Copyright

Harper

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Published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016

Copyright © Carmel Harrington 2016

Cover design by Heike Schüssler © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016

Cover photographs © Astrakan Images / Alamy (woman); Shutterstock.com (landscape, stamps).

Carmel Harrington asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008166878

Ebook Edition © September 2016 ISBN: 9780008150112

Version 2018-07-02

Dedication

For my siblings, Fiona Gainfort, John O’Grady and Michelle Mernagh.

Every childhood memory I have includes these three. We know each other as we were, as we are and as who we are yet to be. In just one glance, with a single word, we can share family jokes, remember feuds, keep secrets, laugh, cry, love.

My childhood co-conspirators and collaborators.

My friends.

This one is for you guys.

(Now go tell all your friends to buy my book. You know it makes sense.)

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Map of The Guinness Family's European Adventure

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Epilogue

The Guinness Family House Rules

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

Questions & Answers

About the Author

Also by Carmel Harrington

About the Publisher

Prologue

OLLY

Our lives are just a series of moments. From the small, mundane occasions that we let pass us by without notice, to the big showstoppers that make us pause and take note. Then, when you least expect it, a moment so powerful and defining happens that changes everything in a split second.

The thing about change is, it’s not always good.

Today was a day of insignificant moments, until Jamie’s scream bounced off the walls in our house and time slowed down. Relief at seeing him in one piece was fleeting as I followed his eyes and saw what he saw. Evie, my thirteen-year-old daughter, lying unmoving, vomit splattered on her face and chest, dripping into a noxious puddle on the dark floorboards.

Time then sped up as we made our frantic dash to the hospital. And now we are in no-man’s-land as we wait for more news on Evie.

A kind nurse has just left our cramped hospital waiting room and the musky, woody scent of her fragrance lingers in the air. Vanilla, apples, sandalwood. It’s Burberry perfume, I’d recognise it anywhere.

I look to my right and am unsurprised that the smell has sent Pops right back to 1981 too. A time when it was the norm in the Guinness house to spray that scent into the air every morning, in an effort to bring someone back. Until one day the bottle was empty and Pops said, ‘That’s enough now lad.’ I watch him as his grey eyes water up and he turns to hold my gaze, nodding. A silent acknowledgement of mutual pain triggered by the scent of a nurse’s perfume. For maybe the one-millionth time in my life, and I daresay in my father’s, I yearn for my mother.

MAE

How long have we been sitting in this room now? It feels intolerable and I long to see my daughter. I seek out the clock on the wall and realise that it’s almost nine p.m. Three hours’ sitting in this small room waiting for news on Evie. Meagre updates from harassed but kind nurses and we cling to the fact that at least she’s alive. Panic overtakes me once again at the thought of any scenario that doesn’t include … I can’t complete the sentence. I continue bargaining with God.

My mantra, my prayer, is simple – don’t let my baby die. I’ll do anything if you grant me this one thing. I’ll be a better mother, I’ll be a better wife, I’ll be a better person. Please keep my baby alive.

Is this my punishment? Perhaps divine intervention from a higher level, stopping me from making a huge mistake. The thing is, it didn’t feel like a mistake earlier. It felt good.

I look at my husband and wonder what would he think if he knew that when he called me this evening, I was in a bar with another man. And that five minutes before that, I had made my mind up that I wasn’t coming home tonight.

OLLY

Evie. I catch a sob in my throat before it escapes. Even so, Jamie hears it and looks at me, his little nose scrunched up in worry. I smile to cover it up. He’s scared enough without worrying about me as well. I glance at Mae, but she’s looking out of the small window, lost in her own worry and pain. Should I go over to her? I chicken out and decide maybe later.

MAE

My mind races. I cannot understand how Evie could end up in such a state. I peek up at Olly again, as that same irrationality that won’t stop plaguing me jumps up and hits me in the face. Shouldn’t my perfect house-husband have known that something was wrong? I want to scream at him again, ‘Why didn’t you see this coming, Olly?’

I know his answer to that baseless accusation would be, ‘What about you, Mae, where were you? Why didn’t you see this?’ And the weight of my shame makes me hang my head low. The blame sits on both of our shoulders. Somehow or other we’ve let our daughter down.

OLLY

That bloody perfume cloys at me now and memories batter me, determined to be heard. Mam was only thirty-three when she died, younger than I am now. I look at Mae and contemplate a world where my wife dies. As my chest tightens in panic, I look back at Pops and wonder how he ever managed to smile after he lost my mam, his love.

Evie and Jamie. I have my answer. My children. Of course Pops smiled for me, his son. He had no choice but to keep trucking on. We don’t have a choice, as parents. We keep going no matter what curve ball kicks us in the bollocks.

I resist the urge to grab my father to hug him and cry for our loss. Instead I reach over and pat his knee. I am alarmed at how bony and frail it feels. The cancer is eating him up and I know that he must be in pain sitting here in this room for hours on end. But he won’t go home, he won’t rest in bed, so I know that there is no point in asking him to leave. He’s stubborn, but I suppose I am too. I glance at Jamie. Like grandfather, like father, like son.

MAE

‘You need to get that sorted,’ Pops says. He misses nothing and has noticed me wincing from back pain again. I nod and refrain from biting back, when on earth would I have time? My life is a blur of early mornings and late nights at school. If I’m not at work doing my principal duties, I’m at home marking papers or setting assignments. Whilst simultaneously trying hard to fit in some quality time with a family who don’t seem to need me any more. Self-pity, now there’s an ugly trait that has joined forces with irrational jealousy. What have I become this past year? I used to be a happy, self-assured woman.

My mind keeps going back to that brief flash I caught of Evie when I arrived at the hospital. Her complexion the colour of unspoilt snow. Perfect, unblemished. Still. Too still.

I can feel Olly’s eyes boring into me, but I avoid making eye contact with him.

‘Do you need anything?’ I fuss over Pops instead, noticing he is very pale. ‘A hot drink?’

‘I’m good. Don’t be worrying about me. It won’t be long now, I’m sure. They’ll be in soon to confirm she’ll be fine. She’s a strong one, our Evie.’

I hope he’s right. I know that I must find a way to make this better. Please, give me the chance to make this better. Don’t let her die. A sob escapes again, so I lower my head, allowing my hair to hide my face. I think I hear Olly whisper my name, but I’m not sure. The realisation that I yearn to feel his strong arms around me confounds me. Most of the time I want to stab him with a fork, slap him, shout at him – anything to get a reaction, get noticed. But right now, I want him to murmur reassurances that everything will be alright.

Yet, I don’t look up or move towards my husband. I stay on my own, back aching, sitting on a cold, bloody plastic chair. It’s most likely one of the most uncomfortable chairs in the room. I realise that there’s a whole month of therapy in that choice right there.

OLLY

I look around the small family room we’re camped in, typical of the kind of waiting room that you find scattered around hospitals all over Ireland. Shades of magnolia with faded pictures of landscape scenes framed on the nondescript walls. Despite their best efforts, they fail to brighten up the tired room. There’s a small cream-leather sofa that has seen better days pressed against the back wall. A potpourri of tears and coffee stains embedded into the fabric.

Jamie is sitting upon it, cross-legged, with his iPad Mini. But, for once, the usual tip-tap of his hand, as he battles his way towards the next level of Candy Crush, is still. He looks scared.

Mae is still at last. Since her arrival, she’s paced the room like a caged lion. She’s cried, she’s shouted at me once or twice, then she’s paced the room some more. Pops sighs loudly with dissatisfaction and then throws in a loud ‘arra’ for good measure. He’s letting us know that he can see what we’re doing to each other and he doesn’t approve one bit. I decide to ignore that for now and move over to the couch so that I can pull Jamie in tight to me. At seven he’s almost at that age where he doesn’t need cuddles any more. Not in public, anyhow – but today is an extreme circumstance and he relaxes into my arms.

I can hear his heart hammering away through his shirt. He catches his breath in jagged succession as he tries to stem the tears that are threatening to escape.

‘It’s going to be okay, dude,’ I whisper. He looks up at me, doubt making his eyes dark and I reiterate the statement with authority. Somehow or other I need to make my words come true.

MAE

Olly is rocking Jamie back and forth in his arms. His little eyes are heavy with fatigue, flickering as they always do when he puts up one last defiant fight to stay awake. I smile at my baby, my youngest child, and wish that I could just walk over and snatch him from Olly into my arms. I want to feel his soft breath on the nape of my neck as he snuggles in close to me. I want to be the one to give him comfort. He loves that spot under my chin to rest his head. Or at least he used to.

As hurtful as it is, I know that while I need Jamie right now, he needs Olly more. He’s gotten used to having him at home at his beck and call these past few months. He’s forgotten that it used to be me that he ran to when he scuffed his knees or banged his head. I haven’t, though. I ache to hold him, but I know that it would be selfish of me to do anything about it.

This position I find myself in, I feel powerless to change. I do not have the luxury of slowing down in work. We need my salary as my husband seems to have given up on ever finding a job again. His sole focus these days is being the perfect house-husband. The only problem with that is, he also seems to have given up on me. On us. I simply don’t know what to do.

I sigh and turn away from them. I know it’s not fair to blame Olly for the relationship he has with Jamie, after all he’s earned that closeness, their bond. But watching our son relax in his arms right now, in a way that he hasn’t done with me for a long time, makes me want to run over to my husband and slap him hard across his saintly face.

The violence I’ve been feeling towards my husband these days startles me. I love him. Or at least I think I do. I just don’t like him very much. I know I sound like a prize bitch. I’m well aware that every thought is irrational. In fact, I can feel something oozing out of my skin, like a septic pus. What I’m feeling is jealousy in all its ugly and green glory, the cause of all my irritations. But acknowledging something and being able to stop it are two different things.

I take a long, deep breath and look at my son. I remind myself that Jamie has not stopped loving me. But the balance of power has shifted in our house since Olly became a stay-at-home dad. I wish I was a nicer person who could find it in her psyche to be happier for the new-found father-and-son bond that they have going on. But I’m not. I suppose, in my defence, I would cheer with abandon for them both, except for one thing. The stronger they seem to become, the weaker my relationship with the children becomes. I sigh in frustration at the stupidity of this.

OLLY

I can feel my father’s eyes upon me once again, worry emanating from his every fibre. He looks like he wants to say something to me, but keeps changing his mind and he finally settles on holding his counsel. I smile at him, tell him that I’m fine.

Pops, my allegiant. I’m not sure I can remember a time when he wasn’t here by my side, when I needed him. Before and after that apocalyptic day in 1981. Many men would have faltered and lost their way, I reckon, doing the whole single-father gig, but not my father.

He’s strong and I wish I were more like him. It always makes me laugh when my friends worry that the older they get, the more they are turning into their fathers. I worry that I’m not.

