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‘Not now Oliver’s dad has double-pegged the guy ropes!’ Amy said with a confidence she didn’t entirely feel, ‘and even if it does, you two’ll be safe up in the pop-top, won’t you?’
‘Oh yeah! We will,’ said Oliver.
‘I hope it doesn’t blow away with you in it,’ Harry said cheerfully to his mam. ‘I think you ought to sleep in your clothes like the Swallows did. Just in case.’
‘I suppose I could. Though their tents were home-made, weren’t they? I’m sure Granny Jen’s tent must have seen worse than a little bit of a breeze like this.’
When the story was finished and the Swallows and the Amazons had sailed home for the last time, she took the boys over to the campervan, with strict instructions that Harry must go for a wee and brush his teeth before bedtime. He promised, and she kissed him goodnight.
‘Don’t forget to put your coat on before you go to sleep in case the storm comes in the tent!’ were his last words as he climbed nimbly into the pop-top, hauling his sleeping bag up behind him and scattering several packets of crisps that he’d taken from her supplies. No doubt the boys were planning a Swallows and Amazons style midnight feast. She pretended not to notice.
‘Are you sure you’re okay with this?’ she asked Matt as he gave her a hand to help her down from the high step of the van. ‘Looks like there might be crumbs everywhere by the morning!’
‘They’ll be no bother. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they don’t do anything too silly, and I’ll make sure they both have a wee before bedtime!’
‘Thanks Matt, Harry’s pleased you let him stay in the campervan.’ The wind lifted her abundant dark curls, blowing them into her eyes.
‘You’re welcome,’ he said, as she cleared the hair out of her face with her free hand. He seemed reluctant to let go of her other hand, and she stood looking up at him, the light from the campervan spilling out into the night, highlighting her upturned face in the darkness.
Part of her didn’t want to move. This felt like the beginning of the end. It had been a wonderful week, but it was over, and the next time she saw him it would probably be in the school playground, with Darcey-Mae’s mother looking on. Above her, the stars had disappeared, and the temperature was dropping quickly, a few drops of rain were whipped into her face by the wind.
‘Well, I guess we should —’
She was interrupted by a gust of wind which made the flysheet of the tent crack loudly, and the whole of the campervan shake. There was an excited shriek from both the boys at once. ‘Never mind. It’ll have to wait!’ she said, as the rain started to fall; huge drops rattled on the roof of the van, and off her head. ‘See you in the morning!’ She made a dash from the sheltered side of the campervan for the door of the tent.
‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay in that tent?’ Matt called after her.
‘I’ll be fine, don’t worry!’ she yelled back as she opened the zip of the door, flung herself inside, and zipped it up after her. Her mam had camped in all weathers so the tent must be strong enough for a bit of a breeze, and it hadn’t leaked that much all week. It would be fine.
* * *
Once she was in bed, it wasn’t fine at all. The wind came in waves, hurtling up the valley with the sound of a steam train as it rushed through the trees beside the campsite. She pulled the sleeping bag over her head and tried to sleep, but she couldn’t keep out the noise. The ground was getting colder underneath the flat airbed and she was thankful this was her last night of sleeping on the ground; tomorrow she would be back to a comfortable bed, a proper kitchen and a bathroom which wasn’t at the top of the hill. However, there was so much she would miss — the beautiful views, the feeling of freedom, the fresh air, the mountains … and Matt.
The rain grew heavier, coming down like stair rods, as her mother always used to say. It sounded louder in a tent, but this was heavy even by the standards of the Lake District. Now, with the rain as well as the wind, there was no chance of falling asleep. She sighed, plumped up her pillow and reached out for her torch and a book. If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well read, now she didn’t have to worry about disturbing Harry. As she reached out a cold drop of water plopped on the back of her hand. Shining her torch upwards, she could see water dripping down the tent-pole; the funny little plastic cap she’d put on it to prevent leaks must have blown away. The chances of locating a small plastic disc in the dark were slim, so there was no point in searching for it and it would only blow off again even if she did find it. No, better to move everything away from the pole, and she could dry it all out when they got home tomorrow.
She read a couple of pages, and checked again, only to see the pool of water at the base of the pole getting larger, and the water no longer dripping, but running down the pole. The puddle was growing fast but if she got a towel to wrap round the base of the pole it would keep the creeping pool away from her bed.
