“You realize I’m eighteen, yes? I’m not a baby anymore. I don’t need protecting, and I don’t need you treating me like I’m a kid.”
“I don’t treat you like a kid!”
“Yes, you do. You stopped me getting a job when I wanted one. You think I never notice when you’re worried about money. And you hide things, like, all the time—like this. And all your family stuff? Every time I ask questions about that, you shut me down, even though I don’t think I’m being a dick to ask—you just fob me off. Sometimes I think you still see me as a four-year-old, Mum, and it makes me feel like crap! How am I supposed to grow up if you never let me?”
He actually sounds quite angry with me, and I am worried that I might cry. It’s been a rollercoaster, and not in a fun way, and I hate rollercoasters anyway. I realize that I am clinging to my resilience with the very tips of my fingernails. I screw up my eyes and force myself to stay calm.
“Okay, you have a point. I accept a lot of that, even though I have my reasons—I’m not perfect, and I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like crap. But you did walk in here with a teen hangover from playing Xbox all night, so forgive me if I don’t always see you as the mature adult you are. Don’t give me grief over this, son, because I just don’t need it right now. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, but it’s been a bit chaotic, hasn’t it? I’ve just been concentrating on getting through each day since it happened.”
He is tapping his fingers on the tabletop, and I see he is still annoyed but is also turning my words over in his mind. I see the grown-up battling it out with the pissed-off teenager and wonder who will win.
“All right,” he says quietly. “I’ll let you off for now—but there are still things we need to talk about, Mum. So tell me about this thing with Luke, as that seems to be something you’re actually willing to discuss.”
I bite back my snarky reply and say, “Well, I went to see him yesterday, while you were at Eric’s. Barb had just told me about the layoff, and it struck me that a motorhome could be the answer for us. It’s a weird time, isn’t it? You’ll be off soon anyway, and we don’t have a house, and I’m just not sure what’s going to happen next.”
“I don’t have to go to uni this year, you know, Mum. I could defer. I could get a job. We could get you settled somewhere else.”
“That sounds like you’re planning on putting me in a nursing home, love! And no, Charlie, I don’t want that. This is your time, and I want you to enjoy it. Anyway, I’ve been looking forward to September myself—I’m going to start hanging round in casinos, maybe get some tattoos, possibly buy a hookah pipe and a skateboard.”
“Ha! I’d pay good money to see you skateboarding. So how would it work, with Luke?”
“I’m not entirely sure it will. But he says there are three beds—he has his own room, and there’s one in the living area that pulls out, and one over the driver’s cab that you climb up a ladder to get to.”
“I want that one.”
“What?”
“When we go, with Luke, I want the one with the ladder. I might be a grown-up, but who doesn’t love a ladder?”
“So you think it’s a good idea?” I ask. I was half hoping he’d hate the concept and I could write it all off. It is a whole new level of change and I’m already dizzy with change.
“Yeah. Why not? If nothing else it’ll be a free holiday, and I’ll get to play with a dog. Is there Wi-Fi?”
“No idea. Is that a deal-breaker?”
He considers this and then shakes his head. “Nah. I think, after last night, I’m ready for something different myself, Mum. And I like Luke. He seems like a cool guy.”
“Why do you like him?” I ask, genuinely interested.
“Well, he stepped up big-time, like a low-level superhero. He just has all that good stuff you’ve always said matters in life—he’s kind, seems dependable, like you could trust him. Plus a dog. Maybe this will be good for us.”
“Maybe it will,” I reply. “So, I suppose it’s time to hit the road, Jack.”
“Mum, I keep telling you—my name is Charlie.”
Chapter 8
Once we have made the decision, it is alarmingly easy to uproot our lives. I know this particular phase will only last a week or two, but I realize that I just can’t imagine myself coming back here. It’s as though something has switched off inside me, and I no longer see the cottage, or this town, as home—I’m not sure I see anywhere as home, which is strangely liberating.
I have accepted the layoff, declined new accommodation, and done everything I need to do. I have been out for a farewell drinks session with Barb and the rest of my colleagues, which ended with a terrible group rendition of “Don’t Stop Believin’” on the karaoke, and I have put Bob in touch with my landlord’s office so they can work together on clearing the site.
Charlie has made his farewells and we have arranged for any mail to be redirected to Barb’s house for the time being. The postman would really struggle delivering stuff to my old address, anyway, what with it not having a door anymore, never mind a letterbox.
I have had a very small shopping spree, buying myself a cheap laptop, getting Charlie some new sneakers, and getting us both headlamps—little lights attached to an elasticated headband.Luke assures me they are very useful, but I look so silly in mine that I wonder if it is some kind of prank. We needed a few practical items—extra bedding, as Luke is only equipped for one; toiletries that aren’t from a hotel room; new underwear, new pajamas. It will all be strange, living in a small space with someone we don’t know very well, and it will most definitely call for pajamas rather than my usual approach of sleeping in my birthday suit. I also find us some swimming gear, shorts, and in my case a couple of lightweight sundresses—our friendly neighborhood weatherman is now predicting a weeks-long heat wave and lots of the clothes we retrieved from the site were winter-wear, now kindly stored at Barb’s.
On a less practical level, I splash out on some posh rose hand cream, as everyone deserves a little luxury, and buy a couple of paperbacks from the charity shop. Charlie insists he is happy as long as his earphones are working, so I get him an extra set in case of emergency. He was always losing them at home; they used to live in tangled heaps under the sofa cushions, curled up like nests of snakes. The answer to the age-old question, “Have you seen my earphones?” was always, “Have you checked down the side of the sofa?” There will be fewer places for him to lose them in a motorhome, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he manages it.
In a fit of utter indulgence, I also pop into one of the town’s bijou gift shops and spend way too much money on a leather-bound notepad that has a little tasseled bookmark attached to it. The leather is dark green and engraved with a leaf design. It is a beautiful thing, and even though I have sworn off owning too many things in my brave new world, this one was irresistible. It is a Thing That Brings Me Joy, and as I run my fingers over its cover and sniff it, I feel that tinge of excitement I used to get asa little girl whenever I was starting a new notepad or opening a new set of felt-tip pens. Blank pages, waiting to be filled.
