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The Titty Book
‘Did you and Oliver get on okay?’ Amy asked Harry when he finally emerged from the campervan. She’d brought their bedding and the kitchen things from the car and into the front of the tent.
‘He’s got this brilliant game. There are like, goats that eat things and you have to shoot them — splat — with this gunge.’
‘Sounds great. You didn’t … there wasn’t …?’ She tried to find a way of asking her son if he’d made Oliver Sutherland cry without being too direct.
‘We played, Mam. We don’t fight all the time. And Darcey-Mae wasn’t there so it doesn’t matter anyway.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We only fight when Darcey-Mae’s there.’
Oh, my Lord. Her eight-year-old son was already fighting over a girl.
‘Do you … do you like Darcey-Mae then?’
‘Oliver’s going out with her. She’s his girlfriend, so he has to do what she says. She doesn’t like it if he’s my friend.’
‘Why do you think she might not want Oliver to be your friend?’
‘Dunno. ‘Cos she’s Darcey-Mae and she likes to tell people what to do, I guess. But she’s too bossy. I want to play Goat Gunge again. Can I go and play Goat Gunge with Oliver tonight?’
‘Maybe not tonight. We’ve got to sort out our bedroom, and I’m going to cook us some tea soon. Then it’ll be your bedtime, and I’ve brought some books so maybe we can settle down and I’ll read you a story before bed.’ James wanted her to spend more quality time with him, and that’s what she’d do.
‘Does it have goats in? I want a story with goats.’
‘I don’t think it has goats in. No, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t, but it’s all about the Lake District, where we’re staying.’
‘It’s not blummin’ Peter Rabbit again, is it?’ Harry had been monumentally unimpressed with Peter Rabbit when Laurie had tried to introduce him to the wonders of Beatrix Potter before they came to the Lake District. ‘I hate Peter Rabbit. It’s for babies.’
‘No, it’s a story about some boys and girls who go camping on an island. It might be too grown up for you, of course.’ Her favourite method of persuading him to do anything was to imply he was too young, at which point he always became fixated on proving he was old enough.
‘It’s not too grown-up,’ he said with the light of a challenge in his eyes.
‘Now, I’ve blown up our airbeds and put out the sleeping bags.’ It had taken her over half an hour with a very inefficient foot pump. ‘You can get out your toys and pyjamas if you like.’
‘Which bed’s mine?’
‘Whichever you like. You can choose.’
She could hear him rattling about in the tent behind her as she started sorting out their food. They had a small double gas ring which had to be used outside of the tent for safety, so it was good the rain had stopped. It was like the old days in the little cottage, cooking on an ancient range cooker with food from tins because there was no fridge to keep things cool. They had used UHT milk and put butter and cheese in a plastic bag in the old stone trough outside the door, where a tiny rivulet trickled out from the rocks and kept the trough topped up with cold, clear spring water, and its surroundings green with moss and ferns. Back then, her mam had a proper kitchen table and a stove to cook on, and wasn’t on her hands and knees, cooking on the lumpy turf of a campsite. Still, they had to eat, so she had to cook.
‘What’s for tea, mam?’
‘Spaghetti Bolognese. It’s in the cool box, all ready to heat up.’
‘Good, ‘cos I’m starving.’
* * *
As they sat down in their folding camping chairs to eat their tea, tucked away behind the stone wall in an attempt to shelter from the cool summer breeze which lifted Harry’s already untidy hair, Amy looked around her again. Beside her, the wall was alive with moss and lichen and tiny ferns growing from between the cracks. The rain had cleared away completely and the sky was clear; the light over the mountains made everything look sharp and the rain had made the grass seem fresher. The call of a bird of prey echoed up near the high crags, a change from her usual background noise of sirens, power tools and traffic at home. Everything was fresh and green here, and there was no concrete to be seen.
‘Isn’t it wonderful? Look at the light on the mountains. It’s like a painting, isn’t it?’ she said to Harry, who was more interested in his spaghetti than the sunlight on the crags. ‘Would you like to climb up there one day? Then we can look back down and see our tent!’
‘I’d rather play Goat Gunge with Oliver,’ he said, through a mouthful of food.
‘Don’t you want to come exploring with me? There are waterfalls up there, and perhaps we’ll see some red squirrels!’
