There’s an odd mood as we head downhill. Mitch wears an indefinable air of determination. And it’s rubbed off on Jenny and Beth. The three walk side-by-side, their men trailing behind. I carry Vicky. Cara charges ahead. Adam rides Haswell’s shoulders.
Haswell and James seem thoughtful. Michael has a kind of wondering around his eyes.
Down by the paddling pool, gaggles of children are gathered with families, some already tossing in scraps of bread to a flapping, quacking, onslaught of ducks.
A boy of maybe six or seven wades through the water trying to persuade the breeze to fill the sails of his toy yacht. A girl, a bit younger, tows a large plastic duck behind her, bright yellow, its beak gaping in an inane grin.
As she realises where we’re headed, Cara raises a yell, galloping to the
