Camping Out

Some things are better than money in this gentle short story by Alyson Hilbourne.

Jessie and Oscar didn’t ask for much, but buying a tent was out of the question . . .

CAN I? Please?” my ten-year-old son Oscar begs, squeezing his hands together in supplication and widening his eyes.

My kids know all the tricks.

“And me?” Seven-year old Jessie joins in, giving me the doleful eye treatment.

I am under siege.

I look from one to the other and feel so mean.

“I don’t have the money to buy a tent or sleeping bags,” I say.

“We could sleep on the grass,” Oscar says.

Jessie hops from foot to foot.

“That wouldn’t cost anything, would it?” she adds.

The kids want to camp in Ed and Natalie’s garden for the night. Their friends’ father has sent a tent and they are going to set it up this afternoon and sleep out.

It hurts me that my children are so aware of money. It hurts that their friends issue invitations that I can’t keep up with.

A little flush of anger rushes through me as I see the pleading looks on my children’s faces.

Ed and Natalie want for nothing. They have the latest games and always wear nice clothes. They always have takeaways, my children tell me.

I cook from scratch and my two wear hand-medown clothes from my sister.

Many of their Christmas toys and games come from the charity shops.

They don’t realise until something happens like today, when I have to confess we don’t have the money.

It pains me to see their faces.

I shake my head.

“No, you can’t sleep on the grass,” I say. “It might rain. There could be bugs and it wouldn’t be safe.”

Jessie pouts, but says nothing.

“What if we don’t have pocket money this month?” Oscar offers.

I smile at him.

“Still not enough,” I reply. I don’t add that I could possibly afford a cheap festival tent and sleeping bags that are in the shops, but I begrudge spending our meagre budget on something that will undoubtedly be a one-hit wonder.

They’ll need new school shoes in September and I was hoping to manage a few days out during the summer holidays since we can’t afford to go away.

“Can we go and see the tent?” Jessie asks. “Just a look?”

I massage my temples. I don’t want to sound mean and say no, but what good will it do?

“Do you think that’s a good idea, when you know you can’t stay?” I ask.

“We won’t mind,” Oscar says, speaking for both of them, but avoiding my eye.

“Oh, go on, then. I need some milk from the shop, so we’ll walk that way and pretend we’re passing.”

“Yes!” Oscar punches the air and Jessie’s face breaks into a smile.

They rush ahead of me to get their sandals on and are outside the door waiting as I pull it shut and lock it.

We round the corner into the street where Ed and Natalie live, and I can hear them in the back garden.

On the lawn is a pile of fluorescent green nylon and various poles.

Their mother is staring at a piece of paper in her hands, while Ed kicks at the turf and Natalie sits on the ground, her bottom lip trembling, on the edge of tears.

Oscar is about to call out, but I grab his arm and hurry him on.

“I don’t think they need our help,” I say quickly. “They’re busy at the moment.”

That evening I cook spaghetti bolognese, the children’s favourite, in an effort to make something up to them.

All the conversation at the table is about tents and camping out, what fun it would be and what Ed and Natalie might be doing at that moment.

“Do you think we’ll ever go camping, Mummy?” Jessie asks, turning the guilt screw a little tighter.

There is thickness in my throat and I’m not sure I want to finish my meal.

“I’m sure we will one day,” I say, crossing my fingers under the table at the little white lie.

****

Next morning, Jack arrives to collect the kids.

“Daddy!” Jessie bounces into his arms and Oscar hovers nearby, anxious not to be the un-cool Dadhugging kid, but still pleased to see him.

“Daddy, Natalie and Ed have a tent. They were going to sleep in it last night –”

“They asked if we wanted to –”

“But Mummy said no –” Oscar and Jessie compete to tell Jack what has been happening and their words spill into each other.

Jack glances up at me, one eyebrow raised.

I count things off on my fingers.

“One, we don’t have a tent. Two, we don’t have sleeping bags . . .”

Jack holds up his hands placatingly.

“Give me a moment with your mum, please.” He ushers them out of the kitchen and closes the door.

Then he looks at me, cocking his head

on one side. I explain about the tent and the waste of money.

“I know it’s my turn to take them for the weekend,” Jack says. “But I’ve nothing planned other than a walk in the park.

“How would it be if we build a camp in the garden they could sleep in?

“There’s all that wood behind the shed that we never got round to doing anything with.

“That’s if you don’t mind me staying here with them today?”

Jack lives in a small flat. It’s easier to entertain the children here, but he always takes them as per the terms of the divorce.

As he waits for an answer I see again why I married him. He has always been super-considerate.

I shake my head.

“I’ve nothing much planned. It’s fine. They’d love that.”

I make coffee for Jack and squash for the kids while Jack explains to them.

They are spinning with excitement as I send them to change into old clothes.

When I go out into the garden a couple of hours later, they’ve moved all the wood and have the beginnings of an A-frame shelter built.

When I take out a plate of sandwiches even later, there is a primitive refuge in place.

“Look, Mummy! We built it!” Jessie’s face is flushed and she’s covered in dirt.

“Have you got that tarpaulin that came with the roof rack?” Jack asks.

“In the shed, I think,” I reply.

As the afternoon wears on, Jessie runs in and out of the house, giving me a running commentary.

“Can I have a cushion? Daddy says I should lie down and see what it’s like to sleep in.”

She then comes to tell me they’ve filled in all the gaps with branches.

When I go out, Oscar has the hammer in one hand and, under careful supervision from Jack, is banging nails to hang an old curtain across the entrance.

He holds his head up and a wide grin stretches across his face.

Jessie, meanwhile, is trying to spread out the tarp across the floor like a carpet.

“Brilliant,” Oscar says, his eyes shining. “Can we sleep here?”

I look at Jack.

“I think it’s safe,” he says. “You’ll need bring blankets and duvets. It might be chilly.”

“Can we ask Ed and Natalie if they want to come?” Jessie asks.

Jack glances over at me. I nod.

“No arguing,” he says sternly. “It’s for you to share. No ganging up on the girls, Oscar.”

Oscar shakes his head and Jessie slips a hand in his.

“No,” Oscar promises. “We’ll look after them.”

Two hours later, Jack has gone, promising to come back in the morning to hear all about the sleep out.

Oscar, Jessie, Ed and Natalie are in the shelter with a big bowl of popcorn and a pizza that Ed and Natalie’s mum, Alma, brought round.

“This is just brilliant,” she tells me. “I bet they had fun making it. My husband sent a tent, but didn’t think about who would put it up.

“We ended up with a mess and any number of tears yesterday. And, of course, no sleep out.”

I press my lips together and say nothing about passing the house.

“I wish he’d make time for Ed and Natalie rather than just sending money or gifts,” she carried on.

“It would mean so much more. Natalie can hardly remember what he looks like.”

I think about Jack. He’s a delivery driver and his lack of ambition drove me to distraction and eventually to divorce.

He can’t afford to buy tents or send money for trendy clothes and takeaway pizzas, but he is happy to spend a day building a shelter in the garden with the kids.

They see him every other weekend and he’s always there if I have a problem with them.

I should stop being envious, I realise. What we have is worth much more than money.

“Since the kids are happy out there, would you like a cup of tea?” I ask. “If you have the time?”

The End.