Daisy Tate - The Happy Glampers

Her cue to sort out the problem. This one she could handle. Unlike the wayward husband problem. That one would have to wait.

Before Izzy could blink, she found herself handing Bonzer’s lead over to Sittingstone’s estate manager.

‘Bye bye, bud. See you soon.’ Izzy nuzzled the puppy.

‘Any news on the hedgehog house?’ Freya had just jogged up to their little group and given them all a full report on the hedgehog, a need for tweezers (ticks) and an assurance that Luna was as transfixed by the little creature as the rest of the children were. And by ‘rest of the children’, she meant hers. Charlotte’s children, just that little bit older than the others, had been seen sloping off to their bell tent arguing about charging points.

‘We should have one kitted out for you in the next hour or two,’ the manager said. ‘The dowager countess has a thing for hedgehogs, so we’ve got loads round the estate. Normally we’ve got a few in store, but this one’s caught us a bit early.’

‘Mmm,’ Freya nodded deeply, then mouthed ‘ global warming ’.

Izzy stifled a laugh. Same ol’ Freya. Bless. She’d have to triple-check the recycling rules before she threw anything away. That. Or torture her like she and Emily used to back in the day. The fuss over an uncomposted banana skin. Good times. Simpler times.

The manager gave Bonzer a ‘ let’s see now ’ look. One that suggested he had the hedgehog situation under control, but puppies? Not so much.

‘Are you sure it’s okay?’ Izzy held out her hand for the lead.

‘Positive,’ said the manager, who had insisted several times everyone call him Whiffy instead of Peter. Something to do with how he’d always ‘smelt of the countryside’ as a kid, and nowt had changed other than that he lived down South where the weather were a bit fairer.

‘It’s for his own safety.’ He crouched down and gave the puppy’s head a scrub. Izzy was vaguely mollified when Bonzer gave him a big sloppy lick on the face and Whiffy laughed.

‘Breed?’

‘Erm … designer dog?’ Or mutt. All in the spin, she supposed.

‘The rescue charity said he’s a mishmash of Lab, collie and some sort of enormous mystery beast. I’m guessing that’s why his paws are so huge. Pyrenean mountain dog?’

They all studiously examined Bonzer. His white eyebrows quirking left, then right, then left again. ‘The woman said he was the product of a “secret liaison”.’

Freya’s eyes shot to her as if she’d been giving them some code about Luna. Izzy herself was the product of a secret liaison, so … no judgement in this camp.

‘When did you move back again?’ Freya asked. ‘Long enough to get a puppy, obviously.’

‘Monday.’ Izzy held up her hands. ‘I know. We’re doing this all a bit ass-backwards, but …’ She shrugged. ‘I thought Bonzer might help us both settle in once we get to the cottage.’

‘Cottage?’ Freya’s eyebrow shot up.

She’d forgotten Freya’s insatiable appetite for details.

Cool your jets. It’s been ten years. Plenty of water under the bridge. More water to come.

‘The one I inherited. It’s in Wales. Welsh Wales.’ She swiped the air between them. ‘I’ll fill you in on everything later. Right now I just wanna make sure this little guy is going to be all right.’

Bonzer nestled his head into Whiffy’s hand then looked up at him, a picture of doe-eyed innocence. Everyone went, ‘awwww’, then threw guilty looks at each other seeing as they were meant to be saying goodbye.

Whiffy grinned at Izzy. ‘Don’t you worry. His accommodation will be posher than what you lot are in.’

Charlotte bristled.

Whiffy held up his hands. ‘Not like that.’ He laughed. ‘A kennel’s a kennel. It’s just that it’s up at the main house.’

‘You mean the earl and countess are in residence?’ Charlotte shook her hair a bit to make it look as if she didn’t really care, but Charlotte, Izzy now remembered, had never been particularly good at pretending.

Whiffy looked down at Bonzer. ‘They’d love a little guy like this. Mad about puppies, they are.’

Izzy threw Charlotte a panicked look.

Whiffy saw the exchange. ‘Don’t worry. Lord James and Her Ladyship are away this weekend. Greece, I think. They won’t be anywhere near the kennels. The dowager countess is in.’ He dropped them a cheeky wink. ‘She does love an evening stroll to the kennels. Not sure I’ll be able to keep her mitts off this one.’

‘Well, if that’s the case, then maybe it’s better if we keep Bonzer. I’ve got the van and—’

‘Nope. No. Sorry, madam.’ Whiffy really did look sorry, but he took a step back from her all the same. ‘You really don’t want to see a longhorn cow protecting her calf against this little guy.’ Whiffy gave Bonzer’s head another scrub, then lifted him into the back of his utility truck. The women waved goodbye. Bonzer’s expression read as all of theirs had when their parents had left them to ‘get on with the magic of learning’ that first day of uni. Half bewildered, half ‘you can go now’.

Devoid of her puppy and child, Izzy gave the site a proper scan. It was lush. Stunning, really. That seemingly effortless combination of whimsy and class. The Brits were brilliant at baronial elegance.

Her eyes settled on a nearby yurt. The first time she’d ever gone camping was with these girlies. Emily had had a hissy fit after her first insect bite and had slept in Izzy’s van. Not that there had been much room in it. Charlotte had decanted near enough their whole house into the thing. Freya had been the truly useful one. Fire-starter. Tent putter-upper. Arbiter of just how long the five-second rule really lasted when a sausage dropped off a stick into the sand. (About thirty seconds if anyone was asking.)

‘Are you all right, Izzy?’ Charlotte reached out to take the backpack Izzy was holding looped on her arm.

‘Absolutely. More than.’ Izzy smiled. She wasn’t here to mope. She was here to party! ‘This place is amazing.’

Charlotte beamed. ‘I’m so glad you like it.’ She tucked her arm in Izzy’s and pointed towards a bell tent. ‘I can’t wait to hear all about what’s brought you back home.’

All in good time, Izzy thought. This was great. Being home again. She loved the UK. She loved her friends. She loved life. All in good time, but not tonight. First, she wanted absorb all of this. The fire pit, the kitchen tent, the smattering of benches and picnic rugs that were all so fabulously British. Everything was just so, except … ‘You know what would make this place absolutely perfect?’

Charlotte and Freya leaned in.

‘Bunting!’

‘Wait! Stop the car.’

‘I thought we were late.’

Emily pressed her hands to the dash. ‘Oh, gawd. Just look at it all.’ Emily thought she might throw up a little. It was all so twee! She loved kitsch, but she did not do twee. In fairness, she thought there’d be bunting. Bunting might’ve tipped her over the edge.

Emily arched an imperious eyebrow at Callum and did a refresher course. ‘Okay. Charlotte’s the hostess with the mostest and it’s her birthday.’

‘Am I right in guessing she’s also the world’s biggest fan of Emma Bridgewater?’

Emily shrugged. ‘Probably. She’s the nice one. The nicest.’ They were all nice .

‘Freya. Erm … She drummed her fingers on her lips. ‘Freya is our resident eco-politico-do-gooder. Married to Monty. Don’t recycle in front of her. You’ll get it wrong.’

‘She sounds a right barrel of laughs.’ Callum mimed turning the car around and making a break for it.

‘Less annoying than she sounds. She’s a weird mix of practicality and creative idealism. Or was anyway. It’s difficult to dislike someone who once made a dress entirely out of cornflakes then tried to donate it to a homeless shelter.’