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He glanced over his shoulder at the boys again, but they were deep in animated conversation and no longer watching Matt and Amy. The green glow from the screen of Goat Gunge had gone.
‘I had to promise Oliver it wouldn’t happen again. I wish things were different, I’m so sorry, Amy. Oh God, don’t look at me like that!’ He looked away from her as if he couldn’t bear to see her, and put his foot down on the daisy and ground it into the grass in frustration.
Before she could say anything in reply, Oliver came bouncing out of the campervan. ‘What are you two doing now?’ he demanded. ‘That’s too close, Dad. Move your chair back. You promised!’ He eyed them suspiciously.
‘I was explaining things to Amy. Nothing for you to worry about, I promise. Anyway, what have you two been talking about in there? You looked very serious.’
‘Nothing,’ said Oliver. ‘Have we Harry?’
‘No,’ Harry’s voice came from the awning where it sounded like he was struggling back into his shoes, hopping around on the crinkly groundsheet.
‘I think me and Harry want to come out here and play a game with you, now, don’t we Harry?’
Harry, still flushed from hopping and with his shoes on the wrong feet, came and stood at his shoulder. He looked suspiciously at his mother and then at Matt.
‘Yes, I think we do,’ he said with a conspiratorial glance at his friend. They pulled out their own camping chairs and placed them in the gap between Matt and Amy, forcing them to move their chairs further apart.
‘Now, what shall we all play? What about I Spy?’ said Harry, and immediately Amy’s fears were confirmed. Harry hated playing I Spy, and it always ended in a meltdown when he defaulted to spying “sky” three times in a row or sulked because centipede didn’t start with s. ‘I’ll start,’ he said confidently, before she could say she didn’t think it was necessarily a good idea. ‘I spy with my little eye, something beginning with “S”.’
‘Is it sky?’ Oliver said.
‘No. Guess again!’
‘Is it sentipede?’ Amy guessed.
‘Nope. Again!’
‘Is it sheep?’ Matt asked.
‘Yes! Your turn …’
* * *
It hadn’t ended well, and Amy had to put an end to I Spy before Harry and Oliver came to physical blows over the spelling of “gnat”. They had tea, and Amy was unpacking the small backpack she’d taken on their walk today when she realised her car key wasn’t there. It wasn’t in the outside pocket of the backpack where they should have been, so she tipped out the contents all over the deflated air bed — no key. What could she have done with it? Then she remembered she’d used the torch key ring which was attached to it when they were looking inside the carved oak spice cupboard at the cottage. Damn; that must be where it was and she’d left the spare car key back at home. She’d have to go and ask Mrs. Thompson for the cottage keys again and go back to get it; she didn’t want to be without the key overnight, as their spare clothes were still in the boot. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go back to the cottage right now. A strange mixture of emotions swirled through her mind at the thought. It was as if a miasma of unfulfilled expectations hung in the air over it, a cloud of frustrated hopes and disappointment, everything over before it had even begun.
‘Harry, I’ve left my car key in the cottage. I need to go back and find it.’
‘Can’t I stay here? With Oliver?’
‘I think, after the I Spy argument, you and Oliver have had enough of each other’s company for a while. Don’t you?’
‘Gnat. G-nat. It’s stupid. He picked it on purpose to trick me. He cheated.’
‘Don’t start again,’ Amy warned him. ‘Come on, let’s go now. It’ll be getting dark soon and I’ll need to find the key before then. That little torch is handy to have in the tent too.’
‘Otherwise you’ll need to get another torch to look for your torch. If you lose that, you’ll have to get a torch to look for the torch to look for the torch. And if you lose that …’
Amy had stopped listening by the time they were half-way across the camping field. It seemed to take Mrs. Thompson an age to get to the door, her slow, shuffling steps could be heard on the slate flags.
‘Oh! It’s you dear. Can I help you? It’s not them folks in the red tent again, is it?’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Thompson, but I think I’ve left my car key up at the cottage.’
‘Don’t fret. Our Peter’ll fetch it for you tomorrow, he’s bound to be passing.’
‘I’m afraid I’ll need it tonight. Some of our stuff is in the car. Could I borrow the cottage keys, nip up there and get it myself?’
‘Oh. Oh, well, yes, I dare say. Now, where did I put them keys?’ She was searching on a crooked row of hooks beside the door, ancient metal blackened with age. ‘Could’ve sworn I put them back on the hook. Eh, I’m getting old. Peter?’ she called out, and from another room Amy could hear his muffled voice.
