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‘I’m just going to find him something else to wear and get the first aid kit. He’s ruined his only pair of pyjamas.’
‘I always bring spare pyjamas for Oliver. I can lend you some until you get Harry’s washed tomorrow. You get your first aid kit, and I’ll find some pyjamas for you.’
‘No, I don’t need you to do that.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ he insisted.
‘I …’ She couldn’t win. ‘That’s very kind of you. Thank you,’ she said, accepting his help as gracefully as she could.
‘I’ll bring them up to the shower block for you.’
She rummaged in the darkness of the tent for the first aid kit, and Harry’s dirty pyjamas joined the heap of soiled laundry she’d already amassed in a carrier bag in the front of the tent. At this rate he’d have run out of clean clothes and towels before tomorrow morning.
As she arrived at the stone outbuilding she saw Harry silhouetted in the doorway of the men’s toilets, clad in only his damp pants.
‘Have you got any pyjamas?’ he asked.
‘Mr. Sutherland’s going to lend you some spare pyjamas of Oliver’s, for tonight. Is that okay?’
‘Suppose so. My knee hurts.’ He pulled a face.
‘I know, pet. I’ll wet a facecloth and then I’ll clean it and we’ll put a plaster on. Here, put this on before you get too cold,’ she said, taking off her own fleece and draping it round her son. ‘Now stay there!’ and she went into the ladies’ toilets and washroom to get some clean water.
Harry was sitting on the old wooden bench between the doors of the two toilet blocks when she came out, silhouetted in a patch of light shining from the gents’ toilets behind him. He was swinging his feet happily, and didn’t appear to be in too much pain. She knelt down and gently cleaned the mud off his knee using the dim light from the window to illuminate her work.
‘You’ve done a good job there, young man. That’s a big old graze you’ve got,’ she said, hearing her own mother’s words and her tone of voice coming out of her mouth. He flinched as she patted it dry, but he didn’t say a word although it must have hurt. ‘I’ll give it a wipe with some antiseptic stuff … now … good lad …’
She was shivering now. The top of her pyjamas was a flimsy little camisole and the night air was cool on the bare skin of her shoulders, neck and arms.
‘I’ve brought these for you,’ a low voice said behind her, and a dazzling shaft of light lit up the stones of the wall behind Harry. Oliver Sutherland’s dad had arrived with the spare pyjamas. She’d been so busy trying to sort out Harry’s knee that she hadn’t noticed him making his way up the campsite. He’d pulled a tracksuit on over his shorts, and had a bright head-torch around his head which made him look like a miner, rather than a toned and honed athlete. The beam lit up everything he looked at, and he bent his head to highlight Harry’s knee, making it easier for her to place the plaster accurately.
‘Thank you,’ she said, scrambling to her feet as Harry inspected his plaster.
‘I’ve put the flags out on our guy ropes now, so it won’t happen again. You’ll keep an eye out for the flags now, won’t you Harry?’
Harry nodded silently, slightly overawed by Oliver Sutherland’s tall father appearing out of the darkness.
‘Good lad. You’re being very brave. That knee looks as if it might hurt,’ he added kindly.
Harry nodded again.
‘Would you go into the boys’ toilets and put those pyjamas on, please Harry,’ Amy suggested.
He nodded and disappeared back into the gents’.
‘He’s a brave lad. If my Oliver had got a knock like that, I’d never be able to stop him crying,’ Mr. Sutherland said, looking down towards the campervan where Oliver was. She sat down on the bench, looking up at Oliver’s dad.
‘He is brave. I don’t think it’s always healthy to keep things bottled up, though.’
‘Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.’ He turned back towards her and the beam from the head-torch was blindingly strong when he was looking down at her, like a spotlight. He looked hurriedly away again, suddenly shifty. ‘You must be um … you must be cold. Do you … um … do you need to borrow my sweatshirt?’
She was tempted to say yes, so she could watch him remove it; muscles rippling as he stretched up to pull it off over his head …
‘No! No, thank you, I mean, I’ll be fine. Thank you.’
‘I’d better get back to Oliver.’ He looked over his shoulder towards the campervan and tbeam of light from his head-torch reached halfway down the camping field. ‘I told him where I was, but I don’t like to leave him on his own.’ He turned back to her, bathing her in white light. ‘Glad I could … oh Lord …’ he looked back down the field, suddenly almost agitated. He must be worried about Oliver. ‘Glad I could help Harry,’ he finished, over his shoulder, as he headed back down the field again, and she watched the light bobbing away between the tents until he was out of sight behind another campervan.
Harry appeared in the doorway, clad in a pair of unfamiliar pyjamas which smelled of a different brand of washing powder from her own. They were soft and slightly too short; Oliver was smaller than Harry.
