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‘I can see that. There’s a bit there that looks flat.’ The man was pointing at the top end of the campsite where a large family tent was pitched.
‘There’s already another family there. I can’t start moving people around.’
‘I don’t see why not. They could go anywhere. They don’t need to be flat. Our shower doesn’t work properly if we’re not level.’
‘There’s communal showers in the old barn,’ Mrs. Thompson suggested. ‘And the family up there in that tent, they need an electric hook-up. That’s why they’re up the top end of the field, they’ve got a baby with them, you see. I’m not asking anyone to move.’
‘You mean we haven’t got a hook-up? Why haven’t we got a hook-up?’
‘You haven’t asked for one — it’s not in the book — and we’ve only got four. Two up at the top end by the barn and two further down there.’ She gestured towards their side of the campsite, and the motorhome couple looked daggers at them. Matt raised a casual hand in greeting and they turned away.
‘You should have hook-ups for all your pitches! This is ridiculous. How are we going to watch TV without a hook-up?’
‘Most people manage without. We’re just for tents, really, old-fashioned camping. There’s always the pub down in Elderthwaite village for the evening, lots of folk head down there, especially when it’s raining like now. They’ve a singer on sometimes in the summer, you might be lucky. I’m sorry we’re not what you expected, but either we get you settled for the night and make the best of it, or I’ll give you your deposit back and you can see what else you can find. That enormous site over by Ullswater might be able to find you a spare hardstanding.’
‘It’s far too late to find somewhere else now. We’ll have to stop in this dump for tonight. I don’t suppose you’ve got a site shop? I’m out of Prosecco and I’m definitely going to need some if we’re stopping here,’ said the woman.
‘I’m sure the Shepherd’s Rest can sell you some,’ Mrs. Thompson said, unperturbed by the woman’s snappy tone. ‘I’ll love you and leave you. Let me know up at the farm if you need anything. The door that says “Enquiries” — that’s where you need to knock next time.’
‘A proper caravan pitch, that’s what we need!’ said the woman, but Mrs. Thompson was already halfway up the field, moving with surprising speed for a woman of her age. ‘A proper pitch and neighbours who can mind their OWN BLOODY BUSINESS.’
The motorhome door slammed. Matt and Amy, caught like a pair of spies eavesdropping, looked at each other and grinned.
‘At least they’ll be gone tomorrow morning,’ Amy whispered. ‘If campsites with more facilities are full of people like them … well, perhaps I can adapt to camping here after all!’
‘What, you’d choose the creepy crawlies in the shower over them?’
‘Any day!’ she said with a grin.
‘She reminds me of Nessa Fenton,’ said Matt. ‘Now there’s a woman to avoid.’
‘What, Darcey-Mae Fenton’s mother? I thought you were part of the whole P.T.A. crowd and you and Mrs. Fenton were friends.’
Matt checked over his shoulder to make sure the boys were well out of earshot.
‘I’m sure that’s what she’d like you to think.’ He grimaced. ‘Look, Amy, I’m going to tell you something, but don’t tell anyone back in Saddleton.’
‘I promise.’ She hoped Matt was going to give her some gossip about Mrs. Fenton. Nessa.
‘There was an, um, an incident with Nessa Fenton.’
‘What do you mean an incident?’ Amy couldn’t help but be intrigued.
‘An … um … a romantic incident,’ he admitted, flushing and looking at the ground. ‘It wasn’t my fault.’
‘I’m sure it wasn’t. What happened?’
‘It was at Easter. Darcey-Mae and Oliver had a play-date. Nessa brought Darcey-Mae over to play, and wouldn’t leave.’ He visibly shook himself at the memory. ‘She sat down and then next thing I know, she’s sliding across the sofa towards me. She offered to help me with all kinds of things — cooking, decorating, laundry, you name it — and then … oh God, I don’t know how I can even put it without making her sound desperate … but she offered to help me with other things.’
‘Other things?’ Amy was torn between laughter and shock. Nessa Fenton, arbiter of playground behaviour, rock of the P.T.A., she who tutted in judgement every time Harry mentioned ‘butts’ in class… Nessa Fenton had propositioned Matt?
‘A man like me must have needs, she said. Because her husband was away so often, she understood what it was like to have needs, she had them too, and she was prepared to do anything …’ he made his voice sound seductively husky in an imitation of Nessa Fenton, ‘… anything I needed her to do for me!’
‘At Easter? What was she thinking? That’s less than a year after … I mean, that’s very soon for someone who …’
‘Five months after Stella died. No, I wasn’t in a hurry to leap into bed with Nessa Fenton — no matter how well-meaning her offer was.’
‘What did you do?’ Amy asked, aghast.