I close my eyes and think of Mam once more. What would she make of this if she were here? Would she feel disappointment in her son, with the mess he’s making of his life? I hazard a guess that she would, because I’m pretty pissed with myself too. Somehow or other, I’ve taken my eye off the ball. Now things have gotten all screwed up and my thirteen-year-old daughter is lying in a room hooked up to tubes.

I’ve felt shame a few times in my life. When I lost my job a year ago that was a kick-you-in-the-balls day for sure. A close second is the first time that I had to ask Mae for money because my personal bank account was depleted of funds. My debit card had become as much use as a chocolate teapot. And don’t get me started on the endless pit of desolation as rejection letters began to pile up high on our study table. But none of these are even close to the shame I feel now, as I sit in this waiting room.

My beautiful Evie, fighting for her life down the corridor.

I’m bewildered. I don’t know how this has happened. And then, with surprise, I acknowledge another emotion bubbling up inside – I feel angry. I know that rage is only counterproductive and I need to fight it, to stay calm.

The door opens and a doctor walks in, his face unreadable, and we all jump to attention.

Chapter One

POPS

Tick tock. I can hear the grandfather clock that stands in the corridor outside my bedroom march on towards the start of a new hour. I fancy that the sound of the clock moving time along gets louder every day as I, in turn, get weaker.

Tick tock, time is moving on, but running out for me.

I feel it in my bones. I don’t mean the cancer, which has now spread throughout my body. I mean, I can feel it in my bones that it’s my turn to go. I’ve not asked Doctor Lawlor for a timeframe on how many weeks or months he thinks I’ve got, because I don’t need to. It’s close. He knows it too, because I can see it in his ever-more sympathetic eyes when he comes for his weekly visit.

I’m at peace with my fate and that’s a good job because there’s not a blind thing I can do to stop it anyhow. When death has you in its gnarly vice-like grip, you’re buggered. Beth knew that at the end and I know it now.

‘Beth,’ I whisper her name, savouring how it sounds. I miss saying her name out loud. I miss her.

The sicker I get, the closer I feel to my wife. And that, right there, gives me comfort. As sure as I know that the sun will rise every morning, I know that she’s waiting for me, with great patience. I can feel her. And I don’t intend to keep her waiting much longer. She’s been on her own long enough.

‘Hold on, my love, I’m on my way. I’ve to sort out one or two things here first with our Olly, then I’ll be right with you.’

Olly strides into my bedroom, as if he can hear me taking his name in vain. ‘Who you talking to?’ Concern etched on his tired face, looking around the room for signs of my non-existent company.

‘Your mam,’ I answer, more flippantly than I should. Olly now looks more worried than usual. He’s enough on his plate without thinking I’m losing my marbles too.

I throw in a feeble joke to lighten the moment and change the subject. ‘She says to say hello and don’t forget that the bins go out tonight.’ It works, a smile breaks out on his face.

‘You don’t smile enough any more.’ I worry about that. A life without laughter isn’t worth living at all.

Olly just shrugs in response. He doesn’t answer me, but I’ve a fair idea I know what he’s thinking right now.

What have I got to smile about?

‘You’ve more than most,’ I reply to his thought and he looks startled.

‘How do you do that?’ he asks me, starting to laugh. And as it is with laughter, it’s contagious, so I join in.

‘I always know what you’re thinking, lad,’ I tell him when we calm down. And it’s true. It doesn’t hurt that his face has always been like an open book. He wears his heart on his sleeve, always has done, just like his mother. Mae, now she’s a different kettle of fish. She’s harder to read. She keeps it all bottled up inside. But it’s obvious that she’s as unhappy as Olly is right now, and that worries me.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asks.

I think about lying, but he’s not a boy any more, he’s a grown man with a family of his own, so I do a thumbs-down sign. A pain shoots up from my left thumb all the way to my neck, making me regret my gesture.

But the pain was worth it, because Olly smiles in recognition, as I knew he would. When he was a boy he used his thumbs to depict how he was feeling all the time.

‘That bad?’ he says, the creases of worry on his face deepening.

‘It’s near time for painkillers and then I’ll be all …’ I hold up two thumbs and smile, encouraging Olly to do the same.

‘I wonder what your mam will make of me when she sees me,’ I say, as I look down at the paper-thin skin on my arms, blotched with age spots and wrinkles.

I’ve never been a vain man, but I’ve always taken care of my appearance. I shave every morning as soon as I get up and while I don’t have the energy for a shower every day, I’ll always wash my hair. But even so, I know I look a bit … unkempt. My skin sags wearily on pointy bones and there’s a greyness to my complexion that wasn’t there a few weeks ago. Last time I saw Beth I was young, vibrant, full of vigour. Would she even recognise me now?

‘How can you be so sure that you’ll see her when you die?’

‘I’ve faith, lad.’

Scepticism fills Olly’s face. That, right there, is part of his problem. ‘What makes you not believe?’ I’m curious.

Olly shrugs, but he has no answer for me. I’ve had time to think about my own faith. Goodness knows, it’s been tested many times, not least of all when Beth died. But it was faith that I’d see her again one day that has got me through the past thirty-odd years. Had I not believed that, I don’t think I would have managed to smile and laugh and enjoy my family and life as much as I have. And that would have been a crying shame, because I’ve had a good life with Olly, Mae and the children.

I look at him and wish that I could find words that might explain to him how I feel. I scan my bedroom and my eyes rest on the battered brown briefcase propped against my dresser. I carried that to work every day for nigh-on thirty-eight years, right up until I retired. Now it contains a shiny silver laptop that Olly and Mae bought me a few years back. I thought I’d never get the hang of it. Googling seemed like a ridiculous word, that made me giggle like a silly teenager whenever I thought of it. But now, well, I love it. I think it’s the fact that I can travel anywhere in the world courtesy of that silver box. It’s amazing what you can find on the internet.

Then I have one of those light-bulb moments.

‘Think of Wi-Fi, lad. You can’t see that, right? Faith is just like Wi-Fi, with the power to connect you to so much, to places all over the world.’

Olly seems amused at the direction my train of thought has gone. I dive in with my analogy.

‘Think about it. I have faith that your mother is waiting for me. I can feel that more and more every day. I’m sure of it, lad, in the same way I know that I’ll be waiting for you, when it’s your turn to go too.’

‘Not for a few more decades though, please, Pops!’ and we both laugh together at that. ‘You’ve a great way of looking at things. It’s a nice thought, either ways.’

‘Well, you remember what I said about the Wi-Fi when I’m gone. I’ll connect with you again one day, lad. Somehow or other, we’ll find each other. You mark my words.’

Olly squeezes my hand, pain etched all over his face. I feel his love for me and know that he is already mourning my inevitable absence in his life. I hate that I’m adding to his worry right now.

‘Are you honest to God worried about how you look?’

When I nod in response, he looks at me with a critical eye, ‘I suppose you could do with a hair-cut. You’re looking a bit Spandau Ballet-like there, Pops.’

Ha! He’s funny, my son. How many times did I nag him when he was a teenager and into all that New Romantic nonsense? He grew his hair long and started to wear white floppy shirts. Eejit.

‘I’ll book the hairdresser,’ Olly assures me. He bends in towards me, so close we’re almost nose to nose. ‘Mam loved you. She won’t care what you look like. She wasn’t like that, worried about stupid superficial stuff.’

I daresay he’s right.

‘Sure, maybe you’ll become young again when you die,’ he adds.

‘Aye, maybe I will that.’ I like that thought. This body of mine is gone all worn out, like a set of brake pads past their sell-by date. I’d happily swap it for a younger version. ‘Would you get my good suit dry-cleaned for me, the one I got last year in Neon’s?’ I’ve gotten my suits in that shop in Talbot Street for over thirty years now. Mind you, when I bought it, I had no idea that it would be the last time I’d ever buy a suit. Had I known, I might have splurged and bought two!

I watch Olly’s face go through several emotions. From shock, to anger, to sadness and then finally it settles on acceptance of a kind. While I know that it’s time that I start working through all the finer details of what I want, I hate seeing the effect that it has on him.

‘That’s what you want to wear … when … you know?’ He stammers out and his face has gone a funny grey colour.

‘I do,’ I reply. ‘But make sure you put me in my shiny shoes. The ones I usually wear for a black-tie do. And I want my white dress shirt too with the cufflinks that I wore for your wedding. I always feel dapper when I wear those. Oh, and I want the blue tie that Evie bought me last Christmas to finish the look off. She’ll like that.’

Olly blinks, then nods, leaning in to grasp my hand and squeeze it tight.

‘I want to look smart,’ I tell him, but damn it, my voice catches. I blink fast. I need him to understand that this is important for me.

‘I won’t forget, Pops. I’ll make sure you look perfect,’ Olly promises, and I know I’m in safe hands. When Olly promises to do something, he never lets you down. He’s solid. A good man. But with the weight of the world on his shoulders these days.

Since he was made redundant, it’s like he’s lost his spark. At first he was all bluster, full of anger, I suppose. That kept him buoyant as he started looking for a new job. But each ‘Dear John’ chipped away at his confidence. He’s given up even trying to find work now. I’ve got to find a way to bring back the old Olly. Reignite that spark of his.

‘Will you tell Mam that I’m sorry,’ Olly whispers. His voice is so quiet that I almost miss it.

‘Not that nonsense again. Aarra! You’ve nothing to be sorry about, lad.’ He always blames himself for her accident and he is no more to blame than I am.

‘Even so, will you tell her?’ he says and I nod as I can see how important it is for him.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, each lost in our own thoughts. I close my eyes to rest for a moment. It feels peaceful and I think, this wouldn’t be a bad time to go.

After a while, something changes and a tension seems to hover in the air like large ice particles, ready to drop and pierce our heads any minute.

I open my eyes half expecting to see the grim reaper standing over me. But the room is empty except for Olly. His whole demeanour has changed, his shoulders hunched and his fists are clenched by his side.

‘Lad? What is it?’ I ask.

‘Life just seems too fucking complicated right now,’ he says.

I look at my son and think for the first time that I can remember, he looks every bit of his forty years. I hear the clock tick tocking in the background, reminding me of my limited time left. Not now. I need more time, damn it.

I want to say something that will proffer some change, melt those blasted ice particles before they do any damage.

This is my big opportunity to dispense some father-like advice and make a difference. Here goes. ‘Life can be as complicated or as simple as you want it to be.’

Olly snorts. That went well.

‘You need to take control of your life.’ I wince inwardly as I realise that I sound a bit like one of those cagey inspirational speakers.

‘How am I supposed to do that?’ Olly says with irritation and I don’t blame him. My advice is falling short. I need to come up with something better than soundbites, no matter how true they are. How can he take control back? That is the million-dollar question, lad, no doubt about it.

‘What do you want from life? That’s as good a place as any to start with,’ I say.

‘I’m losing my family. I want them back. I want my family back.’ His sincerity strikes me dumb.

I wait for him to continue. I can see him grappling with whether he should talk, whether it is fair to burden me or not. He knows I’m in pain.

