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Way Back
‘Can you keep up with them?’ said Amy as the kids raced away down the path, leaping over the stones, and earning the bemused stares of the huddled grey sheep who looked not unlike rocks themselves. ‘Harry knows where he’s going, but I need to pick up all our picnic stuff, and I don’t think they should be sticking their heads in the water without a grown up.’
‘Yes.’ Matt took off after the kids at a brisk pace. It saved her the embarrassment of having to walk with him, make small talk, and apologise for Harry again. Throwing stones was dangerous, but she knew Harry hadn’t meant to hit Oliver. He just hadn’t taken care not to. However she’d been massively impressed with the way her son had distracted Oliver out of his tantrum.
Once the remains of their picnic were packed away, she scooped up the towels and stuffed them into the backpack. By now Harry and Oliver were two bouncing stick figures along the track with Matt not far behind, striding out with purpose. She swung the backpack onto her shoulder and followed them.
‘I don’t think I want to,’ Oliver was saying as she arrived at the cottage. The three of them were gathered around the old stone trough, watching the tiny spring of water trickle into it from the rocks above it, and then out again from a spout which had been carved from the stone, and channelled away from the house by a shallow gutter through the slate paving stones and on into Elder Beck.
‘I’ve done it five times and even your dad has done it!’ Harry said, and it was evident from the dripping water on both their faces that indeed, they’d both had their heads in the water trough. ‘It tastes like … like … cold, expensive water.’
‘Like you get in Chez Toulon?’
Chez Toulon was the most exclusive restaurant in their home town of Saddleton. It probably had a Michelin star, and it was not a Harry kind of place.
‘Yeah!’ Harry said, despite never having been inside it.
‘But what if it’s dirty? What if the sheep have been in it?’
‘It’s the cleanest water you can get, it’s come straight out from the rocks there — it’s a spring, you see. Like mineral water — like Harry says, like expensive mineral water,’ said Matt.
‘It tastes like the Lake District, I think. Try a bit in your hand if you don’t want to get your face wet,’ Amy said quietly.
‘That’s stupid!’ he said, turning towards her with a look of disdain in his eyes. ‘The Lake District doesn’t taste of anything.’
‘Oliver, that’s rude. Say sorry to Harry’s mum right now,’ Matt said firmly, but Oliver turned away and didn’t say sorry, and his dad seemed to forget he’d told him to.
‘Here, try it!’ Harry giggled and splashed a handful of water at the reluctant Oliver. It splattered on his clothes and a few drops went on his face.
‘Harry, no!’ Amy said, too late.
‘It went in my mouth!’ Oliver wailed. ‘It went in my mouth! I don’t like it. It tastes like sheep wee, there’s sheep wee in my mouth!’
‘Oliver, you are such a wimp! It’s just water! And I didn’t splash you that much.’ Harry sounded disgusted.
‘He’s calling me names. I don’t like it,’ Oliver said, and Amy rushed to intervene. First the stone and now this. Whatever must Matt think of him — and of her?
‘You shouldn’t have splashed him at all! Please say sorry to Oliver.’ Amy tried to sound firm and hoped Harry would do what she said.
‘Sorry, Oliver,’ muttered Harry, and Amy breathed a silent sigh of relief.
‘Oliver, you’re being silly. Harry only splashed you. He was playing. There’s no need to apologise, Harry, you didn’t do anything bad,’ said Matt. She smiled in gratitude.
‘Come on then, let’s head back to the campsite,’ she said. ‘Who’d like a cup of hot chocolate when we get back?’
‘Me! And will you tell the ghost story?’ Harry asked. ‘Tell Oliver too!’
Amy glanced at Oliver. She had a feeling ghost stories wouldn’t be his cup of tea. ‘I’m not sure if Oliver will want —’
‘You said. You said you’d tell me Granny Jen’s ghost story about the lake.’
‘I did. You’re right. I did.’
‘And Oliver loves ghost stories, don’t you, Oliver?’
‘Yes …’ Though his huge eyes made her think perhaps Oliver did not love ghost stories as much as Harry did.
‘Come on, Oliver, race you!’ Away they went down the track at top speed, leaving their parents to walk silently behind them.
