by Anna Bell
‘Now, are you sure you don’t want me to take Sasha? I’m not sure about her going to a festival.’
‘Don’t worry, Judy; we’ll make sure she doesn’t get up to any mischief,’ I say.
‘It’s more you lot I’m worried about. Remember you’re in charge of a baby as well as yourselves.’
‘I don’t think I’m going to be going too crazy. I’m pregnant, remember.’
‘Yes, yes, I guess so. OK, have a lovely time,’ she says, blowing Sasha a kiss before she heads over to her car.
‘We’ll see you on Sunday,’ I call down the drive.
‘Do you need to borrow one of my fold-up ponchos?’
She reaches into her handbag but I shake my head.
‘I’ve got my fleece with me and it’s not forecast to rain,’ I say.
‘Are you sure? It folds up really small.’
‘Really sure,’ I say, thinking that I’ve barely got any festival chic going on as it is. ‘Thanks again.’
This time she turns and makes it all the way back to her car.
‘Right, let’s get the final bits and hit the road,’ I say to Max.
We meet up with Owen and Claire at the last service station before we have to leave the motorway. We do a quick passenger swap, so Claire comes in my car, and Max goes in Owen’s. The night we met her we were dealing with the shock of Max’s memory loss and it wasn’t conducive for finding out more about her. So the car ride is an excellent time to suitably interrogate her, in much the same fashion Max has been doing to me over the last two weeks. She’s 27, works in digital marketing, doesn’t know who Mr Tumble is either, and is a fan of Pilot Dawn even if she did call them old skool. I’m already warming to her, although it does make me miss Sarah a tiny bit because of how long we knew her.
By the time that we arrive at the festival, I’m already busting for a wee, despite having not drunk anything on the way and having gone like a good girl at the service station. Everyone knows that toilets are the worst part about going to a festival and I’ve come prepared. I’ve got my NHS pregnancy card, which apparently will entitle me to use the disabled toilets and therefore have a better experience, and I’ve brought one of those female urinal contraptions because their website boasted that they’re ideal for pregnant women to use when they’re caught short. But neither option is available: there are just two solitary portaloos in the car park acting like beacons for my desperate bladder, and the female urinal is buried somewhere in my rucksack. I can’t even do my usual drink-so-much-booze-that-I-don’t-notice-how-disgusting-the-loos-are, so I just have to grin and bear it. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Although, when I get there it’s surprisingly OK and it makes me wonder if it’s actually more civilised because it’s a family-friendly festival.
By the time I make it back to the car, everyone’s unpacked and Owen’s standing in front of a wheelbarrow.
‘What’s that?’ I say, laughing at him.
‘I didn’t want to carry any bags,’ he says. ‘Bought it on the way down.’
‘I’m sure that’ll come in handy for your top-floor flat,’ I say.
‘You guys can keep it after, call it a housewarming present.’
‘Cheers, you know there was a time when you would have brought a bottle of tequila.’
Owen raises his eyebrows and smiles.
‘Times change.’
‘Don’t I keep hearing about it,’ says Max, picking Sasha up and putting her on his shoulders.
‘She’s a bit small for that. Hold on, Sasha, sweetie.’
‘She’s fine – look, all the cool parents are doing it,’ he says, pointing to all the other dads doing the same. ‘Plus, with Owen’s wheelbarrow I’ve got my hands free as he’s taking our tent and blow-up mattresses.’
‘Right then, are we all ready?’ says Claire.
‘Yes,’ I say, grabbing a couple of pillows off her to feel like I’m doing my bit.
We start following the other festival-goers. The stream of people filing into the campsite is pure ordered chaos with children running in and out of the throngs, and harassed parents constantly turning to see where they’ve gone, trying to keep their pack together.
‘Are Rach and Gaby saving us a spot?’ asks Owen.
‘No, they’re not here yet,’ I say, checking my phone in case of updates. ‘They overslept so they left later than planned.’
‘Wasn’t this their bloody idea?’ he says, pushing his wheelbarrow over the bumpy ground.
