Even then, a terrified bleat from the neighbouring field or the snorting of a horse might break the stillness. More usually, winds would sweep down from the cliffs to bend and stretch the guy ropes and make the canvas creak. For this reason, among many others, Flipp found it difficult to sleep in the tent. To give him credit, Rocky did his level best to wear her out before they spooned against each other inside the double sleeping bag. She yawned and stretched pleasurably at the memory of their earlier trespass into the swimming pool, closed for the evening but still tepid from the day’s bright sunshine. All the lifeguards had gone home and the rest of the staff were in the entertainment complex, doing rubbish versions of Lady Gaga songs for the edification of the other campers and caravanners, while the moon shone down on the open waters. “Come on,” Rocky had urged, pulling himself over the fence and extending an arm down to Flipp. “We’ll get caught.” She giggled, letting his hand close over hers, scrabbling up the ridged wood.
