Free Precious Time by Erica James Page B

eyes. Do you think I could … ?’
    Clara and her father had exchanged a smile. ‘Go on, Mum, while I make us a cup of tea; he’s all yours.’
    ‘And you can stop right there, young lady,’ her father had said. “I will make the tea. And if I catch you moving just one inch from that chair, there’ll be trouble.’
    ‘Better do as he says, Clara, you know what a tyrant he can be.’
    For years it had been a family joke that her father was a tyrant: the truth was, he was the biggest softie going. And he had been particularly kind and loving with his grandson. Once Ned was walking and talking, her father had come into his own, reading to him, teaching him to do simple jigsaws and taking him to the park.
    ‘Come on, my little pumpernickel,’ he would say, helping Ned into his hat and coat, then strapping him into the pushchair. ‘Time for some man-to-man business down at the park. Let’s go and feed the ducks.’
    Clara knew that Ned’s lack of a father tapped into her parents’
    old-fashioned instinct for a nuclear family, but she was happy to let her own father fill the void created by the man who could never be in Ned’s life. He did it so well, never overstepping the mark, just quietly providing that indefinable extra for which Clara would always be grateful.
    In the last few days she had noticed a change in Ned: he was fast becoming what her mother would describe as ‘quite the little man’.
    He was for ever insisting that he help her with everything he could.
    He particularly liked doing the washing-up. He would stand at the small sink on the step that was supposed to be used for getting in and out of the campervan, up to his elbows in sudsy water. The job took a lot longer than if she did it herself, but it was such a pleasure to see him so involved that she didn’t have the heart, or inclination, to stop him. And what did it matter how long anything took to do? They were in no hurry now.
    Since leaving home on Sunday they had slowly made their way north. Their first night had been spent at a campsite in Stratfordupon-Avon, where the following day they had immersed themselves
    in all things Shakespearean and, more to Ned’s liking, had visited a museum devoted to teddy bears. They had seen the original Sooty, and Clara had reminisced about her first pantomime, when she had sat in the front row and been soaked by Sooty and Sweep with water pistols.
    From Stratford they had moved on to the West Midlands, taking in Cadbury World and the Museum of Science and Industry in Birmingham. Ned had been as pleased as punch when their guide picked him out from the crowd to press the button to start the steam engine. He was happier still when they left an hour later with a model of it, and he had spent the evening back at Winnie explaining enthusiastically to Clara how it worked.
    Until now, they had decided together where to go each day while curled up in bed and flicking through touring books and maps. But their next port of call was to be a surprise for Ned, which Clara hoped he would enjoy.
    When they had packed everything neatly away, and had paid the man in the campsite office, they were ready to go.
    ‘Chocks ahoy,’ said Ned, as he did each morning when they set off.
    She smiled. She had given up telling him it was ‘chocks away’.
    ‘Chocks ahoy’ sounded just fine to her. The people on the next pitch waved goodbye. They were an interesting couple in their mid-fifties who called themselves ‘full-timers’. They lived all year round in their campervan, which they had personalised by painting Ron’s name on the driver’s door and Eileen’s on the passenger’s. Over a glass of wine late last night, when Ned was asleep, they had given Clara their list of the top ten campsites in Britain. They were out of the way, not always listed in the touring guides: it was to one of these that Clara was heading today. Ron and Eileen had also shared with her how they had become ‘full-timers’: after giving up