And as soon as I think the word ‘pain’, the dull ache that has been nagging me for the past hour begins ramping up and demands more of my attention. I sit up straighter, try to find a more comfortable position, so I can continue. I smile at Olly as I do so, to urge him to keep talking.

‘Look at me, Pops. Washed up at forty years old with no job. Evie is lucky to be alive and we’ve not even scratched the surface on that problem. She’s still not telling us what really happened. I don’t buy that bullshit, that she was experimenting with alcohol to celebrate the start of her school holidays. It’s too out of character. Jamie is back to pissing in his bed. He’s not done that since he was three years old. Don’t tell me that’s not related to the trauma of finding his sister half dead in her bedroom. And then there’s Mae. Pops, she can barely look at me any more. Who can blame her? She can do far better than me. And that’s not even the worst of it. What about … what about you? I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet, Pops.’

‘Yes, lad. Your life is, without doubt, complicated right now. No one could disagree with that.’

I know that I’ve got to somehow find a way to make a difference, before I’m gone and it’s too late. I grapple to find the right words, feeling ill equipped to give my son something to help assuage his obvious pain. Unlike the cancerous pain I’m enduring, there’s not a pill he can take to ease away his aches. He has to work through them, sort them out as best he can himself, without any numbing narcotics.

I’m not sure that there are any words that will help prepare him for my soon-to-be fate. Are we ever ready for a loved one to die? No. And even though there will be no surprise when it’s my time to go, I know that he’s not ready for me to leave.

I need more time, but I know that’s one thing I don’t have any more. Tick tock.

‘I can’t sleep at night worrying about the what-ifs. How did I not see that something was going on with Evie? I’m supposed to take care of her. I’m supposed to be her hero, to save her,’ Olly says. ‘I let her down.’

‘Sure, that’s the greatest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard. You’re good parents, good people. But even the best can’t get it all right all the time.’ I point my finger at him to illustrate how emphatic I am about this point.

There it is in all its glory – self-doubt – one of the ugliest of our inner turmoils, glaring out of my son’s eyes.

‘I. Should. Have. Seen. It. Coming,’ Olly spits out, his voice rising with every word he says.

‘You can raise your voice all you like, but that doesn’t make your bullshit any truer,’ I say.

He stops at my words and half-laughs, saluting me with the tip of his hand. ‘It’s a while since you’ve used that line on me.’

‘It’s a statement I’ve used to good effect in many a battle of wills. You were a stubborn little fecker as a kid.’

‘You used to say it to me all the time. Must remember it for the next time Mae shouts at me,’ Olly laughs.

‘Don’t you be using my good lines to score points with your wife,’ I say. But I’m smiling too. Olly starts to fidget and I think that he’s about to leave. But I don’t want this conversation to end. What if it’s one of our last ones? I haven’t said everything that I need to.

‘Was I a good father to you?’ I ask him. ‘Don’t lie, lad. Speak the truth, now.’

I hold my breath, waiting for his answer. I want the truth, of course I do, but in the name of God, please don’t let him tell me I was a crap father.

‘The best,’ I exhale in relief.

‘But did I make mistakes?’ I say again. ‘Were there times that you thought, fuck you, Pops, and the horse you rode into town on!’

Olly looks shocked at this and begins to shake his head in denial of the statement.

‘Liar! You know there were times when I got it wrong. But that’s okay, because in the main I got it right and you always knew I loved you, even when I messed up. Right?’ I demand.

Olly smiles at me and says, ‘I always knew that you loved me. And you didn’t get it wrong often, Pops.’

I’m grateful for his words.

‘Thanks, lad. But I’m not fishing for compliments from you, although I’m not sorry to hear them. I just want to illustrate that it’s okay to have the odd bad day, as long as in the main you get it right. You can’t be Evie’s hero every day of the week, can you? Even Spiderman gets the odd day off. The girl needs to live her own life, make her own mistakes, learn from them and she can’t do that if she’s under her parents’ coat tails.’

‘But every time she goes into her bedroom, I’m worried sick about what she could be doing in there. I tell you, Pops, it’s crossed my mind to put in cameras so I can be sure she’s not downing another bottle of fecking vodka!’

‘Would you whist, lad. Let the girl have her privacy. Sure, God knows, when you were that age you spent half your life in your bedroom and you’re still alive. Don’t tell me you didn’t have a sneaky drink back then.’

‘I never ended up in hospital with alcoholic poisoning, though, Pops,’ Olly states.

‘No, you didn’t. But you had my heart broken more than once. Evie messed up. What you need to do is find out why. She’s been withdrawn for months now. I know she’s not talking yet, but she’ll tell you in her own good time what’s going on. She’s a strong girl, she just needs to remember that.’

I think I’m beginning to get through to Olly because he’s stopped stooping and is now sitting up straighter in the chair. He has a look on his face that I’ve not seen in a long time – determination.

We sit without speaking for a while and I think about Mae and wonder if I dare bring up their marriage. It’s a dangerous thing talking about the inner sanctum of a couple’s life. In fact, it’s true that I have no business snooping around there. But I realise that I have to speak up. Someone has to, because they seem hell-bent on destroying themselves.

‘You and Mae. You need to watch that,’ I decide to take the bull by the horns and get straight to it. No time to dilly-dally around the issue.

‘You don’t think I don’t know that?’ Olly responds. ‘I can feel her slipping away from me, every day one little bit further. But I’m powerless to stop her. I don’t know who she is any more. She’s changed, Pops.’

‘Arra, nobody stays the same, lad. We all change as we go through life and that’s good, ’cos it would be pretty boring otherwise. You’re not the same man you used to be, either. Did you ever think of that?’

Olly looks startled at this piece of information.

‘I’ve seen a change in you these past months, since you stopped working. I daresay that Mae has noticed it too.’

‘I’m still the same person,’ Olly’s petulant and irritated, reminding me of his teenage self. I hope he listens more to me now than he did back then.

‘No you’re not, son. You’re different. I know losing your job has been tough. But maybe it’s time to look at your redundancy with different eyes.’

‘What do you mean?’ he asks.

‘Well, you didn’t even like that job. Don’t lie. You were just punching the clock every day.’

‘I hated it,’ he admits. ‘How did I even end up as an accountant?’

‘You always wanted to be an astronaut,’ I say. ‘Walk on the moon.’

‘Think NASA might have an age limit on new recruits, Pops,’ he says, laughing.

‘Never say never,’ I tell him. ‘You might not get to the moon, but who says that this can’t be the catalyst for you to make a change. Instead of feeling sorry for yourself, why not take this opportunity to look for a new direction? You can’t hide out at home forever.’

He looks doubtful. I can almost hear his mind working through excuses.

‘That’s what life is about, lad – change. You need to talk to Mae. She can’t read minds, you know. Tell her what’s going on in your head. If you stopped blaming each other for every damn set-back that’s happened to you both, you might remember that you love each other. You’re being too careless with her.’

‘What if it’s too late? What if I’ve lost her, Pops?’ Olly asks, shoulders down low again.

‘No!’ I shout. ‘No, God damn it, Olly, no! Stop being so damn defeatist about the woman you love. I’d have given anything to have the time you have with Mae, with my wife. I didn’t get that chance. You need to start paying more attention to her. And I don’t care how many times Mae tells you that she’s okay or pushes you away, don’t believe her. Because she’s obviously not! You walk over to your wife and you hold her in your arms. Do you hear me, son?’

I start to cough and know that I’m done for now. Between the wheezing and racking cough and the pain that is now taking control of me, I cannot speak another word.

I hold my hand up, reassuring Olly that I’m not about to die, and he leans in close, clutching my hand once again between his own. I point to the water and my meds and he helps me take a sip to swallow the chalky tabs down. I close my eyes and somehow or other, despite the pain, I manage to drift off to sleep.

When I wake up, it’s dark outside. I must have been out cold for several hours. I can smell dinner wafting towards me, but regrettably my appetite has been absent for weeks. I say ‘regrettable’ because, at a guess, from the beautiful aroma that is snaking its way around my room, Olly has made fish pie. That’s one of my favourites. He’s a good lad.

Rather, it used to be a favourite. I make a vow to try to eat a mouthful to please him, but just the thought of even taking one bite makes me feel tired.

I’ve no time to rest because I know what I can do to help my family before I die. Beth and I have come up with a plan. Despite what most would think, I’m not losing my marbles. While I slept, Beth came to me in my dreams and told me what I should do.

Wi-Fi sure is powerful stuff, I chuckle. I knew it would connect me to her when I needed it. I smile as I think of all their faces when they find out what we’ve planned. Mae won’t be happy, I know that. But don’t ask me why. I know it will be the best gift I can ever give them. I’ve got a lot of planning to do to pull it off though. Tick tock. Feck OFF!

‘There’s life in the old dog yet, Beth,’ I say out loud. ‘I’ve one more trick up my sleeve before I say goodbye to this world.’

I think about something that she used to say to me when Olly was a baby, ‘I just want to make sure that he gets a happy ending.’

She was a bit of a romantic, my Beth. Well, I’m pretty sure that the only way to give a happy ending to Olly and his family is to give them all a new beginning. So that’s what I’m going to do.

Chapter Two

OLLY

Today is my father’s funeral.

I knew that this day was coming. We all did. The grim reaper has been hovering at our door for weeks and with every passing day we saw Pops slip further away from us, closer to that bugger. I find it incredible that an event that I knew was inevitable still has the power to wound me, spear me, surprise me. I want to run away from today and all its responsibilities. I’m not sure I have the strength to say goodbye.

I’ve often lamented my only-child status, but none more so than today. The weight of being his only child feels intolerable. So I’ll stay, I’ll help carry his coffin and I’ll watch them send his body to be burned. And somehow or other I’ll get through it.

I was with Pops when he exhaled his last long breath. I’m grateful for that. I was determined that I would be the last person he saw, before …

I hope he knew I was there. At the end, it was fucking crazy. We’d been warned that his breathing would get shallow in those last moments. Erratic. At first his exhalation was longer than his inhalation and, as morbid as this sounds, it was fascinating to witness. The gaps between each breath started to get longer and longer. There were periods of no breathing and this part freaked us all out many times. Almost comical. That’s awful, isn’t it? His family laughing, with more than a hint of hysteria when we’d think he was dead, then suddenly he’d bellow out another breath and we’d all jump sky high. Pops would have approved of our laughter, though. I fancied I saw a glimmer of a smile on his lips at one point when we tried to stifle our guffaws.

Evie, our resident encyclopaedia, told us that scriptures state that you must always ensure the individual is on his right, like Buddha was at his death, and this will give them a happy, peaceful mind. So we propped Pops up, telling him what we were doing and why. It made Evie happy, so Mae and I went along with it.