I wouldn’t say I had to twist Owen’s arm to come to a festival, but I think he only really said yes to be a good friend. He’s rooting for me and Max to find our way to back one another and he thinks this will help.
‘Are you OK?’ says Max, as we fall behind the others. ‘Do you need to stop?’
‘We’ve gone about fifty metres at best. I’m not that bad. Do you need to stop?’
He’s looking a bit red in the face.
‘I’m fine,’ he says, gritting his teeth.
For once we’re quite evenly matched in terms of being over-burdened. His backpack and Sasha must be weighing him down. It takes us twenty minutes to reach an open space big enough for us to pitch three tents in a row.
Max gently lowers Sasha to the ground before throwing his bag down. He then takes my camping chair out of the wheelbarrow and instructs me to sit down before he turns and tackles the tent.
I slip down into the chair and immediately love Judy that much more for providing it. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to help you?’
‘No, it’s OK. I’m an expert at putting up tents.’
I laugh wildly.
‘Shit, I forgot you know my deepest darkest secrets. But this one looks simple enough,’ he says, unrolling the flysheet.
I look over at Claire and Owen, who are giggling away, trying to put up their tent. A stab of jealousy comes over me, wishing that Max and I were more like that. They’re in the proper throes of early dating, where everything’s stomach-flip exciting – despite my best efforts to get our relationship on a similar path, the only stomach-whooshing happening is coming from the heartburn I’ve been getting in the latter stages of pregnancy.
‘Are you sure you don’t want some help?’ I ask, as he goes to put the fixed awning pole through one of the holes for the tent pole.
‘No, no, you sit there, relax,’ he says. ‘Save your energy for the rest of the festival.’
‘OK,’ I say, biting my lip to stop myself from laughing. As I turn around, Sasha makes a beeline for my seat and I just catch my balance in time before the seat starts to tip. ‘Oh, pickle. Do you want to sit on Mummy’s lap and I can read you a story?’
I pull out Dear Zoo from my bag, hoping that it’ll keep her still for at least five minutes.
Claire and Owen have their tent up in record time and turn to give a red-faced Max a hand, which he declines, and they instead go to scope out the campsite. I stay seated, trying to move as little as possible because it’s some sort of miracle that Sasha is sitting still – too in awe of all the activity that’s going on around her. With so many people to watch she can’t take it all in.
It takes Max a full forty minutes and the help of two enthusiastic kids from a pitch nearby to put up our tent. He finally accepted help because he was worried that Owen and Claire would come back and see that he’d still not finished.
Thanking the kids and their parents profusely, Max comes over and pulls up a chair next to me.
‘See, easy as pie,’ he says, as Sasha scrambles down from my lap and goes over to his.
‘It looked like it,’ I say, examining the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. ‘I’m guessing it’s beer o’clock?’
‘Actually, I’m not drinking this weekend,’ he says, trying to get Sasha to stop wriggling.
‘You’re not? At a festival?’ I look at him as if he’s mad.
‘You can’t drink—’ he shrugs ‘—so I figured that I wouldn’t either.’
I’m blin
king hard because my brain can’t process this.
‘Solidarity, innit? Plus, I figured I’d made enough of a tit out of myself when I drank at the beer pong. It’ll do me some good to give the booze a miss. Especially when we’re around Sasha.’
I nod my head slowly. It’s not like Max drinks a lot, but he’d never go to a gig without a drink and the fact that he’s decided to stay sober with me makes me love him even more. How is it that I’m the one falling more in love with him and not the other way round?
‘I’ll make us a cup of tea.’
‘No, I’ll do it,’ he says, letting Sasha down onto the ground and pulling a camping stove out of a bag and a small metal kettle.
‘Bloody hell, that’s a proper nice kettle. What’s your mum even doing with all this stuff? I can’t imagine her camping,’ I say, trying to wrestle a camping mallet out of Sasha’s hand. Max throws her the pink unicorn and she lets go of the mallet, which nearly whacks me in the face.
‘She said she did a bit of panic buying because of Brexit. Apparently, that’s why one of the shelving units in the shed is full of tinned goods. Was it really that bad? I mean, I read the Wikipedia page, but it didn’t really explain my mum’s stockpiling.’
