Page 91 of Summer Showers at Elder Fell Farm

‘My … rubbers?’ she queried, wondering what on earth he was talking about, and beginning to wonder if she was in a weird nightmare.

‘The rubbers on your tent — those things?’ he clarified, picking up one of the broken rubber band thingies which remained tightly wrapped around the peg, though no longer attached to the tent.

‘Oh! That’s what they’re called. I wasn’t sure what you meant,’ she said, overcome by a sudden urge to giggle like a schoolgirl — here she was on all-fours in a muddy field, kneeling in front of Matt, talking about rubbers.

‘Take anything that matters into the campervan. We’ll have to bring down the tent and secure it for now. it’s too dark and wild to strike it properly and if we don’t do something the wind’s going to rip it to pieces. It’s not strong enough for a storm like this.’

‘I’ve put the clothes into the car already. There’s this lot and my sleeping bag, and I’ll be fine in the car for one night. I think Harry took everything important with him into the pop-top. The boys are all right, aren’t they?’

‘Harry’s sound asleep. Oliver woke up, so I told him I was coming out to help you, and he was to come and get me if he needed to. They’ll be fine.’

‘That’s good. Harry can sleep through anything!’ she said, shouting over the noise of the wind in the trees, the rain and the flapping tent.

‘Come on, put that lot in the campervan, and we’ll secure your tent. We’ll take down the poles and then use the guy ropes to secure everything. That way, even if everything gets wet, at least it won’t get torn.’

They worked by torchlight, Amy crawling back inside the tent to bring down the poles with a clatter, and Matt worked to cross the guy ropes over the fallen tent, pinning it flat to the ground. A huge rumble of thunder joined the noise of the wind and rain, and a flash of lightning lit up the valley and the mountains around them. Stark in the white light, the campsite was a hive of activity. One medium-sized tent at the top of the field had blown down, or been struck, and campers were moving belongings out of a couple more and into their cars. Peter was helping some of the backpackers to move their stuff up towards the farm.

Matt hammered in the last peg, the criss-crossing guy ropes anchoring the tent firmly, and they made a run for the campervan, pulling the sliding door shut behind them with a roar as loud as the wind. The rain drummed on the metal roof of the van, hammering like ball-bearings.

‘Okay, Olly?’ Matt called.

‘Yeah. Harry’s still asleep. He’s snoring!’

‘That’s good, thank you,’ Amy called back.

‘What’s she doing in here?’ Oliver’s voice floated down.

‘Her tent blew down. You don’t mind, do you, Olly?’

‘I guess not,’ he said reluctantly, ‘but I don’t want her using any of mum’s things.’

‘I won’t, I promise,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Oliver.’

The roof-bed rattled as Oliver turned over, and they looked at each other. Matt had turned the seat, which stretched right across the width of the campervan, into a bed; it was wide and white, and illuminated by the light on the roof above it, like a spotlight on a stage, waiting for the players to make their entrance.