‘Can we have one?’ Jack asked, popping up in between me and his mum, Beanie squeezing in with him.
‘I told you, these are for the beach. By the time we get there, they’ll have cooled down enough to eat.’
‘But I’m too hungry to ride my bike,’ he protested.
‘I’m hungry. I want one too,’ his sister echoed, standing on tiptoes so her huge, round eyes could see what she was missing.
‘Did you not both eat cheese and ham sandwiches, an apple and a giant pretzel an hour ago?’
‘Exactly!’ Jack said. ‘A whole hour ago.’
‘Moles eat half their own body weight in a day,’ Beanie announced.
‘Good job you’re a girl, then, and not a mole. The sooner you both get ready to go, the sooner we can get there and you can try one.’
Less than five minutes later, Lily was loading two cool boxes full of pasties in the car. She was driving to spare her swollen ankles. The children were lined up in the hall, accompanied by several tote bags, a football and two giant stuffed moles. Beanie was clutching a hamster inside one of those plastic balls they run about in.
‘No to Digger and Dirt. Definitely no – make that never – to Mister Whiskers. Hamsters are not allowed at the beach,’ Malcolm said.
‘He’s not a hamster. He’s a hairy-tailed mole so that means he can come,’ Beanie sang happily.
‘Jack, have you got a shirt in there somewhere?’ Malcolm asked, ignoring her.
‘Nope.’
‘Stupid question, I suppose. Have you at least got sun cream on?’
‘Flora did it.’
‘Great. Now once you’ve put on your surf shoes, we can go. Moles can’t come to the beach, either. Put him back in his cage, now.’
‘Cowboys don’t wear shoes.’
‘I think you’ll find they do. Otherwise, what happens when they step in a cowpat, or on a rattlesnake?’
‘Do not. They wear cowboy boots.’
‘You haven’t got any boots, buddy. Surf shoes or nothing.’
Jack marched to the front door. ‘Nothing.’
‘No, I mean you can’t go if you don’t wear shoes. Beanie, put Mister Whiskers in his cage.’
‘Not going, then.’ Jack plonked himself down, arms folded, chin jutting from beneath a miniature Stetson. Beanie put the hamster ball down, the occupant making a break for the kitchen, and tipped herself upside down in her brother’s lap.
‘Well, that’s a shame. I thought you wanted to try one of Emmie’s pasties.’ Malcolm shrugged, picking up one of the larger bags. ‘Auntie Violet has made crackle cakes for the bonfire.’
‘Crackle cakes!’ Beanie flipped upright and grabbed one of the surf shoes that Flora had picked up from the shoe rack, attempting to wrestle it onto Jack’s bare foot. ‘Let’s go!’
While Flora bent to help her sister, Jack’s resolve clearly wavering as he lifted his leg to make it easier, Lily returned, instructing her youngest daughter to return the hamster to his cage in the living room while we loaded up the car.
I was sorely tempted to ask if I could ride in the car along with Beanie, but didn’t want to appear like a feeble mainlander, so it was back on the rental bike.
‘Ew.’ Jack wrinkled his nose as he and Malcolm passed me. ‘Flora, did you fart again?’
Flora overtook me next. ‘Ugh! The only way a fart could smell like that is if someone’s eaten a dead dinosaur first. Unless…’ She gave me a curious glance over her shoulder. ‘Is that what English farts smell like?’
‘No!’ I said, with enough force to sound suspicious. ‘Something gross got on the bike yesterday.’