We took turns sitting with him, making a pact never to leave him on his own in his last days. Even Jamie joined in our unofficial, unspoken rota when he wasn’t in school. Although he was never alone with Pops. Evie on the other hand got to spend a lot of time solo with him, at her own request. She told us that she wasn’t scared, so we respected her wishes and let her do her turn.

In the end, it was on my watch when that last breath was exhaled and Pops left us. And you know the weird thing? I was as unprepared for that moment as I had been for my mother’s untimely demise. I’d thought about the difference between their deaths a lot over the past few months. Wondered which would be easier. With Mam there was no warning whatsoever, but of course we all knew what was headed our way with Pops. Well, now that both my parents are dead and I’ve experienced each option, I still don’t have an answer to that. There is something I do know for sure, though. Both options suck, both hurt like hell and both I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemies.

On one hand, the last few months before Mam died were pretty perfect. There were no shadows on our time together, we just got on about the business of living. And loving. And, boy, did we have a lot of love!

And I suppose in that alone I’m lucky, or at least luckier than most. Although she was taken so abruptly, I have no regrets about anything. Because nothing was left unsaid before she was snatched away from us. In our family, when I was a kid, ‘I love you’s were abundant and spoken every day. And that’s how we roll in my own family now too. I tell the children often how much I love them. My parents taught me well.

I push aside the fact that I can’t remember the last time I whispered any endearments to Mae. Or her to me.

While the last few months were tortuous in so many ways, watching Pops fight his illness, at least I got to say goodbye to him. I got to hold his hand and kiss his head fifty times a day, whenever I felt the need to do so. And towards the end, I won’t lie, that need was pretty much always there. When I wasn’t in the room with him, I fretted and missed him, so I would find myself making excuses to go back.

Another wave of grief assaults me as I ponder a life without kisses to Pop’s forehead.

The silence in the room mocks me. I expect to hear Pops say something smart. He always had this knack of knowing what I’m thinking.

I miss his voice. I’d do anything to hear it one more time. He’s not been gone more than forty-eight hours and already it feels like forever.

At least he died at home, surrounded by the people he loved most in the world, exactly as he wanted to, and for that I’m grateful. He had a smile on his face in those last moments. Maybe his faith hooked him up with Mam again as he said it would. I close my eyes and picture her in her blue dress, pulling him into her open embrace. Then, holding hands, leading him away from us to wherever their next adventure was about to begin. Tears blur my eyes.

I need to right the emptiness in the house. No matter which room I walk into, his absence is palpable from the silence therein. Even here, in our bedroom for goodness sake, where he had no business being, feels wrong. Mae said to me yesterday that she couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t in the house with us. And she’s right. We’d go off on our own sometimes, but when we got back, he’d be at the front door waiting, the sound of the kettle in the background whistling, ready to wet the tea.

The thought of being just the four of us scares me. I’ve never been here without him. I’m forty years old, but I feel like a child again, when Mam died and left me.

The urge to run is back. Fuck responsibility. I can’t do this.

The crushing reality is that I am just a fool standing in an empty room, looking for a man that is no longer here. And he’s not coming back. I collapse onto the edge of our bed and take several steadying breaths.

‘Come on, lad, pull yourself together.’ His voice whispers through the air towards me.

I close my eyes and lie back onto the soft pillows. I’m so fucking tired – bone fucking weary, truth be told. The last year, with the constant hospital visits, the chemotherapy, the cleaning up of sick and piss – it’s all taken its toll. And I won’t be sorry to say goodbye to that. Goodbye to the never-ending cancerous groundhog day, which had only one inevitable outcome for Pops.

And here’s the thing. I feel relief. And shame that I feel relieved of the burden of his illness. So many emotions mixed up amongst my all-consuming pain. It’s just … the man I long for is the healthy, vibrant Pops of last year. Not the shadow of a man he became in these past few cancerous-ridden months. Fuck me! The pain he was in! Nobody should have to live like that.

So yes, damn it! I’m glad he’s gone, if living like that was the only choice. A blessed release, that’s what Father Kelly said. And he’s right, it is a blessed release for him. For me too. It’s not just my heart that is in half today, it’s my whole body. What I’d give to climb under the heavy duvet and allow myself to sleep through this day.

‘How are you doing?’ Mae’s voice pulls my eyes open and I watch her walk into our bedroom. I sit up and lie, saying that of course I’m fine.

‘Do you need some help with that?’ She points to the tie that is hanging loose around my neck, waiting. She doesn’t wait for an answer, but walks over to me and places it under its collar. Over and around, under and over and she’s done, the perfect knot.

‘You look tired, Olly,’ Mae says, looking up at me. Her hand hovers beside my face, but she doesn’t touch me. I look at her and see the pain that I feel, mirrored in her too.

‘I just want to get today over and done with,’ I say. ‘I can’t get my head around this whole cremation choice. I was sure he’d want to be buried with Mam.’

‘Had he never mentioned it before to you?’ Mae asks.

‘No. He told me what he wanted to wear. He also told me to call Larkin’s, the funeral directors, when it was time. I just assumed it would be a burial. It never crossed my mind he’d chosen cremation.’

Larkin said everything was under control when I rang them. Pops had even paid for everything up front and arranged every last detail himself. I’m not surprised by that. Pops always did everything in his power to make things easy for me. Even down to arranging his own funeral service.

‘You know, it’s weird, but I thought he was getting better, you know,’ Mae remarks. ‘This past week or so, have you noticed that he seemed, more energetic or something?’

I had noticed it. He’d seemed stronger to me too.

‘He was on his laptop a lot. I thought that was a good sign. I should have copped on that he was up to something. He was organising today. Getting it all in order.’

‘It’s going be so quiet without him,’ Mae said.

‘Did you mind him being here all the time?’ I ask her. ‘I know you always said you didn’t, but it must have been difficult at times to have a father-in-law living with us.’

Mae shook her head vehemently. ‘I loved Pops. I always knew that you and he were a package. Pops and his mini-me. I’m going to miss him so much.’

A tear slips from Mae’s left eye and travels inch by inch down her cheek, leaving a white trail through her makeup. She wipes it away with the back of her hand and closes her eyes, to stop any further tears following.

She looks vulnerable and soft and before I allow myself to think and stop, I walk over to her and take her in my arms. I can feel her resistance, the tension that always appears in her body whenever I get close to her lately. But I remember Pops’ advice and don’t let her go. I hold her tight and stay silent. And then, at once, I feel her body relax and she moulds into my arms. Her soft breasts press in close to my own chest and our hearts seem to beat in unison. I hear her breath quicken or maybe it’s mine?

‘I miss you,’ I whisper into her hair.

‘What?’ Mae asks.

‘Mam, Dad, the car’s here,’ Jamie’s voice bellows out and Mae pulls apart from me. The moment, whatever it was, is gone. But her eyes meet mine and I recognise in them something that I haven’t seen for a long time.

Love? Or at least a recognition of the memory of a happier time. A spark of hope gives my grief blessed relief for a moment. All is not lost. I then feel crap that I’m even thinking about myself on the day of my father’s funeral.

‘Thank you,’ I say to her. I want to say so much more, but I don’t. I just put on my jacket.

‘For what?’

‘For being here. As long as I have you by my side, I can get through this.’

She looks away from me and murmurs, ‘It’s time to say our goodbyes. Come on.’

Damn it.

‘That was way cool,’ Jamie declares for the third time since we left the crematorium. ‘The way the coffin just disappeared behind the curtain. Pops would have loved that.’

‘It was creepy. If I die, please bury me,’ Mae replies, shuddering.

We are driving home to Wexford. To say it’s been a rough few hours is an understatement, but somehow or other we’ve gotten through two services. The first one was the funeral mass in Wexford. It was a packed church of family and friends, who were all there to say goodbye to a good man, who lived a good life. Then the second service in the crematorium was for just us family. Exactly as Pops requested.

I watched Mae and the children go through so many emotions during those two different ceremonies. I saw sorrow, heartache, desolation, anger and loneliness. I recognised each of them because it is how I felt too. But now, in our car, driving home, the energy has changed. Now there is an air of frivolity amongst us. I recognise it for what it is. It’s often the way when things are this serious, giddiness sets in at some point because the mind cannot take any more. It happened at Mam’s funeral. Pops and I had said goodbye to the last well-wisher and then Pops farted. A loud, rasping, wet fart. I giggled. And then I felt horrendous. I expected to get a clout across my ear from him for that. But he giggled too. Soon the two of us were making wet, loud, fart noises under our arms, through our mouths, any way we could. We put on a good old comedy act for twenty minutes or so, till we cried with laughter.

I realise now that it would not take much to set us all off. We all need a few hours respite before we face going home to a house that doesn’t have our beloved Pops in it any more. So we begin bantering away about death as if we hadn’t a care in the world. We could have been discussing the weather, such is our ease.

‘If I die, you can burn me,’ Jamie states. ‘And I want a super-cool urn for my ashes.’

‘You know, the largest urn in the world is in Tustin, USA,’ Evie says.

‘How big?’ Jamie asks.

‘It’s sixteen feet tall,’ Evie tells him.

‘Cool. Was it for a giant? Or a troll? I bet it was a giant,’ Jamie says in wonder.

‘Oh, without doubt a giant,’ Mae says with a smile.

‘You can get urns made in the likeness of people’s heads you know,’ Evie adds.

‘What?’ Mae shrieks. ‘That’s macabre.’

‘It’s true, Mam. I saw one of Barack Obama once on Facebook,’ Evie says.

‘Who the hell would want their ashes stored in a president’s head?’ Mae responds, looking mystified.

‘There’s a lot of crazy in this world,’ I chip in.

‘When I die, can I have an urn made into a spaceship?’ Jamie asks. ‘Or maybe one like Darth Vader? Pops would love that, you know. He loves Star Wars.’

‘He was more of an Obi-Wan Kenobi fan than Darth Vader,’ I murmur. ‘But, yes, he loved Stars Wars.’

And for a moment I allow myself a daydream where Pops can come back and talk to me in spirit like Obi-Wan could in the movies.

‘That would be cool,’ I whisper.

‘Less of the talk of dying please,’ Mae remarks.

‘Okay, but Mam, I’m not joking here. I will die if we don’t get some food into my body. I’m starving,’ Jamie complains and then, with perfect timing, his stomach lets a loud grumble out.

I look in the rear-view mirror and seeing the children smile makes my throat tighten. It’s been a tough few days. Damn it, a tough few months. Smiles have been few and far between. I shake my head to stop further tears coming.

‘I could eat something too,’ Mae says. ‘What do you think, Olly? Can we stop or do you want to get home? It’s been a rough day, so don’t worry if you want to just keep going.’

I peek in the rear-view mirror and Jamie is pretending to faint. Evie throws her eyes up to heaven, but I can see a hint of a smile on her face. Then I spy the golden archway ahead and a decision is easily made for us. We are an unlikely looking bunch queuing for our fast-food fix. Mae in her black trouser suit, Evie and Jamie wearing a mixture of dull greys and black and me in my good suit, with a black mourning tie. I loosen the knot and pull it off, stuffing it into my inside jacket pocket.

