend and then we could go on holiday with him, and it would be better than this.’

‘What if I met a man who loved camping? Like Bear Grylls?’

‘Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe not, then. I like it when it’s just you and me.’

‘Me too, Harry, me too,’ she said, with feeling.

Suddenly, he stopped short beside her. ‘Is that our tent?’ He glared at the heap of wet nylon.

‘Yes.’ She took a deep breath. For the second time since they’d arrived, she cast an envious glance at the little red-and-white campervan beside them, with its neat and sturdy canvas awning. The people in there would be warm and dry. A kettle had whistled a couple of minutes ago so they were probably drinking a nice hot cup of tea, while all she had was a wet tent and a son covered in sheep poo.

‘Here, Harry, would you hold this piece of rope for me? It’s a very important job.’ The tent would have to come first, sheep poo or no sheep poo.

‘I’m wet.’

‘We’re both wet. I need to get the tent up before we get much wetter!’ She tried to sound jolly, but failed.

‘I want a drink.’ Harry had hold of the guy rope, which allowed her to position the poles correctly again, but he wasn’t it holding it firmly or tightly enough and the whole tent was swaying from side to side.

‘So do I,’ she muttered. ‘As soon as we get this tent up then I’ll sort out the food and you can have a drink.’

‘I want a Coke.’

‘I didn’t bring any Coke, but we’ve got some apple juice.’

‘I don’t like apple juice.’ He tugged at the guy rope and frowned in disapproval, a little mirror of his father.

‘You liked it yesterday.’

‘I don’t like it outdoors. It’s an indoors drink.’

‘When we’ve got the tent pitched you can drink it indoors. Stand still for a minute, please.’

She was hammering at another peg, hitting a rock only a couple of inches under the surface of the soil, and gave it an extra hard knock with the mallet, hoping it would push the stone out of the way and drive firmly downwards, but it simply bent the peg neatly at a right angle.

‘Oh, bollocks’ she muttered, under her breath.

‘Bollicks. Bollicks, bollicks, bollicks!’ Harry crowed. ‘I want to do some hammering, Mam!’

‘Okay, you try and peg down this loop here, can you?’ She gave him the mallet and found a stone to use herself. This time she moved the peg a couple of inches to the left. The rubber band that held the tent down was in the wrong place but at least this peg was going in.

‘Boll-icks, boll-icks, boll-icks,’ Harry intoned rhythmically as she hammered.

‘Please, Harry, could you stop saying that? It’s a very rude word.’ She pushed a soggy curl of hair out of her face.

‘You said it.’

‘Yes, but I wouldn’t have done if I thought you could hear it.’

‘I heard that too. I think you’re getting a bit cross there, Mam, I think you might need a time out!’ Now he sounded like Laurie.

‘Yes, well, that would be nice. A nice sit down with a cup of hot tea would be lovely, in fact, but if I have a time out then the tent won’t get put up and we’ll both be sleeping in your den with the sheep poo tonight.’

‘Can we? Can we really?’ he asked, eyes bright with excitement.

‘No! I was being silly, I don’t think it would be a good idea,’ she said through gritted teeth, hammering at another peg, which hit another rock, and bent at another ninety-degree angle. At this rate she’d have no pegs left.