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Mug
The boys sprawled on the camping chairs in the awning and Amy sat inside the campervan on the couch-style grey leatherette seat which stretched the entire width of the van, listening to the rain on the roof and glad to be out of it. The Propex heater was on, the van was warm and Matt had filled a small whistling kettle and put it on one of the two gas rings hidden under the lid of the kitchen unit. Amy had brought the hot chocolate sachets, some chocolate to grate on the top and some mini marshmallows from her supplies, ready to make them all a hot drink.
‘I’ve got my mug ready. I’ve got tons of marshmallows to go in it.’ Harry waved around his favourite melamine mug with pictures of jellyfish all over it. It was heaped to the brim with marshmallows, leaving very little room for hot chocolate. She had to take them out to get the hot chocolate in.
‘I want tons too,’ said Oliver.
‘It’s a good job I brought a big packet then. Matt, do you like marshmallows on your hot chocolate?’
‘A couple, maybe. Not a ton.’
‘I’ve forgotten my mug. Harry, would you go over to our tent and get it out of the blue box?’
‘It’s all right, you can borrow our spare,’ said Matt, and opened a small flap in the kitchen unit of the campervan. Inside was a perfectly organised set of crockery and cutlery, everything in its own place, secured with elastic straps to stop it sliding around as they drove. Three of everything. The mugs even had names painted on them, in cheerful red letters. Daddy, Oliver and —.
‘That’s Mummy’s! She can’t have Mummy’s mug!’
She couldn’t. There was no way Amy could bring herself to drink out of Stella’s mug, but the words caught in her throat. She looked at Matt.
‘Perhaps not. Oliver, can you find the spare mug I made Amy’s tea in yesterday? I think it’s somewhere in the awning,’ he said, and Oliver found the battered travel mug under the table, handing it to Matt.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she stuttered.
‘No. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,’ he said quickly, and thankfully the kettle whistled loudly. ‘Right, who’s ready for hot chocolate?’
Matt sat down on the passenger seat, which he had swivelled round to face the bench seat so they could all sit down inside the van and Amy swapped places with him to stand beside the kettle. The campervan was so tiny that only one person could comfortably stand in the central section at one time.
‘Does your campervan have a name?’ she asked, as she filled up the mugs with hot water. ‘They all have names, don’t they?’
‘I was going to call it The Flying Scotsman because it originally had some awful tartan seats, but it didn’t seem right once they’d gone,’ said Matt.
‘Mum used to call it Dad’s funny little van,’ Oliver piped up.
‘We never gave it another name. Perhaps it needs one. What do you think, boys?’ he asked, as Amy put some of the marshmallows on top of the cups of hot chocolate, and handed them to the boys, who looked at each other and shrugged.
‘You could call it the red campervan?’ Harry picked the marshmallows off the top of his hot chocolate and ate them one by one.
‘That’s a stupid name,’ said Oliver.
‘At least I’ve tried to think of something.’
‘Yeah, but it’s stupid.’
‘I know! I know! You could call it … you could call it …’ Harry could barely get his words out because he was laughing too much and there were too many marshmallows in his mouth. It was a good job she’d only half-filled their mugs, because he was waving his around as he laughed.
‘What?’ asked Amy, suspiciously.
‘Titty!’ And he spluttered marshmallows all down his front.
‘No, Harry,’ Amy said firmly, trying to ignore the fact Matt was trying so hard not to laugh he was incapable of speech. She mustn’t catch his eye right now, or she’d be laughing too. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’ She sat down on the bench seat beside Harry.
‘No,’ Matt said, his voice strained. ‘Maybe not.’
‘Okay, boys, what about a story now we’ve got our hot chocolate?’ Amy changed the subject before Harry could get carried away.
‘A ghost story! The one about the lake? Granny Jen’s ghost story!’ Harry demanded. ‘Me and Oliver want to hear it!’
‘Are you sure you want to hear a ghost story? Or would you prefer a different kind of story?’ she asked Oliver.