‘That makes all the difference,’ Mae teases.

With our food piled high on red trays, we sit down. Evie and Mae with their McChicken Sandwich meals, me with my Big Mac and Jamie with his Happy Meal.

Jamie pulls open his cardboard box of happiness and rummages for the plastic bag, eager to find out what the toy is this time. Mid-slurp of my strawberry shake, I pause. I feel a hand on my knee and look down to see that Mae has clasped it.

Time freezes again when I look up and see that Jamie is holding up in his hand a figurine of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

‘That’s freaky,’ Evie says, her eyes wide with surprise. ‘We were just talking about him.’

‘It’s cool,’ Jamie replies. ‘Look what he can do.’ He demonstrates his nodding head.

‘Just a weird coincidence, that’s all,’ Mae says, but her voice is trembling.

Not ten minutes ago I likened Pops to Obi-Wan Kenobi, wishing he could come back and talk to me. And now Jamie is sitting here with his figurine held in front of my face.

I look around and, I swear to God, I expect Pops to be standing there wearing a long brown hooded robe. ‘Fooled you,’ he’d say and laugh. Oh, how we’d laugh.

I look at the Wi-Fi symbol flashing on my iPhone. That invisible thing that connects us all, no matter where we are. Was this Pops’ way of reminding me to have faith? He said he’d find a way to find me.

‘It’s just a coincidence,’ I tell my family, feeling stupid for even contemplating such nonsense. ‘Eat up, it’s getting late.’

I don’t feel hungry any more. I play with my food a bit and wait for the others to finish up, then we continue our journey home. The mood has changed in the car again and we are all back in our own grief-stricken worlds. The welcome reprieve from our desolation, forgotten with the appearance of a small plastic toy from McDonald’s.

As the distance to our home gets shorter, the greater my anxiety grows. So I slow down. I’m aware of the irony that an hour ago I thought I’d never get home so I could take my God-awful suit off. Now I am doing everything possible to delay that first entrance through our front door. I look down at my suit and make an impromptu decision about its fate.

‘I’m going to burn this tomorrow.’

Mae nods. ‘That’s one option. Or you could give it to charity.’

‘Maybe,’ I say, but really, I want to be extreme. I feel justified planning a dramatic end to it, a symbolic burning of the pain I’ve endured today. Or something like that.

‘I burned a suit once before,’ I say.

‘When?’ Mae asks.

‘When I was a kid. My communion suit.’

All at once I’m seven years old again and I see Mam’s face and remember watching her discuss at length with Pops about what my communion suit should look like. Pops would nod and tell her that she knew best. He’d then chance a conspiratorial wink with me and I’d wink back, delighted with myself.

‘Was it awful?’ Mae asks me.

‘A three-piece ensemble, kind of a biscuity pale brown in colour. But it had a contrasting chocolate-brown trim on the lapel and the pockets. Pops joked I looked like a chocolate hobnob. Mam didn’t like that one bit. She wanted me to look perfect and no slagging of the suit was allowed.’

‘Sounds lovely,’ Mae laughs.

‘I know it sounds brutal and, in truth, it was, but at the time I thought I was the dog’s bollocks in it.’ I glance in the rear-view mirror, checking the kids aren’t listening to my cursing. Unsurprisingly, both have their earphones on.

‘I can remember begging Mam to let me try it on at least once a day. But she would shake her head no and it remained in a plastic cover in her wardrobe,’ I say.

‘She wanted it to be in pristine condition for your special day. I get that. I was the same for Evie,’ Mae says.

A pain so acute it makes me start hits me under my ribs. ‘In the end, I got my wish and wore it before the communion.’

‘When?’ Mae asks, smiling.

‘Her funeral.’

‘Oh, Olly,’ Mae says, and her smile freezes. I look away. If I see sympathy or pity, I’ll start to cry again. I chance a joke.

‘I don’t mind telling you, I didn’t feel in the slightest bit like the dog’s bollocks then. Took the shine off wearing it on my communion, too.’

Neither of us laugh at my lame attempt to lighten the mood. She reaches over and places a hand lightly over mine for a moment. ‘I’ll help you burn it.’ Then we drive in silence once more.

‘If you go any slower we’ll be in reverse,’ Mae remarks after a while, but she’s smiling as she speaks, so I know she’s not having a go at me.

I look at her and wonder if she has guessed why I am so reluctant to go home. These past couple of days, we’ve been kinder to each other than we have been for the past six months. It’s disconcerting and welcome all at once.

‘I watched Mam and Pops both die from that house. There’s a lot of ghosts at home for me,’ I tell her.

‘There’s a lot of great memories there too. It will be okay, you wait and see,’ she murmurs. ‘And remember, alongside the ghosts, you have us too. We’re right beside you.’

I look at her again and smile, but wonder if she means that. I’m not so sure.

Finally, we turn the bend and our house is in view before me. The house of my childhood that is both the same and also unrecognisable now, with the addition of our modern extension and conservatory at the gable end.

‘Holy cow!’

‘What the …?’

‘Wow!’

The exclamations from my family come in fast unison as we all see it at the same time.

‘Olly?’ Mae says. ‘What on earth is that camper van doing parked outside our house?’

Chapter Three

OLLY

I pull into our driveway with caution. For the life of me, I can’t work out why a thirty-foot camper van is sitting right in the spot where I usually park. That irks me, it feels like an affront, especially today of all days.

I pull over to the side of the house and sit for a moment, taking in the spectacle.

‘That’s so cool,’ Jamie enthuses and already he has his seat belt off, eager to go explore. ‘It looks like a spaceship, Dad!’

It’s funny how one word can send your memories shooting back in time. At once, I’m sitting beside Pops eating popcorn and slurping Coke, as we watch Close Encounters of the Third Kind. I try to remember what age I was then. Mam was dead, so I reckon it was around 1983 or 1984. I had to sleep with Pops for two nights afterwards, such was my fear that little green men were going to pay me a visit.

I look up into the sky and half expect to see a spaceship hovering, ready to beam us all up. My imagination is on fire today. Between Obi-Wan and now this, I reckon I’m losing it. I start to hum the iconic five-note melody from that movie and Mae smiles as she recognises it and joins in.

It’s only a small thing but that small act of camaraderie gives me further hope that Mae and I might be okay, when all of this is over. We are still on the same wavelength, at least some of the time. That has to be a good sign. I turn to the kids and tell them, ‘Stay where you are, till I see who this is.’

The camper van looks quite modern, as they go. Not that I know much about the world of Winnebagos and motor homes. I once again rack my brains trying to work out who the hell I know owns one of these or would be most likely to drive one. But I come up blank.

It’s quite big and has a curved canopy over the driver’s cab, which I know is quite common in a lot of the models. I can remember years ago when I was a kid, before Mam died, a cousin of hers and his wife called in to see us driving a huge camper van. They slept in a kind of bunk bed over the driver’s cab. I can’t even remember this cousin’s name now and I’m pretty sure they must be dead, because they seemed ancient back then. God, the smell in that thing! Toiletry odours covered up by headache-inducing air fresheners, that made me want to gag. Surely it can’t be those two again?

I check out the van a little closer. It’s white in the main, but has blocks of silvery grey across the cabin. It also has a bright-red stripe splashed across both sides, in an attempt at frivolity almost.

For fuck’s sake! I’m not sure why I’m so put out by its presence, but I am. It feels like the straw that is about to break my back. As I walk towards the driver’s door, I shout out, ‘Hello?’ but nobody answers me. My heart rate speeds up as adrenalin begins to pump into my blood. I can hear my heart begin to drum in my ears, getting louder and louder as I approach the cab. I’m not sure what I’m expecting to see sitting behind the driver’s wheel. But when I see it’s empty I’m both relieved and disappointed all at once.

Confused, I turn around to wave to Mae and the kids. I want to signal them that there seems to be no one here, but the side door to the camper van opens with a clang, making me jump back, almost tripping over my own feet. In a pathetic non-hero-like manner, I squeak out a hiss of surprise.

I’m grateful that Mae and the kids are not by my side to witness it. Not my finest moment. I stand up tall in an attempt at redemption and face a middle-aged man. He has neat mousy brown hair parted to the side, wearing a brown pullover and beige slacks. He doesn’t look in the slightest bit like an alien. Or dangerous.

‘Alright,’ his voice calls out to me. I can’t work out the accent, but it’s not Irish, that I know for sure. Scottish maybe? He steps down from the doorway and smiles at me brightly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to be here.

I nod back at him and try to work out if I’ve ever met him before. Nope, I’m pretty certain this is the first time I’ve clapped eyes on him.

He holds his hand out and introduces himself, ‘Aled Davies.’ He then does this thing where he bows, almost Chinese-like. The lilting voice, singsong, along with the name, alerts me to where he’s from – he’s Welsh.

‘Nice to meet you,’ I say, lying. ‘I’m Olly Guinness. But you’ve got the advantage on me, Mr Davies, because I’m not sure why you are parked in my driveway.’

‘I’ll tell you for why,’ he replies with a smile. ‘I’ve come to deliver Nomad to you.’

‘Nomad?’ I repeat, feeling stupid, like I’m missing the obvious. ‘Who’s Nomad?’

‘Not who, what!’ he laughs and with glee points to his camper van.

I’m baffled now and figure that this Welshman must have been smoking something, because he’s not making any sense to me. I look him up and down and he appears to be sober, lucid and harmless enough, but so was Keyser Söze and look how that worked out for Gabriel Byrne.

I gesture to Mae and the kids to join me as I’m pretty certain that the brown-jumper-clad man before me poses no threat. I introduce each of them to Aled and his smile gets brighter and bigger with every passing name.

‘I’ve heard lots about you two!’ Aled tells Evie and Jamie when they stand beside me.

‘You sound funny,’ Jamie tells him, looking at him warily.

‘Don’t be rude,’ Mae scolds Jamie, but Aled just laughs.

‘Not the first time I’ve heard that, truth be told. Right, I know you must be wondering why I’m here, but one minute. Where did I put it?’

He starts patting down his jumper and trousers and then exclaims as he pulls out a white envelope, ‘Ah, here it is. I’ve a letter to give to you, Olly.’

It has my name on the front and I recognise the handwriting immediately.

Pops.

My heartbeat starts to do its loud hammer dance in my ears again. I can feel a line of sweat break out on my forehead. I’m cold, hot, clammy and can’t breathe.

I feel a hand steady me – Mae – and realise that I must have faltered for a moment. I look at the figurine of Obi-Wan Kenobi clasped in Jamie’s hand and then at the letter in Aled’s hand. Wi-Fi. Fucking Wi-Fi.

‘I think we should go inside,’ Mae says, and she leads me towards the front door, gesturing Aled to follow us. ‘It’s been a long day.

