Posh Frocks & Peacocks - Tracie Podger Page 0,3

do number twos in our en suite, or the bathroom in the cottage. I thought that odd, I could poop anywhere without embarrassment.

“He needs potty training, that one does,” Maggie said, and I laughed out loud.

“He’s as much a drama llama around a toilet as that one out there.”

Colleen, the llama, had been proving a hit with the campers we’d had so far. The kids loved the fact she jumped the fences, and would be wandering the campsite with Gerald trotting along behind, since she’d learned to let him out as well. She’d poke her head into tents and caravans demanding a snack and was getting as fat as a horse. She, and Gerald, were in their element, as if born for their roles and I often reminded Ronan it was such a great decision of mine to have them. We’d had a few reviews for the site and each one was positive and mentioned the pair. It appeared it was only Ronan, Maggie, and me the blooming things mucked around with.

Many a child had taken Colleen for a walk around the wooded area we’d designated for bike riding and strolls, and if they got lost, despite it being clearly signposted, she brought them back home.

2

“Oh, Lizzie. I think we have a problem,” Angie said, when she called up from the campsite reception.

“Do you need me to come down?” I asked.

“I think that might be wise,” she replied. I could detect a very slight wobble to her voice and wondered if she was upset or holding in a laugh.

“I’ll be there in five,” I said to her. “Something has happened at the campsite,” I told Ronan. We had been sitting in the office catching up on paperwork.

“Okay, do you need my help?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t think so. I’ll let you know.”

I grabbed the keys for one of the quad bikes from the rack and headed out. We had invested in a new quad bike with a large basket on the back, and a tow bar. It had been a godsend using that to transport items back and forth. Maggie was banned from driving it, though. I was sure she was going to wreck the engine of the one she drove with all the revving and braking at the same time.

I pulled alongside the reception, a large wooden lodge that had a shop at one side with essential items of food, seasonal branded clothing and, the fastest selling items we had, fluffy toy llamas and goats.

“Hi, what’s up?” I said as I walked into reception.

“Erm, caravan twenty-two. Their children strayed off the path in the woods and ended up meeting Petal. Not only Petal but…”

I took a quick look around before saying, “Oh gawd, don’t tell me. Big Cock or Tree Lover?”

“Both, I believe. The parents are mortified and leaving. They’re packing up as we speak. I think this could be a PR nightmare for us,” she said. Her confused expression told me she was struggling with whether to laugh or be horrified.

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, I’ll go and talk to them. It’s not like it isn’t signposted, it’s in the brochure, and on a notice in all the caravans. I don’t know what else we can do except build a ten feet high chain-link fence and barbed wire.”

We hadn’t experienced any issues up to that point, and since the naked art group had been meeting every weekend from the beginning of spring, I guessed we were lucky it hadn’t happened before. The woodland walk route had been signposted well enough. One would have to stray some way off the path, climb through bushes and over a couple of fences. My phone was buzzing in my pocket and I noticed it was Petal. I took her call.

“I’m on my way to the family,” I said before she could explain. “I’ll come to you after.”

“Okay. I’m so sorry, Lizzie, I really am,” she stammered. Her voice was laced with emotion.

“It’s not your fault, Petal. You’re not to take any responsibility on this, okay?”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

By the time I’d finished the call I was at the caravan. There were two kids that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. In fact, I imagined one might be called Augustus. Both children’s faces were covered in melted chocolate.

“Ah, there you are,” said their mother. She stomped from the boot of the car to where I’d climbed from the quad. “My children are traumatised, look?” she