“No, we don’t. I have to google ‘wiping your own arse’ every time I go to the loo.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. I bet, before long, everything will be replaced with phones.”
“Like what?”
I screw up my eyes and try to think of a silly example—we both need the distraction; we both need a few moments of levity.
“Like rubbish bins. I bet you don’t have bins in the future.”
“No, we’ll just use our phones.”
“And chairs.”
“You’re right, we’ll just sit on our phones. They’re really comfy.”
“And Pot Noodles.”
“Mum! Don’t be ridiculous—some things are sacred, and we will always have Pot Noodles...” He reaches out and squeezesmy hand, grinning. “We’ll be all right, Mum. We can still make each other laugh, so all is well in the world.”
He is being so brave, so grown-up, so mature—he is comforting me, consoling me, trying to get me to see the bright side. This is a whole new dynamic to our relationship and I’m not totally sure how I feel about it. He is my baby, my child, my responsibility—I am the one who should be looking after him, not the other way around. I know none of this is my fault—I didn’t create the storm or the cliffs or the sea—but I still feel terrible, as though I have let him down.
“But your stuff, Charlie. I’m so sorry...”
“’S’okay. Eventually, I’ll get new stuff. And it is only stuff.”
“Even your Xbox?”
“Well, that’s part of my soul, like Voldemort and his Horcruxes, but less creepy. I carry my Xbox within me, wherever I go... but one day, maybe I’ll upgrade. You can help me pick a new username; it’ll be like a whole new world.”
“I vote for DickBagBallFace.”
“I’m not sure that’ll fit. Could abbreviate it to Dick. What do you think?”
“I think,” I say, leaning across the table to give him a big and undoubtedly embarrassing kiss on the forehead, “that you are the best human in the whole world. I love you, and I’m proud of you, and right now I even like you.”
“Wow. The L word. Thanks. So... what happens next?”
“In life?”
“More like tonight.”
What I would like to happen next is for me to curl up in a ball in my nice clean bed and sleep. Lord knows I need it. But I also know that with my mind in its current hyperaware state, there is no way that I will manage it. I will just lie awake, tossing andturning and thinking and crying, and that will not be good for me or for Charlie.
“I think you should go back up to the room and chill for a bit,” I say, watching with astonishment as he demolishes a whole slice of garlic bread that was left on the plate.
He holds up a hand to gesture for me to wait while he finishes chewing. Charming.
“And what will you do?” he asks. “Hit the bar, go clubbing?”
“Probably, yeah. I’ll be twerking on the tables within the hour. But before that, I have some boring stuff to do—phone calls to make, things to sort, that kind of thing. I’ll follow you up in a bit, okay?”
He yawns, hiding his mouth with his hand, and replies: “I was going to argue, but you’re right. I’m knackered. See you in a bit.”
He stands up, and once again I marvel at his ridiculous height. He is wearing a pair of tracksuit trousers from the hotel box of abandoned garments, and they are about three inches too short. He gives me a hug, and I pass him the keys.
“He was nice, wasn’t he? That guy from the motorhome? Luke? You’d made a few snarky comments about him being rude before...”
“Yeah. Well, he kind of was, to be honest—but maybe that was just the surface, and underneath he’s really nice. We’ll have to pop in and thank him. Maybe take him a little ‘thanks for dragging us out of the storm’ present.”