‘Evie, can you make some tea for our guest, please,’ Mae instructs, sounding posh and proper and nothing like her usual self. Evie throws her a dirty look and for a moment I think she’s going to refuse. But then she glances at me and sighs loudly, scuffing her feet as she walks out of the room. Mae then motions Jamie to go into the den to watch TV. I realise that she is also thrown by the letter and trying hard to hold it together.

‘When did he give you this?’ I demand as soon as I find my voice again. The envelope feels heavy in my hand and a faint line of moisture from clammy fingers appears on the top right-hand corner.

‘Your father sent it to me last week, Olly. He gave me specific instructions that I was to be here on the day of his funeral. He arranged with the funeral director – Mr Larkin, I believe – to call me when he died, so I could get here on time.’

I hold my breath as he explains the events of the past few days and start to sweat again. What the hell had Pops been up to?

‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ Aled said to me. ‘Your father was a proper gentleman. But he wanted to do this. He was quite adamant that I should be here today.’

‘I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Pops mention you before,’ Mae says, the kids hovering behind her. There’s no way they are missing out on whatever this is.

‘I’m sorry to say that I didn’t meet him in person. But we’ve spoken on the phone a few times. As I said, he was a proper gent and I would have liked to have spent time with him, if things were different. I think we would have got along pretty well. Maybe it’s best you read the letter. I’m sure it will all become a bit clearer when your father explains what he has done. I’ll go wait in Nomad while you do. Give you some privacy.’

Mae begins to make noises that he should stay where he is, but I usher him to the door saying, ‘Feel free to take your tea with you.’

I don’t want to be a complete dick.

Aled stands up and walks out, saying as he leaves, ‘Take your time. I’m quite comfortable out here.’ He gives me a look of sympathy and I nod back, but my attention is one hundred percent on Pop’s letter and I don’t want a stranger watching me as I read it.

Part of me wants to rip the envelope open, but there’s another part of me that’s chicken. What if this message from the grave – or urn, I suppose – has something bad in it? I shiver. Jamie and Evie have joined Mae on the couch and the three of them watch me, waiting for me to get on with the task at hand. I feel fortified by having them by my side. My family.

So steadied by that sight, with fumbling thumbs, I slowly open the envelope. The sound of paper tearing slices through the thundering silence.

I look inside the envelope and enclosed are two sheets of paper. For a moment, my vision blurs as tears sting my already tired eyes. I blink twice, then once more to focus on the words below.

Chapter Four

Dearest Olly and Mae

If you are reading this, it means that I’m gone. Ah, I’m sorry. I know you must have been through the ringer. There was only one thing worse for me than losing your mother, Olly, and that was watching you grieve and then grow up without her in your life. But grief is inevitable. So I’ll not tell you to stop crying.

This letter … I’ve found it the most difficult to write. Over the summer you’ll get to see all of the letters I’ve penned. Some were easier than others, but this first one, well, I’m struggling …

I can imagine you all sitting in the living room as you read this. Or maybe you are already in Nomad? Well, the main thing is, don’t be worrying, this is a GOOD letter. No nasty surprises, I promise you.

So was it a good turnout today in the end? Charlie Doyle had almost a thousand at his mass and I can remember thinking that it must have made his family happy, seeing how loved he was. He was a good man, in fairness, even if he had a neck like a jockey’s you-know-what. It’s over ten years since he borrowed my drill. Not that any of that matters a blind bit now, of course.

I hope you don’t mind that I organised my own funeral. I didn’t want any of you to have the burden and, if I’m honest, partly I wanted to control how I leave this world. Beth never got that chance. I always regret that we’d not discussed what she wanted. Did I do right by her? That’s weighed on my mind a lot lately. Arra, sure there’s no point worrying about that now.

Olly, all this talk about funerals sparked a forgotten memory. ‘Are you quite alright?’ Do you remember that day at your great aunt Celeste’s funeral? I cried with laughter all over again today when I thought about it. Tell the kids, they’ll like that story.

Bet you have lots of questions right now. What’s with the letters? What’s with Nomad? I’m coming to that.

All I’ve ever wanted in life was to see you happy, lad. And watching you and Mae fall in love and start your own family, well it’s been a privilege to be part of. I want to thank Mae, in particular, for letting an old fool like me live with you.

I know that these past six months have been hard. My cancer, along with sucking the life out of me, seems to have sucked the joy out of our family, hasn’t it? Don’t try denying it, I know it’s true. We used to laugh a lot in this house, but the laughs seem far and few between lately.

I can’t change the past, but I can help change what happens next. I’ve decided it’s time to inject some fun into the Guinness family.

That brings me to Aled and Nomad. Does he look like Sir Tom Jones? He sounds just like him, at least he did on the phone. Decent bloke.

Nomad is my gift to you all. Isn’t she a beauty? I’ve only seen pictures, mind you, and a video clip, but even so, I can tell she’s perfect. She’s all paid for, so don’t fret about money. And there’s a few bob extra for expenses. Aled has promised to show you all how she works before he goes. Now I can imagine that you are wondering what on earth possessed me to buy Nomad. Well, it’s simple. And the word simple is key.

Olly, do you remember when I asked you recently what did you want from life and you said to me that it had all gotten complicated lately? Well, I couldn’t stop thinking about that. I decided that I’d find a way to uncomplicate things for you.

At first I wasn’t sure how to accomplish that, but then I dreamt of the answer. Do you remember our atlas? You, your mam and I would spend hours poring over it, wondering where we’d go to next in our travels. Well, I know how to make things simple again for you all. A holiday! A long one, where you can forget about the past year and just relax. Eliminate all the stresses and complications.

Drum roll please Jamie. You are going on a trip around Europe – in Nomad – for eight weeks. You can all forget about work, school, sickness and death and just focus on being a family again.

Isn’t it great? Are you as excited as I am? It won’t be all fun, mind you! You see, Evie and Jamie need to realise that the world is not limited to Wexford. There’s a lot more out there than Facebook, Netflix or Candy Crush. I want them to see different cultures, taste new foods, watch the sunset from a new vantage point.

I need to talk to you too about my ashes. Some of them I’d like to have buried in the flowers around Beth’s grave. But the rest, bring with you and I’ll let you know where you must scatter them, in due course.

I’m going to say goodbye for now, because I’m getting tired and I’m sure you are all dying to go outside to check out Nomad. Is Jamie out the door already? Ha!

You need to get my briefcase. I’ve left everything you need in there. You’ll find a letter for each stage of your journey, with full instructions. Time to get packing Guinness Family! You leave on Friday 27th June. I wish I could go with you. But I suppose, in part, I am, or at least my ashes are! That makes me smile.

Before I go, there’s just one more thing you need to all remember. Life is short. So don’t spend it regretting what you should have said, to those you care about. If you love someone, say so! Not just with words mind, but in your actions too.

Leave nothing unsaid, you hear me?

I love you,

Pops

Chapter Five

MAE

There is a stunned silence in the room, as Olly finishes reading the letter aloud. He lets it fall from his hand and the sheaves of paper float to the floor in front of him. Evie stands up and walks out, wordlessly. I contemplate going after her, but she’s back less than a moment later, placing Pops’ briefcase in front of her father’s feet. She takes a seat by his side and leans in close to him. Jamie walks over and sits on his other side and still none of us speak. They’re good kids. United, flanking their father, supporting him.

I lean down and pick up the pages and put them in their rightful order. A large tear lands on the spidery script and the ink smudges. I panic and blot it dry and then fold the letter carefully in two, placing it on the coffee table in front of us. None of us take our eyes off it. And still the room is silent, save for the distant hum of traffic on the road outside and the twitter of the sparrows that nest in the eaves of our roof.

‘Olly,’ I say. Someone has to break the silence. He looks up at me, his eyes lost and unbelieving.

‘He said he’d find a way,’ Olly replies.

I nod and my heart breaks for my husband.

‘I just didn’t expect to hear from him so quickly.’

I know Olly wasn’t trying to be funny, but this makes me smile. ‘He was always full of surprises.’

‘You know, there were gazillions at the funeral,’ Jamie states with his usual flair for drama, throwing his arms up in the air to further elaborate his point.

We all grin at that gross exaggeration and Olly says, ‘I’m not sure it was quite that much, but he got a decent turnout – more than most get.’

‘He was loved,’ I state. ‘That was evident by the huge crowd gathered. So many people from his job too. And I don’t think a single person from the village didn’t come out either. All his years on various committees …’ I add.

Olly looks down to the brown briefcase and takes a deep breath. He opens it and pulls out an atlas, staring at it, his face scrunched up, perplexed. He runs his fingers over the cover and then, with great care, opens it up, flicking through the pages one by one.

‘What is that, Dad?’ Jamie demands. ‘Let me see.’ His hands try to pull the book and Olly swats him away.

‘You know, back in the eighties, when I was a kid, there was a recession on. Much like there is now. And it had the country on its knees. But we were doing okay, thanks to Pops’ job. I mean we weren’t rich or anything, but we had a house, a car and enough money to go on a foreign holiday every year.’

‘Where did you go?’ Evie asks.

‘A lot of Europe, the US once, furthest we got to was Thailand. Mam and Dad loved to travel and explore new places. They would spend months planning where our next adventure would take us. This very atlas here, oh boy, we could spend hours looking through it. Always on the lookout for inspiration on where we could travel to next. My suggestions to go to Timbuktu were always taken into consideration. I always fancied a trip there, for no other reason than I liked the sound of it as it rolled over my tongue.’

‘Timbuktu,’ Jamie says. ‘Can we go there?’

Olly smiles and ruffles his hair. ‘Maybe.’

I look at the children and imagine if one of us were to die now, what it would be like for them. Olly was so young to lose his mum. I realise he’s spoken more about her death these past few days than he’s done in all of our marriage. He often tells us – understatement of the year – about how amazing a mother she was – but he rarely gets into the nitty gritty about what it was like when she died.

‘I thought this atlas was binned long ago. It just disappeared one day and I think the furthest we travelled after Mam died was West Cork. I suppose Pops and I didn’t feel much like going anywhere without her,’ Olly says.

‘If he kept it all these years, it meant a lot to him too,’ I say.

Olly closes the book and then reaches into the briefcase again. A bundle of letters are tied together, parcel-like, with brown string. A Post-it note is placed on the top and Olly reads it out loud, ‘Remember, each letter must be opened ONLY on the date stated on the envelope. No cheating.’

Olly’s hands shake as he tries to untie the string, so I take it from him. We huddle in close to see what it says.

‘Open me on Friday 27th June.’ scribbled on the first envelope.

‘That’s Jamie’s last day of school,’ I realise.

‘Will we open it now?’ Jamie asks, true to form, my little impatient man.

Olly looks at me for guidance and part of me wants to say, hell yes, we’re opening them all now. I want to know what Pops has in store for us. This is way too big to just sit and wait. I want to be forewarned, because off the bat, one thing I know for sure is this – I’m not going camping for eight weeks in that yoke out there.

