It had never happened before. Another couple, on a square of blue rug, on the opposite side of the cricket pitch.
While Carl huffed, Winnie watched. The other girl held out a real glass goblet and the boy poured.
“They’ve got wine. Red wine,” Winnie said.
Carl popped open his can.
A baguette emerged from the boy’s bag, then small gleaming pots he arranged in front of the girl.
“Want a crisp?” Carl said.
The clink of glasses echoed across the worn grass.
“I hate prawn cocktail,” Winnie sniffed. She stood up, lifted a hand and waved. Nobody waved back.