‘Do you think my pony will be in China by now?’ asked Lulu. She swivelled on her stool and gazed out the shop window at the bright orange-and-gold sky.
‘No,’ said Mum, licking her spoon. ‘I don’t.’
‘Maybe tomorrow she will arrive on the wind and ride in a rickshaw and gallop along the Great Wall?’
‘Oh, Lulu,’ said Mum.
‘She’ll probably eat rice noodles and find another little girl to love and I will never see her again.’
‘Oh, try to enjoy your gelato, Lulu! It’s not often you get to have it for dinner,’ said Dad.
‘I’m having bubblegum and raspberry sorbet.’ Lulu swirled her gelato dolefully around her cup. ‘Even though they are not my favourite. Because they are pink. Like Peony.’
‘Oh, dog-goggles,’ said Patch. ‘It’s just a dumb pony. It’s not like you don’t have twenty more of them.’
‘It’s not just a pony!’ Lulu grew bright red. ‘You don’t know anything.’
Mum nodded. ‘Okay. That’s enough, Patch.’ She stroked Lulu’s hair. ‘I’m sure Peony will show up in the morning, when everyone has had some time to do a bit of sorting. Try not to worry, Lulu.’
Henry dropped his spoon. It was hard to eat his gelato when he was sitting across from Lulu’s glum face.
‘But what if she’s gone forever?’ said Lulu. ‘And how will I tell the other ponies?’
‘Maybe you could make up a Wanted poster?’ Patch bit the end of his waffle cone.
‘Or a Lost notice,’ said Mum. ‘That’s probably better.’
Lulu swirled her gelato. ‘But I don’t have a reward.’
‘You could always offer up Henry,’ said Patch, wiping his mouth and grinning. ‘Seeing the pony got lost on his watch.’
‘Oh, Patch.’ Mum scooped up a drip of cherry coconut ripple. ‘Now you’re just being a troublemaker.’
Henry gazed down at the caramel and real banana and broken biscuits and crunchy peanuts. He wasn’t sure he could eat the rest, which was a shame because it had taken him ages to choose. His mum had persuaded him to try a double scoop of plain vanilla and the curiously named banoffee, because she reckoned it was always a wise thing to choose a little taste of home and a little taste of adventure. It was strange how something so light and sweet could suddenly turn so sticky and heavy.
‘Mine’s delish,’ said Patch. ‘Chocolate peanut crunch is da bomb, I’m telling you. Yummo.’
‘Well, was that four seasons in a day, or what?’ asked Dad, shaking his head. He drummed his hands against his stomach and grinned with satisfaction.
Mum squeezed Henry’s shoulder. ‘Eat up, Heno. Everything will be okay. Peony will turn up, I’m sure of it.’
‘I’ll eat yours if you can’t finish,’ said Patch, clicking his fingers under Henry’s nose.
Henry slid his gelato cup quickly out of reach. No meal was secure around Patch now. His glittering seagull eyes hovered over every plate, waiting for the moment when he could lunge forward and scoop up last bites and leftovers.
‘Look at it this way,’ said Dad, gazing outside. ‘The worst has happened. And the best is yet to come.’
Henry mushed his spoon through his gelato, turning it into a gloop. How could his dad be so certain? How could he know? What if the storm was just the beginning of all their troubles?
Mum dabbed her lips with a serviette. ‘The tent stayed up. The tarp stood strong. We are damp but undefeated.’
Lulu double-sniffed. ‘Peony probably got sizzled up by the lightning.’ Her eyes glimmered with real tears. ‘And the only thing left is a single strand of her tail!’
Henry pushed his gelato cup across the table. ‘You can have it,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Yipp-ee,’ said Patch, his voice suddenly splintering into a loud squawk. He scooped a giant dollop straight into his mouth. ‘Oh, banoffee is superb. I can’t believe you can’t finish it. What’s wrong with you? Hmmm . . . mmmm. This is a mouthful of paradise.’
After Henry had been to the bathroom to clean his teeth, he slid into his sleeping-bag. He popped his lantern down just behind his pillow.
Lulu was already sound asleep, breathing through her mouth, tiny beads of sweat on her forehead. A long line of Little Ponies kept watch along the edge of the tent. The whites of their eyes glinted, even in the shadows.
Patch lay on his side, tapping away on his phone.
Outside, there was the clatter of dice on a table, the clink of bottles and the gentle babble of voices. His mum was moving here and there in the camp kitchen, her shadow stretching and shrinking against the skin of the tent. ‘Lights off, Heno,’ she murmured.
Henry switched his lantern off.
A soft breeze swelled through the tent. It was like living in an animal. It was like being flat bang in the middle of a giant lung or something.
Lulu snored and turned over, planting her hand smack against his cheek. Henry lifted it off and tucked it beneath her sleeping-bag.
The corellas meowed mournfully in the pine trees. How could his dad be so confident that the best was yet to come? Did he just pretend that there were no bugs and spiders and snakes and stingers and blue-ringed octopi and sharks and stingrays and whale sharks out there? Or did he just forget? Because there it was now – the ocean – roaring in the distance. How come it was so loud, when Henry hadn’t noticed it all afternoon? What if a tsunami came rolling in? Would the breakwaters be enough to hold it back? Where would he run to first? Should he climb a tree? Or the roof of a building? Climb the tennis nets? Or make for the hill?
Who would look after Lulu? She wouldn’t leave unless she gathered up all the ponies first. And boy, imagine if another one got lost! She’d make the hugest fuss, chuck the world’s biggest tantrum and she wouldn’t leave without it and the next thing you know the water would be tumbling them about like they were a bunch of odd socks in a washing machine. Maybe he should pack those ponies into their boxes right now, just in case?
Henry sighed. When his thoughts began to blizzard, his dad would scruff his hair and say, ‘Now, now, Mr Worst Case Scenario! Let’s settle it down.’ He took another deep breath.
‘You gonna try that bike of yours tomorrow?’ asked Patch, rolling over.
A cloud of moths rose up in Henry’s chest. ‘Not sure,’ he murmured.
‘It’s a cool bike,’ said Patch, sliding his phone underneath his Therm-a-Rest.
Henry lay on his back, paralysed with dread.
The bike. It was not cool. It was the very worst thing. It was his biggest problem, even more terrifying than bugs and spiders and snakes and stingers and blue-ringed octopi and tsunamis and sharks and stingrays and whale sharks!
That bike would be waiting for him the next day and the day after that and the day after that one. It would be with him forever. Nothing could shake it off. Everyone would always be asking him about it, waiting for the moment when he was meant to conquer it.
Henry snatched up the hood of his sleeping bag and squeezed it tight around his head. He didn’t want to think about the bike. He didn’t want to think about it at all. ‘I’ll see.’
‘Whatever,’ grunted Patch, rolling away.
But then a new thought struck Henry. What if someone wandered through the holiday park and stole his bike? What if they snipped the chain and rode off on it?
Good gravy . . . that would be one Worst Case Scenario he would love! It would be some kind of miracle! He crossed his fingers and wished with all his might for a crafty thief to come.
The tarps whispered on the breeze.
Henry heard them rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall, until his thoughts slowed right down and he was lulled, at last, into a deep sleep.