‘We can’t open them,’ Evie interrupts, the voice of reason. ‘We have to honour Pops’ dying wishes.’

Damn it. You can’t argue with that sentiment.

Olly takes the letters from me and reties the string, placing it back in the briefcase along with the atlas.

‘We’ll do as you ask, Pops’, he murmurs as he closes the latch on the bag. Feck that! I reckon I can steam the envelopes open with a kettle. What the others don’t know won’t harm them. I look up, feeling Evie’s glare and I swear she knows what I’m thinking. Her face is full of reproach and I feel like a naughty kid, caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Okay, maybe no steaming so.

‘Hey, Dad, what was the funeral Pops was talking about in his letter?’ Jamie asks.

‘You know, I’d forgotten all about that day, until he mentioned it,’ Olly whispers.

‘What happened?’ Evie asks.

‘Yeah, tell us what happened,’ Jamie demands.

‘I remember it was a miserable day, the rain pelting down. The kind of rain that makes it near-impossible to see where you are going. At one point Pops had to pull over and park up for a bit. It took us a lot longer to drive to the church than Pops anticipated, so we didn’t have time to get something to eat first, as he’d promised me. When the mass was over my grumbles about being starving matched the grumbling noises from my tummy! Pops reckoned if we were “super-fast” we could drive to the chipper. We could then grab something to eat and beat the funeral cortege back to the graveside.’

The children were all smiles, enjoying Olly’s tale. He always had a way with words; people listen when he talks.

‘Pops was resourceful,’ I say.

He nods and continues, ‘Luck was on our side, there was no queue in the chipper and we were back in the car within ten minutes, munching on the best chips I’d ever eaten before. I can still smell the vinegary, salty mix that filled our little car.’

‘I could eat some chips now,’ Jamie sighs. ‘My stomach is grumbling too!’

‘You’re always hungry,’ Evie interjects. ‘It’s gross.’

‘Go on,’ I urge Olly and shush the kids to be quiet.

‘Well, we rushed to the graveyard and parked up. We could see the funeral car inching its way towards a grave at the back of the graveyard. So we ran, Pops using his hand to wipe the salt from around my mouth as we went. I can still remember him winking at me as we got to the graveside. We were delighted with ourselves, our bellies warm and full, no one the wiser.’

I watch grief hit my husband’s face again, as if the memory of that conspiratorial wink is too much for him to bear.

‘So you got away with it!’ Evie says. ‘Nicely played, Dad.’

‘Oh that’s only half the story. We joined the mourners around the grave. But the priest kept referring to a “he” not a “she” that had died. We both giggled at first, Pops threw his eyes up in the air. But then his face went all serious, the laughter gone. He shushed me and he gestured around the grave and I saw that there wasn’t a single person there that had been at the church earlier.’

We all gasp once more and look expectantly at Olly.

‘We were only at the wrong grave! You couldn’t make it up, but at that exact same moment, as the penny dropped, we turned around – it felt like in slow motion – and there was another funeral procession entering the main gate. Aunty Celeste’s funeral cortege, heading to the other side of the graveyard.’

‘What did you do?’ I ask.

Olly starts to laugh. ‘We started to back away from the graveside. Both of us in long strides, trying to slip away unnoticed. But then Pops tripped over a kerb and fell on his backside, legs up in the air. I started to laugh, couldn’t stop myself and everyone turned and looked at us. The priest said loudly, “Are you quite alright?” Pops looked at me and repeated it, and sure we were goners then. We both doubled over in laughter. I could hardly pull him to his feet. The mourners were all – quite rightly – annoyed with us.’

We all join in Olly’s laughter, picturing the scene that he has painted for us.

‘How could I have forgotten that? You know, for years afterwards one of us would only have to say, “Are you quite alright?” and then we’d be on the floor, laughing again,’ Olly says, shaking his head.

‘I think Pops wanted us to laugh today,’ Evie says. I look at her and marvel at her perception. Of course Pops mentioned that story in his letter for that very reason.

‘He wanted us to laugh,’ I repeat and lean in to pick up his letter. I scan through it again, soaking up his words, trying to picture him writing this.

‘He need never have thanked me,’ I say to Olly. ‘Where else would he be, but here with his family?’

Olly smiles at me and nods. He is silent again and gestures for me to give him the letter. We all watch him as he reads it to himself.

‘He bought us a camper van,’ Olly states and we all look to our sitting-room window and take in the vehicle parked outside.

‘So cool,’ Jamie says. I’m not sure what Evie is thinking. She’s holding her cards close to her chest.

‘What do you make of it all?’ I ask my husband.

He shrugs. ‘I’m not sure how I feel myself. I’m still a bit shocked that he had been so sneaky and planned all this without me knowing. What do you think?’

I stand up and walk to the window and thumb towards Nomad. ‘Truthfully? I just don’t get what Pops was thinking. Eight weeks stuck in that small space. We’d kill each other.’

And when disappointment fills Olly’s face. I know I’m trouble. He wants to go.

Shite.

Chapter Six

MAE

Olly ignores my statement. I’ve no idea what he is thinking because he’s gone quiet again. On a normal day he never shuts up, but then again, there’s nothing normal about a day when you bury your father.

Jamie is bouncing around the room, jumping and down with excitement. He has already been begging us to let him ring his friends to boast about the forthcoming adventure. Evie isn’t saying a lot, but then again it’s hard to tell when she’s enthusiastic or not these days. We can’t get her to talk – not just about the drinking, which she swears was a one-off – but about anything. I know that there is more to this than she’s letting on.

It’s not just ‘hormones’ making her moody. She’s changed. And there’s something in her eyes, fear maybe? I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. We had to put a pause on our questioning, because Pops got so ill. At least she’s already on school holidays, so at home, where we can watch her. When I rang her teacher and her principal they swore that there’s nothing going on that I should be aware of. But it doesn’t add up. I just don’t buy the story that Evie wanted to experiment. It’s too out of character. I’m missing something. At least now the funeral is done, I can focus on Evie and get to the bottom of it all. And that bloody van out there is not going to get in the way of that.

Damn it, Pops, why did you have to go and leave us, right when we needed you most? If anyone could have gotten Evie to talk, it would have been you.

I cannot for the life of me work out what he was thinking. I mean, fair enough, send us on a holiday. I could handle two weeks in Portugal; we all could. That would have been bliss. But to think that we would even consider heading off on some madcap adventure in a camper van for eight weeks is preposterous.

Of course I like the idea of teaching the children about the big world out there. It’s a noble aspiration, but surely we can do that without having to sleep in a metal box on wheels!

‘We better go outside to Aled and take a look at the van,’ Olly says, walking towards the door. Jamie is out the door before I’ve even had a chance to stand up.

‘Come in, come in,’ Aled declares when we knock on the door. I prepare myself for the worst, but as I enter the van I’m surprised. It’s larger inside than I anticipated and quite modern. Even so, we keep bumping shoulders with each other, almost tripping ourselves up as we try to fit into it. I give Olly a knowing look that’s meant to convey, Yeah, right, we’d live in this for eight weeks? Not a hope! Him giving me the thumbs-up sign doesn’t reassure me that he got my look.

We all follow Aled in single file to the left. It’s the main living area, I suppose. A sea of walnut-wood cabinets with cream-leather upholstery greets us. A bit sterile looking, really. Not a single feminine touch, but no surprise there, either, looking at him. It’s spotless and smells clean, I’ll give Aled that much.

‘It smells nice,’ Olly pipes in, as if taking the thought from my head.

‘This here is the kitchen galley. You have all the mod cons, Mae,’ Aled says, pointing out the cabinets. This irritates me no end. I mean why automatically assume that the kitchen is my domain? He’s wrong, as it happens, it’s all Olly in the kitchen these days. Fair enough, I’ve never been Rachel Allen but I always enjoyed cooking. But since Olly lost his job, he’s taken over all domestic duties and won’t hear of me doing a thing. When I think about all those times I used to complain about how little he did to help around home, I want to kick myself. Those were the good old days.

‘There’s not an inch of space not utilised for storage,’ Aled continues and I murmur something that I hope sounds encouraging. My back is playing up and I wonder: would it be bad if I left them to do the tour without me?

Aled then directs his attention to the living area in front of him. A table sits between an L-shaped sofa bench in cream leather with a second sofa along the other wall. There are several more cupboards in walnut suspended above this.

‘Sit, sit,’ Aled tells us all. ‘It’s proper comfortable.’ He beams as he tells us this, like he’s showing off a prized poodle or something.

And like obedient children, we all sit as directed and Olly compliments Aled on his soft seating. I try hard not to giggle at how wrong that sounds. When Olly glares at me I only want to laugh harder.

He then points up to the right-hand-side corner, ‘You’ll be happy to see that I’ve satellite TV too. Now then, Jamie and Evie, you’ll enjoy that, won’t you? It has all the channels. Now here’s my top tip for you. Get yourself one of those Apple TV thingamajigs. That way you can watch Netflix anywhere you go. Right now I’m on series three of Orange Is the New Black. Oh, it’s addictive that one!’

Evie does perk up a bit at this news and Jamie starts searching for the remote control so he can switch on the TV to try it out.

‘I have to tell you, Aled, this has a lot more mod cons than the caravans I used to holiday in as a lad with Pops,’ Olly says. ‘Don’t you think, Mae?’

I shrug, but I have to concede this much. ‘It does appear to be well equipped.’

‘Oh, we’ve come a long way, for sure,’ Aled nods in agreement. ‘I have friends who live all year round in their camper vans. Proper little homes on wheels they have set up. Truth be told, I’m happiest myself when I’m in Nomad here.’

‘Why did you sell it then?’ I ask, and I try to hide the smirk that appears on my face. ‘If you love Nomad so much, why not keep it?’ I think that’s a fair question. Go on, get out of that one, Aled.

He leans in close to us, all conspiratorial and says, ‘I’m getting married! Me. Fifty-four years old, a confirmed bachelor, I thought, forever. Sure, who’d have me?’

His face crinkles up in joy. ‘I’ve met a woman. Proper lady she is, called Edith. And wait till you hear how we met! Only on the “I love the open road” online forum. Oh that’s a cracking website. You’ll all be needing to join that I’m sure. Lots of like-minded folk, all happy to share tips, a life-saver, I can tell you, on more than one occasion when I’ve been on my travels. Well, anyhow, you see I was having some problems with my water pump here on Nomad. It was scalding the water. I couldn’t shower without putting my life in my hands. And would you believe that Edith was having the same problem? So we got chatting online about what could be wrong and between us we sorted it out. Wasn’t it a problem with the pump for both of us in the end? Would you credit that?’

Olly and I both nod along in unison like a pair of nodding dogs. Despite myself, though, I find myself enraptured with Aled’s tale of love amongst the camper vans.