‘I don’t know why you’re surprised; this is your mother who starts her Christmas food shopping in August in case all the good cranberry sauce sells out.’
Max laughs.
‘I can’t believe I missed it all.’
‘You’re lucky,’ I say, watching him fill up the kettle with bottled water. ‘It’s been painful. But let’s not talk about it. A lot of other, more positive things have happened in the years that you missed.’
‘Like Greggs and the veggie sausage roll,’ he says.
‘Yes, like that. See, we’ve been updating you on all the important matters.’
He lights the camping stove and we spend the time it takes for the water to boil trying to distract Sasha away from the flames. I pop her into our empty tent and try and find the air mattress.
I’ve just unrolled it when Max hands me my cup of tea.
‘I’ll do that,’ he says, locating a foot pump from the box of camping goodies.
‘Judy really did think of everything.’
My phone starts to buzz, and I pick up Rach’s call.
‘Hey, we’re almost here,’ she says. ‘We’re in giant sombreros.’
‘I’m not going to ask. They’re almost here,’ I say to Max. ‘Can you stand up and wave.’
He hoists Sasha on his shoulders and waves her arms. We all scour the site until we see them and their giant hats.
‘Hello, hello,’ they call, and we give them a hug.
‘What’s with the hats?’
‘Thought it would be handy to spot each other,’ says Rach.
‘Good thinking,’ I say. ‘Cup of tea?’
‘Um, thanks, but we started on the wine,’ says Gaby, showing us the bag from a box of wine that looks like it’s been well enjoyed already.
‘It was bloody heavy carrying everything,’ says Rach, ‘so we started drinking to make it lighter.’
‘Clever thinking,’ I say.
Rach gives Sasha a big squeeze and she immediately starts pulling at the dangly bits of her sombrero.
‘Not sure how we’re going to put up the tent, though,’ says Gaby. ‘It’s gone right to my head. Far too early in the day to be drinking.’
‘Max will help you,’ I say, watching him pump up the air mattress with a foot pump. ‘He did such an amazing job with ours.’
I expect him to give me the middle finger and to playfully tell me where I can shove that suggestion.
‘Yeah, I’ll just finish this and I’ll be over,’ he says, much to my shock.
‘Max, we’re OK; I’m pretty sure Ellie was kidding. Besides, I know you weren’t a boy scout and that you’re crap with tents,’ says Rach. ‘Plus, I reckon I’ll be done by the time you’ve finished that.’
Max starts pumping harder with his legs. Their sibling rivalry knows no bounds.
‘I’d like to see you try,’ he says.
Rach raises an eyebrow and Max’s legs go even faster and the pump begins to squeak.
She dumps her bags and whips out a round bag that has the tent in, unzips and then pulls it out.
‘Watch and learn,’ says Rach with a cackle, throwing the tent forward and up it pops.
‘That’s cheating,’ says Max, going a bit red in the face. ‘But you’ve got to peg it first.’
‘It’s OK, Max, the air mattress doesn’t need to be firm; I only need just enough air so that it cushions the bump.’
‘Now you’re taking sides, Ellie,’ says Rach, running around and hammering in the tent pegs.
Max conveniently chooses not to hear me and keeps going, and I’m worried that I’ll be sleeping on the floor if it bursts.
‘Finished,’ they both shout as Max hurriedly puts the stopper in.
They both go over to inspect each other’s work, neither impressed that it was a draw.
‘It’ll be fun to watch you get that down and back in the bag,’ says Max, folding his arms over his chest.
‘Yeah, yeah, whatever,’ says Rach, throwing in the self-inflatable camping mats into her little tent.
Gaby comes over and sits in the chair next to me. ‘At least some things don’t change, huh?’
I’m about to reply when I see Owen and Claire heading back, and I introduce Gaby to them.
‘What’s the festival like?’ I say, as Claire pulls out a little camping stool from her tent and sits on it. I marvel at her tiny little frame and how I’d barely get one of my bum cheeks on there at the moment.
‘Pretty good,’ she says, raising an eyebrow. ‘It’s just people sitting around casually drinking tins of gin rather than bottles of vod, for a start.’
