Page 14 of Summer Showers at Elder Fell Farm

‘Friends?’ Amy blurted out awkwardly. ‘I’m not sure that … Oh, never mind. Be on your very best behaviour, please, Harry,’ she said. ‘Be nice to Oliver. If you want stickers on your Mickey Mouse chart you have to be nice, remember? And try not to get sheep poo on anything.’

The last thing she wanted was their holiday to begin with a cola-fuelled fight between Harry and Oliver. She’d been looking forward to these few days of escape for so long, and now the problems of the playground had followed them here.

Oliver’s dad seemed unconcerned. He was hammering in another rock peg, a metal spike which looked as if it was designed for skewering vampires, and already the tent was upright and looking better, but still it was sagging and flapping above the bedroom section.

‘Wait a minute, this is all wrong. There’s no ridge pole and it’s bending in the middle without any support. Have you got everything? There should be another pole between these two.’

‘It was Mam’s tent. There weren’t any instructions.’ She retrieved the pole from amongst the nettles where she’d kicked it earlier in irritation. ‘It looked easy when she pitched it. Is this it?’

If he was amused he didn’t show it. He simply unpegged the flysheet, put the metal pole between the two uprights and started pegging down the flysheet again. This time it stood nice and straight. It took him roughly ten minutes to peg it all out with the rock pegs and his industrial-sized camping mallet while Amy put in the remaining wire pegs where there was soil enough to hammer them in. Compared to his professional camper’s gear, her kit looked like Harry’s toys.

It was very quiet in the campervan. Too quiet. She went to look through the side window. Inside, the campervan was neat and tidy, not a thing out of place, but it was strangely soulless; clean birch-effect fitted units, grey upholstery and a metal-effect floor made it look as if it was an industrial kitchen. No doubt everything worked perfectly, but it didn’t look cosy. She was overwhelmed by an urge to make cushions or throws to make it feel more homely and warm. The two boys sat on a bench seat, side by side, two half-drunk glasses of Coke placed carefully on a small cupboard beside them, and their heads were bent intently over a portable games console which Oliver held. Neither of them looked up when she pressed her nose up against the window; all was calm and serene. She breathed a sigh of relief.

‘The boys are playing nicely,’ she told Mr. Sutherland.

He picked up his tea, which he’d balanced carefully on a flat rock sticking up through the wiry turf of the campsite, and took a drink, looking out towards the village in the distance. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something else. Was he waiting for her to apologise?

She sighed. ‘Look, I’m sorry about what Harry did at school, that time with the cupboard. He didn’t mean to frighten Oliver. It wasn’t deliberate. He made a stupid mistake. He doesn’t think sometimes.’ She wished she could promise Harry would never do anything like that again, but there was no point in promising anything; she never knew what her son was going to do next!

‘It’s not his fault.’

What exactly did he mean by that? She looked up at him, the sun was behind him, and couldn’t catch the expression on his face. Perhaps, like James and the tigresses of the P.T.A. he thought it was down to her poor parenting, too.

‘I heard Darcey-Mae’s mam and her friends talking last Friday, and I know a lot of people think it’s my fault Harry’s … volatile at the moment,’ she said, trying to sound cool, but her hands were tense with anxiety. ‘I can assure you I’m doing my best. He’s had a hard time recently, and it isn’t easy for him.’

‘I didn’t mean —’ he started to say, looking bemused.

Oh no; had she put her foot in it again? She hadn’t meant to imply Oliver had things easy compared to Harry; the poor lad had lost his mother, after all.

‘Not that Oliver hasn’t had a hard time too,’ she cut in. ‘I know how difficult things must have been for him — and for you. All I can say is, I’m sorry.’

‘You don’t need to apologise,’ he said. ‘Really. I understand how hard it can be, on your own.’

‘I’m lucky compared to you and Harry. I’ve still got James to help out,’ she said, but even as she said it, she wasn’t sure it was true. James was there but instead of helping he opposed her at every turn. Her mam had been the only one who was always completely on her side, and now she was gone so Amy had Harry and no-one else. It was hard, sometimes, fighting all these battles by yourself.

There was another lengthy pause, as they both stared down the valley towards the village in the distance.

‘It’ll be good for Olly to have someone to play with,’ he said, after a while. ‘It’s hard keeping him happy when it’s just the two of us. He needs someone his own age. I like him to spend time outside, after everything that’s happened. He needs building up. More self-confidence, and fresh air and exercise, will help.’

‘I hope so.’ It was hard to know what to say. ‘It must have been so hard for him — for you both — this year. I was so sorry to hear about what happened to your wife. I met her on the playground a few times, and she was nice.’ She had been. Oliver’s mum had chatted to her when many of the other mums did not. ‘You must miss her dreadfully.’ She couldn’t look at him right now, because she was on the verge of tears herself.

‘It’s kind of you to say so,’ he said, draining his cup of tea. ‘You’ll be wanting to unpack now, won’t you? I’ll get out of your way.’

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