Read Online A Bit of Earth by Rebecca Smith - Free Book Online Page A

hardly blocked at all.
    This doesn’t look anything like a holiday car, Guy thought. We are impostors in the land of holidays. They had been stuck behind the same car since somewhere around Oswestry. It was a big red SUV. The large, fair, healthy heads of at least six people, a brace of cycle helmets, and many rucksacks and body boards were visible from the Misselthwaites’ position below and behind them. Some French loaves were also there in silhouette, ready to make a convenient but tasty supper for the first night of the holiday. Guy had forgotten to plan anything for supper, but had thought of the next day’s breakfast. So that was OK, they could have cereal for dinner – it would make them feel at home.
    â€˜Daddy, why do all the other cars have boats on top?’
    â€˜Boats? They don’t have boats.’
    â€˜Those canoe things,’ said Felix. ‘We’re the only car without one of those.’ He was pointing at the roof of the SUV ahead of them. He could never remember that Guy wouldn’t be able to look at what he was pointing at.
    â€˜Oh those,’ said Guy, realising what he meant. ‘They’re sort of roof-racks with lids.’
    â€˜What’s a roof-rack?’
    â€˜In the olden days people had these metal bar things on the roofs of their cars for strapping stuff to, mattresses or bikes or bits of bedroom furniture or suitcases. Then they would cover it up with a tarpaulin thing which would flap in the wind as they drove along, and sometimes blow away altogether. Now they have those canoe things.’
    â€˜But why haven’t we got one? I wish we had one.’
    â€˜They’re just for extra stuff. I guess we don’t need to take as much with us as other people.’
    â€˜They look like those Egyptian things, but plain.’
    â€˜Plastic sarcophaguses, sarcophagi. Well, they might be. There’s no way of telling what all those families have inside them.’ Could well be mummified remains, thought Guy. Perhaps the paterfamilias, instigator of outdoorsy holidays, or perhaps the bodies of the fallen. Perhaps friends or relatives who had perished in sandboarding accidents were being taken on holiday, transported aloft as though by giant wood ants. He smiled grimly.
    â€˜What’s funny, Dad?’
    â€˜Nothing,’ said Guy. ‘We’re nearly there. We turn off soon. I have to concentrate now. It’ll be after the next little town.’
    It was easy to spot the turning because the red SUV slowed and took it first.
    â€˜No escaping them,’ said Guy. They followed them at the next junction and the next.
    â€˜They must be going to the same place as us,’ said Felix.
    â€˜We’re almost there,’ said Guy. He had memorised the directions. ‘There should be a white house and a garage called Conwy Morgan Motors …’
    â€˜White house!’ shouted Felix. ‘Garage!’
    â€˜Then it’s the next turning on the right. With a post box.’
    â€˜There, Dad!’ yelled Felix.
    The SUV had got there first and was through the five-bar gate and heading up the drive.
    Oh, thought Guy, there must be a number of cottages on the farm. He had been hoping for complete isolation.
    There was just one cottage with an annexe. He saw Mrs SUV jump out and beat them to the key, which he had been looking forward to telling Felix would be under the flowerpot beside the boot-scraper. The over-sized SUV children were switching off their in-car DVD players and piling out of their vehicle with what looked to Guy like exaggerated, self-indulgent stretches. How could they possibly feel cramped in that huge conveyance? Mrs SUV had the cottage door open.
    â€˜Not damp!’ she sang out.
    Bikes were being unstrapped, rucksacks were flung across the yard. Then they noticed Guy.
    â€˜Can we help you?’ How skinny and baggy-kneed he felt next to them. The mummy stood with her arms crossed defensively