Sasha waddles up to her and gives her a big chunk of grass, which she takes, slightly bemused.
‘What do I do with this?’ she asks.
‘Anything to make sure Sasha doesn’t eat it,’ I say, smiling back, and she nods.
‘No gin in tins here, we aren’t drinking at all,’ says Max, picking up his tea after his leg workout.
‘Ooh, I’ll take one of those if it’s going,’ says Owen. He looks over at Rach’s tent and nods. ‘That was quick.’
‘Yeah, but wait until she gets it down,’ says Max.
Rach rolls her eyes at her brother as he boils the kettle for Owen.
‘You guys can’t all be drinking tea,’ says Claire. ‘Obviously, Ellie’s got a good excuse; what’s with the rest of you?’
‘I keep telling you, we’re old,’ says Owen.
‘Look at us, though. Remember the times we would drink as soon as we stepped out of the car until the time that we left?’ says Max.
‘We were young then, and we had fresh livers,’ says Owen.
‘Fresh livers,’ says Claire, chuckling. ‘I’m guessing your liver will actually be fresher now than it was when you were drinking heavily.’
‘She’s right,’ says Gaby, ‘your liver repairs itself.’
‘And you’re a doctor, right, Gaby?’ says Claire, and she nods.
‘So, are we going to make a plan of who we’re going to see?’ says Rach, flicking through the festival lanyard. ‘Obviously we’re only really here to see Pilot Dawn tomorrow night, but there are some pretty good acts playing tonight.’
‘Couldn’t we just wing it?’ says Claire.
Rach does a sharp intake of breath.
‘Winging it is good,’ says Max, ‘that’s how you find hidden gems.’
‘Oh no,’ says Rach, ‘if you don’t have a plan, you’ll miss people on different stages.’
‘Ellie, who do you want to see?’ asks Gaby.
‘I don’t know, really. Obviously there are few baby presenters I’d like Sasha to see, and I’ll have to be conscious of her nap schedule,’ I say, reading the backs of the lanyard. ‘Ooh, are Vengaboys playing later on?’
&nb
sp; Rach flicks through. ‘At two p.m. We could just make that.’
‘I love the Vengaboys,’ says Claire. ‘It reminds me of junior school.’
We all turn and look at her. How old do we feel? It was mine and Rach’s soundtrack to our last year at senior school.
‘Oh, and after Vengaboys, there’s Mister Maker making crafts.’
Rach gets up and claps her hands. ‘Great, then that’s a plan.’
‘I don’t think you all have to watch Mister Maker with us.’
‘It’s so cool, Sasha going to her first festival,’ Gaby says. ‘Just think, Rach, when we have our baby, we’ll be doing this.’
Max and I look up in surprise.
‘Oh my God, are you having a baby?’ asks Max.
‘Oh no, not yet,’ says Gaby, ‘it’s the wine I’ve been drinking, it came out all wrong. But one day, soon, I hope.’
‘That’s awesome,’ says Max, grinning.
‘It really is,’ I say, suddenly feeling awful.
This must have been what Rach was going to talk to me about when we were at the coffee van and Judy phoned to tell us about Max. With everything that’s been going on with Max I’d completely forgotten.
I’m about to ask more about it, when Rach claps her hands together again.
‘Come on, if we’re going to see the Vengaboys we need to get going – now,’ she says. I get the impression it’s not just us that she’s trying to move along but the conversation too. She’s not sharing our excitement over the baby news. I’ll have to try and find some quiet time to talk to her to get the bottom of it.
‘Let’s go then,’ says Max, popping Sasha on his shoulders again, and we follow the crowds of people heading for the stage.
It turns out that having chairs at festivals is a revelation that I wish I’d cottoned on to years ago. There’s a slight slope on the festival site, which means that despite us being further back than I’d usually choose when watching a gig, we can still see the stage perfectly. And what with it being a family-friendly festival, there are people sat around on blankets and chairs so that I don’t look out of place in the slightest.
Max has had Sasha on his shoulders for the whole time, bopping away to the music, and she’s having the time of her life in her bright turquoise ear defenders.