“There we are!” he said. “It’s going a treat now!” Maud’s dad had finally managed to get a small fire going after almost an hour of searching for dry twigs in the soggy swamp. The Wilds and the Montagues sat around on canvas stools, while weak flames and sparks flickered into the night air. Only Milly had refused to join in. She’d dashed straight from the car to the caravan, and announced she was going to stay inside and alphabetise her flower-pressing collection until the whole ‘ordeal’ was over. “Who knows a good campfire song?” asked Mr Montague. “I know ‘Born to be Wild’,” said Mrs Montague hopefully. “That’s not a campfire song,” said Maud. “If anything, that’s a driving song. And I think we’ve all heard it enough for one day.” Maud turned to her exercise book and started to scribble. My biggest fright was the time I almost ate a dead woodlouse.
