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‘I like Harry’s blanket the best.’ Oliver put away his earphones in their case.
‘It’s colourful, isn’t it,? Harry likes reds and oranges and yellows, so I chose those colours for him. This bit of red wool here came from his old woolly hat, and the yellow stripes all came from a big, knitted jumper that used to be mine.’
Oliver traced his finger along the thin red stripe of the rug.
‘Can me and Oliver go to the toilet before we go out?’ Harry asked.
‘Of course, that’s very sensible, Harry,’ she said, and the two boys disappeared up to the toilets.
‘You made those blankets?’ Matt asked.
‘I did.’
‘You’re very talented. Do you sell them?’
‘No. I make things for my own pleasure, that’s all.’
‘You should. You really should. I’d buy some — I’d love something like that for the campervan, make it feel less like Stella …’ He tailed off. He clearly wasn’t ready to change anything yet. Stella’s mug still in the cupboard, Stella’s bedding still on the beds; it was still very much Stella’s campervan, too, and it would be hard to change anything — hard for Oliver, and no doubt harder still for Matt.
‘You should wait until you and Oliver are ready. Don’t rush into anything,’ she said, remembering the unhappiness it had caused her having to pack away her mum’s home within a couple of weeks of her death.
He changed the subject. ‘You haven’t forgotten we said we’d go to the pub tonight? I thought we might get a meal there because Olly hates my cooking, if you want to join us?’
A moment’s doubt flitted through her mind. She’d budgeted very carefully for this holiday and planned to cook each night; there wasn’t much extra money for meals out in the evening. Perhaps she could run to a couple of baked potatoes or whatever bar snacks the pub served, as a special treat. Harry would welcome the chance to spend more time with Oliver, and it would be nice for her to have some adult conversation. She had missed that.