Opening the inner door, she looked around the outer tent for one of the towels she’d draped over the camping chairs to dry. The chairs had both fallen over. There was no point in leaving them like that, so she folded them up, and the creak as the frames sprang flat made her jump. Hopefully she hadn’t disturbed anybody in the campervan next door — though the likelihood of them hearing her folding a camping chair over the noise of the wind and the rain was minimal.
The storm seemed to be subsiding slightly, as she stacked the folded chairs to one side, when an almighty gust of wind came out of nowhere. As the whole tent shuddered, she felt the wind around her feet, and with a succession of pops, the front left-hand corner of the tent began to lift. The pegs must have blown out of the ground. She was going to have to peg it back down again or the whole tent would blow away.
‘Bollocks, bollock, bollocks,’ she whispered to herself, pulling on her wellies and her waterproof coat over her pyjamas. The tent flapped wildly, and the rain was blowing in underneath. She needed to move as much as possible into the inner tent where it was dryer, but it was difficult to see what she was doing with only the little torch. The big lantern which had been hanging from the ridge pole had gone; it must have blown down and rolled away. Everything she touched was soaked through, as if the tent had been leaking even before it started to come unpegged.
In the corner where she’d tucked away the bags she found the mallet and she picked it up with determination. When she unzipped the outer door, the wind got inside and tugged at it like a kite, but she managed to catch hold of the edge of the flysheet and hang on, zipping it shut behind her. When she shone her torch on the flapping section the pegs were still there, but the ancient and slightly corroded rubber bands which had been holding the tent to the ground had snapped and there was nothing to connect to the pegs.
There were small metal eyelets where the rubber bands had been attached. If she could get the pegs through them and pull the flysheet down hard enough perhaps she might be able to pin the tent back down to the ground again. Matt’s enormous rock pegs wouldn’t have fitted through them and her own, thin, metal pegs looked insubstantial in the face of all this wind, but she had to try something. Before she’d even got the first peg through one of the eyelets, another gust of wind snapped two more of the elastic bands. The flysheet began to flap more wildly, the whole of the front of the tent beginning to lift.
‘Oh bollocks!’ she muttered. Unless she could get it pegged down quickly, the whole flysheet was going to blow away.
At the top end of the field, light from a pair of headtorches flickered around a large tunnel-style tent at the top of the field, and one of the smaller backpacker’s tents was lit up from the inside like a lantern in the darkness. It was almost a relief to know she wasn’t on her own. The wind was so strong it was hard to keep hold of the tent and try to hammer the pegs in. In a lull between the gusts she managed to get one of the tent pegs through an eyelet but she couldn’t pull it close enough to the ground to get it to stay there and the thin metal peg pulled straight out again.
If she’d brought some string she could have made loops to replace the elastic bands — even some of her knitting wool might have done it — but the last thing she’d thought to pack was emergency string in case the tent started to blow away in the middle of the night. There was nothing she could do to save it now; the tent was already too badly damaged, and as it was no longer watertight, she’d be better off spending the rest of the night in the car. The cold, wet flysheet slapped at her with every gust as she crawled back in and grabbed the most important things — her phone, her book and her backpack. Fingers slippery with the rain, she opened the car and threw them onto the passenger seat, the wind almost wrenching the door out of her hand. Glancing up the field she saw several tents were now lit up from the inside, and she could hear Peter Thompson’s voice in the gaps between gusts. She crawled back into the tent to see what else she could save; a thin mist of water was now filtering through the inner-tent walls. She’d get the sleeping bag, and then leave the rest and see what she could salvage in the morning, if it hadn’t all blown away. She turned round and crawled out of the fast-collapsing front of the tent, only to come face-to-face with Matt. Well, face-to-groin, as she was on her hands and knees trying to get out of the tent.
Rainwater was streaming down his hair and face and dripping off his expensive waterproof coat. His head-torch lit up the tent. He carried an enormous mallet in his hand, a cross between a serial-killer in a horror film and Bear Grylls himself. She almost laughed out loud with a mixture of relief and surprise — not to mention amusement at his appearance.
‘I’m bailing out!’ She tucked her belongings under her coat.
‘I can see your rubbers have gone, I thought they might,’ he said, and she looked up at him baffled.
