was deep into the night now and the storm was still raging around them. She had got used to the constant spray in her face, the salt on her lips. It was simply a case of endurance she told herself. This misery would come to an end sometime.
‘Go and lie down in the forecabin Anna. I can manage here alone,’ he said.
She knew she was doing nothing to help but she didn’t want to leave his side.
‘I feel safer being up here with you.’
And she did feel safer sitting with him. She watched his hands on the tiller. He had wonderful hands, long graceful fingers that gripped the wood. He wore a good diver’s watch on his right wrist. She made herself focus on his hands as she tried to shut out her importunate fears.
Rob was having a dreadful night as he was tossed on the wet bedding below. The lee-cloth kept rubbing against him and disturbing his fitful sleep. He thought he might feel better if he could only get out into the air again. The saloon seemed enclosed and fetid and he could smell his sick. He tried to sit up. He had no strength to do anything. He couldn’t even raise his head. He drifted in and out of a disturbed sleep and had vivid dreams that made his body jerk. Later, he didn’t know if he was dreaming or remembering, but a song kept going through his head, ‘Heaven is a Place on Earth’, and he lived again every detail of being at a music festival with his mum when he was eight years old.
They had camped. He saw again the dark night as he and his mum picked their way through a field of tents of all shapes and sizes. His mum used her small torch to see where to unzip the flap into their tent. Then it was morning and he was lying awake in his sleeping bag and noticing how the light coming through their red tent made everything pink. He had sat up and reached for his mum’s backpack to look for the custard creams he knew were in there. He was opening the packet when she said sleepily:
‘Eat outside sweetheart and I’ll get you an egg roll later.’
He poked his head out of the tent. There were a lot of people about. He sat at the door of their tent and ate custard creams and watched the people queuing for the cubicle showers with their wash bags and their towels over their shoulders. The toilets were always smelly at these festivals. He told his mum he didn’t like to use them. He liked the festivals though, even when he got tired because his mum stayed up late to listen to the bands. She would roll out a small mat and he’d fall asleep on the mat while she sat cross-legged listening or stood up and danced along to the music. She never left him to go to the front of the stage. People would come and talk to her, usually men. She was so beautiful.
When his mum got up he felt proud to be walking through the field with her. She would often say to him ‘it’s just the two of us darling, Robin and her Robbie, her little man.’ She didn’t look anything like his friends’ mums. Her hair fell in long curls down her back. The field was muddy and they had tucked their jeans into wellington boots. The sun was trying to burn though the clouds as they waked to a stall selling bacon, eggs and sausages and joined the queue.
‘I’d like a bacon roll today please, Mum,’ he said.
‘You sure about that? Bacon is very salty you know.’
They shared a commune in London with vegetarians and his mother was a half-hearted vegetarian.
‘I want to try it.’
She ordered a bacon roll for him and he put a lot of tomato sauce on it. She got a tea for herself. She always brought her own mug to these festivals and she took this from her backpack and poured the tea from the paper cup into her mug. This year there was a funfair and she’d promised to take him on the dodgems.
‘We need to get to the dodgems at two Robbie. I met such a nice man last night. He said he’d go on them with you.’
‘But I want to go on them with you .’
‘You know I don’t like them. They’re so jerky. It’ll be much more fun
‘Go and lie down in the forecabin Anna. I can manage here alone,’ he said.
She knew she was doing nothing to help but she didn’t want to leave his side.
‘I feel safer being up here with you.’
And she did feel safer sitting with him. She watched his hands on the tiller. He had wonderful hands, long graceful fingers that gripped the wood. He wore a good diver’s watch on his right wrist. She made herself focus on his hands as she tried to shut out her importunate fears.
Rob was having a dreadful night as he was tossed on the wet bedding below. The lee-cloth kept rubbing against him and disturbing his fitful sleep. He thought he might feel better if he could only get out into the air again. The saloon seemed enclosed and fetid and he could smell his sick. He tried to sit up. He had no strength to do anything. He couldn’t even raise his head. He drifted in and out of a disturbed sleep and had vivid dreams that made his body jerk. Later, he didn’t know if he was dreaming or remembering, but a song kept going through his head, ‘Heaven is a Place on Earth’, and he lived again every detail of being at a music festival with his mum when he was eight years old.
They had camped. He saw again the dark night as he and his mum picked their way through a field of tents of all shapes and sizes. His mum used her small torch to see where to unzip the flap into their tent. Then it was morning and he was lying awake in his sleeping bag and noticing how the light coming through their red tent made everything pink. He had sat up and reached for his mum’s backpack to look for the custard creams he knew were in there. He was opening the packet when she said sleepily:
‘Eat outside sweetheart and I’ll get you an egg roll later.’
He poked his head out of the tent. There were a lot of people about. He sat at the door of their tent and ate custard creams and watched the people queuing for the cubicle showers with their wash bags and their towels over their shoulders. The toilets were always smelly at these festivals. He told his mum he didn’t like to use them. He liked the festivals though, even when he got tired because his mum stayed up late to listen to the bands. She would roll out a small mat and he’d fall asleep on the mat while she sat cross-legged listening or stood up and danced along to the music. She never left him to go to the front of the stage. People would come and talk to her, usually men. She was so beautiful.
When his mum got up he felt proud to be walking through the field with her. She would often say to him ‘it’s just the two of us darling, Robin and her Robbie, her little man.’ She didn’t look anything like his friends’ mums. Her hair fell in long curls down her back. The field was muddy and they had tucked their jeans into wellington boots. The sun was trying to burn though the clouds as they waked to a stall selling bacon, eggs and sausages and joined the queue.
‘I’d like a bacon roll today please, Mum,’ he said.
‘You sure about that? Bacon is very salty you know.’
They shared a commune in London with vegetarians and his mother was a half-hearted vegetarian.
‘I want to try it.’
She ordered a bacon roll for him and he put a lot of tomato sauce on it. She got a tea for herself. She always brought her own mug to these festivals and she took this from her backpack and poured the tea from the paper cup into her mug. This year there was a funfair and she’d promised to take him on the dodgems.
‘We need to get to the dodgems at two Robbie. I met such a nice man last night. He said he’d go on them with you.’
‘But I want to go on them with you .’
‘You know I don’t like them. They’re so jerky. It’ll be much more fun
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