‘There you are!’
Cleo swivelled round and saw none other than Lesley stomping towards them.
‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ she said, glaring at Fran. ‘This place is a nightmare. There’s no system, no organisation and no leadership.’
Cleo raised an eyebrow.
‘Morning!’ she said, smiling through gritted teeth. ‘How are you holding up?’
‘Terribly,’ Lesley snapped. ‘My back’s gone, my feet ache and someone’ – she cast a meaningful glare at Fran – ‘lost my travel kettle. I’d only just been given it by one of the emergency workers and now it’s gone.’
‘I-I didn’t lose it,’ Fran said with a stutter, shrinking like a salted slug. ‘I-I put it in a corner under a bit of groundsheet.’
‘Well, you might have told me,’ Lesley huffed. ‘And honestly, these villagers. I mean, they’re lovely people and all that, but they’re hopelessly disorganised. Look at the coffee line! It’s ridiculous. At this rate, I’ll be waiting at least twenty minutes.’
She swept her arm in front and behind her. Scores of people were indeed queueing, but no one else was complaining.
‘Some people lost their homes,’ Cleo said mildly.
‘Yes, but twenty minutes! Surely they can do better than that.’
Fran flushed with embarrassment and stared hard at the ground.
All of a sudden, a commotion erupted just outside the supply tent next door. Several large, heavy crates of water had toppled over, scattering bottles across the ground like runaway skittles.
Several people in the queue ran to help, but Lesley stayed rooted to the spot.
‘That was bound to happen,’ she said. ‘Those crates were so badly stacked. Fran, I’ll have a coffee now the queue’s gone down.’
Cleo looked at Fran, who hesitated. Cleo could tell she was torn between helping with the bottles and obeying her big sister.
Then she did something extraordinary. Slowly and timidly, she turned away from Lesley, left her position, walked over to the other tent and started to help with the water bottles.
Lesley stared as though Fran had defected to an opposing army.
‘FRAN!’ she barked. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘I-I’m helping,’ Fran replied softly, bending down and picking up two more bottles.
‘No, you’re not. You’re supposed to be making coffee forme.Come here. Put those down.’
Fran’s face flushed but she didn’t move. Cleo felt a flutter of pride.
Something in Lesley, clearly unused to any resistance, snapped.
‘Fine! Stay there!’ she shouted. ‘But don’t expect me to make you any tea later!’
Cleo watched Fran blink, but she didn’t crumble. Instead, a strange, tentative defiance appeared.
‘I-I don’t need tea,’ she said.
Cleo felt like cheering.
For a moment, Lesley stood there, flummoxed, then she turned on her heel and stormed off.
‘Good for you,’ Cleo murmured to Fran.
Fran blushed, but something warm and hopeful flickered across her face.
