'We can use both of them, can't we, Dad?
     'Oh, yes! Yes, of course!'
     Then a swoop of delight: 'We can light up more with both, can't we?'
     'Oh yes, certainly!' The man too is gratefully caught on a wave of triumph. 'Oh, yes, two are definitely better! Back-up, for a start.'
     Two torches are for lighting a bigger space in the wilderness, for lighting it together. Two torches are for father and son to back each other up.
     The man has swung up the car-boot door. The horse, softly curious, is standing behind. "I forgot to pour mine out," said Helen.
     "Shall I ask for more hot water?" said Sam, looking around for a waiter.
     "No, this'll be okay. I'll put more milk in. Is this strong enough for you?"
     "Yes, that's fine."
     Sam watched her pouring, and wondered about her silences. He wondered if she was more talkative with other people; with her friends. But then wasn't he a friend?
     'What colour is your torch, Dad?'
     'Er...' The man is peering into the boot. 'Er... it's green.'
     Unseen by the man and boy, clouds sweep like opening curtains above the brow of the hill and the grass lights up, bright yellow. Ancient rocks glint like heaving carcasses asleep.
     Man and boy both peer intently into the boot. Behind them, the horse looks in too, through dark, deep-fringed eyes.
     The man lifts up the tent in its smart holdall-style bag.
     The boy still chatters. 'Is that the tent? What colour is it? Is it that round kind? Does it have a little porch?'