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‘Not tonight, pet. I don’t think that would be a good idea right now.’
* * *
When they got back to the campsite the campervan was shut, the blinds were drawn, and Matt and Oliver were secured inside. Perhaps Matt wouldn’t even want to speak to her because of Oliver’s reaction. It was all so confusing. The last thing she wanted to do now was to make things worse between father and son; she must be patient and wait for the right time to talk to him and find out how he was feeling.
Shaking thoughts of Matt from her head, she led the way towards the old stone farmhouse, to take the cottage keys back. Harry trailed along behind her, chanting a dirge about sheep-poo. Mrs. Thompson answered the door, drying her hands on a much-washed tea-towel.
‘Did you recognise the old place then? Your young man was so keen to show you inside; said you remembered it from when you used to come in the old days.’
‘He’s not my young man, we’re friends, that’s all,’ she said, hurriedly.
‘Ay, I’ve heard that before.’ She hung the tea-towel on the front of the battered old Aga to dry.
‘It’s still like I remembered when I came with Mam. I was sure you’d have changed it all by now and it would be modernised and spoiled. I used to love that little cottage so much. It was like going back in time! But I was sad to see it looking so empty.’
‘Too remote to do much with it. Nobody wants holidays like that these days. It’s all about luxury today, or that’s what it seems like. Don’t even know how much longer we’ll keep the campsite going. People like those motorhome types we had the other night don’t like roughing it. They’re all asking for, you know, that internet stuff, things to use their phones. Peter does all that, but I don’t even know where to start. Somebody asked us the other day if we had a hot tub! I thought they meant a bath, but apparently that’s not what it is.’
‘No, it’s not!’ Amy grinned.
‘Mrs. Thompson?’ Harry interjected, ‘Can I say hello to Jen?’
‘I’m sorry, lad, she’s out with our Peter right now,’ said Mrs Thompson. Harry fell silent and started moving a pebble around the muddy ground of the yard with his toe.
‘It’s still a fantastic spot, though.’ Amy resumed the conversation. ‘There will always be people who like simply being here. The scenery is so amazing. I’d be sad if you changed it. It’s worth a bit of roughing it to wake up and look out at that.’ She waved a hand at the view. The grey evening light was soft on the fells, and the only sound was the birds singing.
‘Ay, it’s a pretty enough spot all right. Lived here for over fifty years now. The only way they’ll get me out of here is in a wooden box. People ask me if we don’t want to move to a town, where there are more folks to keep an eye on us, but it’s the last thing Reg and me want, more folks sticking their noses into our business. They can’t seem to understand I’m happy with my own company. Always have been.’
‘That sounds great,’ she said, thinking of the playground mums. Imagine never having to see their smug, judgemental faces ever again!
‘Sometimes if Reg and Peter are working away from the yard, I don’t see a soul from sunrise to sundown and that’s how I like it. It’s been the three of us for the last fifty-odd year, and I’ve never wanted anything else.’
‘You don’t get lonely up here in the winter?’
‘Lonely? How could I be lonely with all this?’ She gestured towards the beck and the valley. ‘I’ve got the hills and the Good Lord for company — who could want more than that?’
