I grimace and go inside.
I take far longer than usual getting dressed and eating a bowl of cereal, because, frankly, I don’t want to set off. Because the sooner we get going, the sooner we arrive at places I have no desire to go. Procrastination is my friend.
When we finally get going, we use the motorway for the first time, which is about as interesting as it usually is. The highlight is a stop at a beautiful service station called Tebay that seems to be a tourist destination in its own right, where we stock up on gorgeous fresh produce and all-important bacon sandwiches. Luke also buys some new biscuits for his granny’s tin.
I endure the morning at Blackpool, refusing to go on anything faster than the Dora the Explorer boat ride. I do get a kick from watching Luke and Charlie charge around, though,speeding from ride to ride to pack in as much as they can. Luke seems to devolve from being a grown man to becoming even more of a teenager than Charlie, and I see a lot of dads acting the same way—I wonder if there is some kind of tested theme park phenomenon that provokes this response.
I mainly sit around a lot, trying to find patches of shade on another warm day, taking pictures of them. Luke buys us all The Big One baseball caps, insisting that we need souvenirs at every stop, but only the two men in my life actually take on the ride—I actually feel a bit sick looking at it from ground level.
When we finally leave, Charlie is still on an adrenaline high—chattering about it, describing it, reliving it, sharing stories of how Luke screamed like he was in a slasher movie when they reached the top. He is still wired by the time we whiz down the M6 to the next theme park, where I gratefully bow out. Betty and I spend a very pleasant hour and a half writing and sniffing bottoms. I’ll leave it a mystery as to who did what. We’ve parked up by a grassy area, and I take her out for a little trot and get some sandwiches ready for the adventurers’ return. When they finally turn up, they are both laughing and soaking wet.
“Last stop the log flume?” I say, looking them up and down.
“Yeah,” says Charlie, “it was perfect in this weather! Lunch. Awesome. We saw dinosaurs.”
It’s a garbled sentence really, so I just nod as he slumps down on the sofa and points the fan at his face. Within seconds, he has inhaled his sandwiches and moved on to a banana. Luke produces a bowl of strawberries from the fridge, and they disappear so quickly, it is like a magic trick. Charlie looks up hopefully, and I pass him the Scottie-dog biscuit tin. It feels impossible to keep him fed at the moment—but then again, he is using a lot of energy.
“So,” I say, once starvation has been averted, “dinosaurs? Real ones, likeJurassic Park?”
“Well, no, Mum, because that’s a film and dinosaurs are extinct. Silly.”
“Well, you know me, I have a PhD in Silly.”
“Oh, I’m sorry—I didn’t realize you had a qualification. Should I call you Dr. Silly from now on then?”
I respond by throwing a tea towel in his face, because that seems reasonable.
Luke shows me his pictures of the actual dinosaurs—a walk-through exhibit that probably enthralls little ones, and possibly Charlie on a good day. He says he’ll send me some copies for my blog, and I wonder how I have somehow turned my life holiday into work.
Except... well, it’s not actual work, is it? I’m enjoying it and I’m not getting paid, so it can’t be.
As we hit the motorway yet again, I decide that as we are having a boring stretch of the day anyway, I will do some chores. I have been putting off checking my emails and feel the vivid colors of my current world fade to gray as I log in. I feel like it’s Monday morning all over again.
I do a quick scan, see that there is a lot of junk, confirmation that Nina has been sold—RIP, Nina—and a reminder to book my VIP slot in the Next Sale, which I think I will give a miss. There is also some paperwork to do with my former job, which I deal with quickly.
That done, I give Barb a call—I already feel like I haven’t seen her for years, and she was such a kind ally.
“Oh, hello!” she says, the sound of glasses and laughter in the background. “We’re just having a barbecue! Anthony installed a hot tub, so we have my sister and her tribe around to celebrate...”
I have been to Barb’s house a few times, and the image makes me smile. She is so efficient, so hardworking, so precise—but also so bright and colorful. Like a robot rainbow. I know that the garden will be perfectly mowed with stripes down it, and the food will be served on matching tableware, and the drinks will be summer cocktails that she has made from scratch. Oh, to be more like Barb.
“Sounds fab. I’m in a motorhome on the M6, heading to Alton Towers.”
“Ooh, get you, the open road—fancy-pants!”
I have no idea why she views the M6 as fancy. I glance out the window and see the usual dazzling blend of parking areas, concrete bridges, and green signs. She’s clearly never been on it herself.
“How is it going then, the big adventure? How is... I’ve forgotten his name?”
“Charlie?” I supply, knowing full well that’s not what she means.
“No, you tease! The other one...”
“Luke. And he’s fine, thanks. It’s been a lot of fun so far. I’ve slept outside and we’ve done some wild swimming.”
There is a pause, and I can imagine the look of horror on her face. The chlorinated hot tub is probably Barb’s idea of wild swimming.
“You mean, like, in an outdoor pool? A lido maybe?”