‘So we’ve spent the past few months chatting and then we decided to meet up. Truth be told, I was a nervous wreck. I never thought I’d ever meet a woman who would show any interest in me. I know I’m a little odd. I don’t mind telling you I was shaking when I parked up Nomad next door to Almost Home.’

‘Almost home?’ I ask.

‘Edith’s camper van. Oh, it’s a beauty. Same model as this, but a newer version and it’s got the woman’s touch. Cracking job it is.’

Aled looks wistful, as if he is thinking about his fiancée. And, despite myself, I’m touched. He may well be a stranger, a man who I only met an hour ago, but even so, I’m happy for him. There’s someone for everyone out there, it seems.

‘We proper hit it off, the second we met. Before I knew it, I was proposing and she only said yes. So we’re getting married next week. And then we are off on our honeymoon in Almost Home.’

I can feel my mouth drop open as I listen to Aled’s romantic tale and tears spring to my eyes before I can stop them. My teeth feel watery – you know the way they go when you are about to cry. It’s as if the water springs up in every orifice in our bodies, isn’t it? Why I feel so upset at such an upbeat tale of love I don’t know, but it has thrown me off balance. I glance at Olly and time falls away like the autumn leaves on a tree.

‘I’ve never been so cold in my life!’ I shiver as we walk into the warm pub. A long walk on the beach seemed like a good idea until the wind whipped up so strong that it nearly pushed me into the ocean.

‘Go over to the fire, darling, and I’ll get the drinks.’

As I stand in front of the crackling fire, I watch my boyfriend and feel like the luckiest girl in the world. He comes back with Irish coffees and we sit in front of the fire on two bar stools, hip to hip, our hands clasped around the glasses.

‘You’ve got cream on your nose!’ Olly laughs and I dip my finger into his cream and put a dollop on his nose too.

We’re being silly and the look from the barman, who clearly thinks we’ve lost our minds, only makes us laugh more. We’re giddy from love. The world is a small place and only includes us two. I love this man so much that I can’t bear to be apart from him.

‘Marry me,’ Olly says, cream still on the tip of his nose.

‘What?’ I shriek.

‘I said, marry me. I love you Mae, I can’t live one more moment not knowing that we’re going to be together forever. Marry me? Please?’

‘Congratulations!’ Olly enthuses and starts to pump Aled’s hand up and down, bringing me back to the present. I blink away tears quickly before anyone notices. When did Olly stop calling me ‘darling’? I can’t remember the moment and that feels wrong. I just know he doesn’t any more. And the grief at the loss of a simple endearment that used to make my insides sing makes me want to weep. Instead, I turn to Aled, ‘I’m happy for you. And Edith too. Congratulations.’

‘She’s waiting for me in the hotel. We’re going back on the ferry tomorrow morning. Tonight, I think we’ll just have a nice meal and a walk along the quay. It’s a cracking town, Wexford is. I’ve had many a happy time visiting over the years.’

He then walks over to the driver and passenger seats and tells us that we won’t want to miss this. He swivels the seats around, so that they are now part of the living area.

‘Ta da!’ he exclaims, clearly thrilled with this specification.

‘Very handy,’ Olly tells him and sits in the driver’s seat to try it out for size. ‘Comfortable too.’

Oh dear. Olly is angling the mirror to suit him and has begun flicking switches on the dashboard. Jamie jumps into the passenger seat and starts swivelling it around, over and over, squeals of delight with each turn.

‘Safety belts here and here,’ Aled tells me, pointing to the seating in the lounge. ‘Don’t worry about the children travelling at the back. It’s all taken care of. Safe as houses back here they will be.’

I am beginning to feel quite overwhelmed by it all again. Now that Aled is back doing his sales pitch, he begins to sound like one of those pushy time-share reps. Olly and I had the misfortune to spend time with one on a holiday years ago.

‘I want to go up there!’ Jamie shouts, pointing to the canopy bed over the driver’s cab.

Aled chuckles and pulls down a ladder from it. ‘This is one of the double beds on board. I sometimes like to sleep here just for the hell of it. To mix things up, if you like. Although I usually sleep in the master bedroom at the back of the cabin.’

Jamie clamours up and lies down, exclaiming, ‘Wow! This is so cool. Come up here, Evie!’

Evie looks at Jamie in horror. ‘Over my dead body.’ She then turns her back on him, making sure he is under no illusion that the subject is closed.

I hide my smile, but am jubilant that I have at least one ally in my anti-Nomad camp.

‘There’s also two single beds here,’ Aled tells Evie, pointing to the sofas. ‘You can have one of those if you don’t fancy sharing with your brother. It sleeps six people, you know. Follow me and I’ll show you the master bedroom and the bathroom.’

‘Sleep in the kitchen?’ Evie says, horror all over her face.

‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to,’ I whisper to her. She doesn’t answer me, but I think I see a flicker of gratitude in her face.

Olly and I walk after him and I notice with a frown that my husband seems more animated than I’ve seen him in years. He cannot possibly be considering keeping this?

Aled opens a door and we peer inside a small bathroom with a toilet, sink and a minuscule shower. It’s spotless and smells of lemons.

‘The water and heating system is fantastic. You’ll not be worrying about cold showers in Nomad. But here’s a top tip for you all. It’s easier to shower in the facilities that most campsites offer.’ He winks at Olly and me.

‘Oh and don’t worry about being cold. I’ve camped out in the iciest of weathers and been warm and toasty inside Nomad.’ He tells us this with utmost sincerity.

‘Right! This here is the master bedroom.’ Aled opens a small door that appears to be floating in the wall. He then pulls down a hatch below it to reveal a little step-ladder. He ushers us to climb up into the master bedroom, which in fact is a closet with a double bed in it. Over the bed are – yes, you guessed right – cupboards right up to the ceiling.

‘Lots of storage here too,’ Aled tells me and I stifle a groan.

‘I don’t see any wardrobes?’ I say. I mean where are you supposed to hang your dresses?

Aled lets out a belly laugh and wipes at his eyes theatrically. ‘Wardrobes! You are funny!’

Olly starts to laugh too, followed by Jamie, who both seem to think that the Welshman is a stand-up comic. I cannot for the life of me see what is so funny about there being no wardrobes in a camper van. I mean it appears to have cupboards in every possible spare inch, why not a bloody wardrobe?

I feel like the outsider in our family once again, out of sync with the rest of them. I never seem to quite get the same jokes as them these days. I should be used to that feeling by now, but I’m not. Only a few hours ago, when we were driving home, it felt like the old days – us four against the world. But with every peal of laughter that they are all now emitting, I feel more alone.

Damn you, Pops, what the hell were you thinking? Have you any idea of the trouble you are going to cause with this stupid trip you’ve planned?

‘Now the beauty of this model is the large garage you have on board. Come with me and prepare to be amazed.’ Aled walks quickly out of the cabin outside and we all follow. He’s practically skipping with excitement as he disembarks from the van.

Jamie rushes to get out the door first, so that he doesn’t miss any of the excitement.

‘Cracking,’ I say and Evie sniggers. Olly throws a look of irritation my way and shushes me.

Aled opens a door at the back of the van and I realise that what I would refer to as a large boot, he is in fact calling a garage.

‘Proper tidy,’ he boasts. ‘Not all campers have one this size, you know.’

I’m a bit embarrassed when he catches me throwing my eyes up to the heavens.

‘I like to say that there’s room for a lot of junk in your trunk on my Nomad!’ he tells us. He starts to laugh at his own joke again and everyone laughs heartily with him. My smile feels false, who am I trying to kid?

But then Evie walks over to me and whispers, ‘It’s lush,’ with a mischievous glint in her eye. I could hug her. I wonder, will Olly shush her too? But he just smiles at her. Right, it’s just me who is not allowed to make any jokes.

I shiver, despite the warm evening. I have this weird sensation, as if I’m looking at my life from a distance. I see Olly and Jamie, with big grins on their excited faces, as they listen to Aled wax lyrical about Nomad. I see Evie, watching me, worried, because she can see that I’m not enjoying myself. And then, there’s me, standing to the left of everyone else. I’m a sorrowful sight with a frown that makes me look twenty years older. And once again I don’t recognise myself. Do I even fit in this family any more? I’ll never leave my children, I couldn’t live without them, but maybe, to be the kind of mother they deserve, I need to leave Olly. Maybe, we’ve come to the end of our road and we should just accept that. Split custody of the kids. Others make that work, we’re reasonable adults, we can too.

I touch my phone in my jacket pocket, knowing that there are several unanswered text messages from Philip. I haven’t been in touch with him since Evie’s hospitalisation. I swore back then that I’d never talk to him again, that I’d draw a line under the flirtation. Because that’s all it was in fairness. A flirtation that nearly tipped over into dangerous territory.

But why, then, haven’t I deleted him from my phone? Now there’s million euro question.

‘Isn’t this so cool?’ Olly says. No, it’s not one little bit cool, Olly, and if you bothered to look at me, to give me more than a cursory glance, you’d know that. But you don’t care how I feel. You are going to do exactly what you want.

‘And you will be delighted to hear that you have a bike rack, too, so no need to use up the garage for that,’ Aled says.

‘That’s handy,’ Olly nods with approval at the news.

‘We’re not a biking kind of family,’ I say at the exact same time.

‘Not yet anyhow,’ Olly jokes at me and the realisation that we are in trouble here solidifies. There’s no doubt about it, he’s totally carried away with the whole farce of us heading off in this van.

‘You know, I’ve toured with a two-man canoe, a marquee and a folding table and chairs all in this garage here. You’ll not get a better van for storage than my Nomad,’ Aled tells us.

‘Our Nomad, don’t you mean?’ Jamie says and everyone laughs again. We are quite the jolly group.

I’m about to tell him that we’re not the canoeing type of family, either. But he’s gone before I get the chance and at the other side of the van talking about water tanks and sewage and electrics. I switch off because I have no intention of ever getting my hands dirty with any of that nonsense.

‘Is it diesel or petrol?’ Olly asks. Oh boy! He’s taking this way too seriously.

‘Diesel. 2.8L turbo. Proper nippy when you get on the open road, let me tell you.’

Olly nods at him with a goofy grin plastered on his face. He’s picturing himself driving on an open road right now, I can tell.

I resist the urge to give him a thump.

Aled then stands up straight and tells us to close our eyes. Seriously, he actually tells us to close our eyes for a big surprise, like we are kids again waiting for a bag of buttons. Olly, Evie and Jamie all do as they are bid, much to my amazement, and I feel I have no choice but to join in the madness. That or once again be the party pooper.

Maybe I am behaving like a child, but I can’t help myself. I have to take a peek. What on earth is he up to? It takes me a moment to work out what it is, but then I get it and to be fair to Aled, it is quite cool. He’s pulled down an awning from the roof and it transforms the van – doubling its width.

‘Ta da!’ He smiles triumphantly at us all. ‘This is the best thing I ever got installed. If it’s raining you can still sit outside and watch the world go by. A whole new room for you to enjoy. Proper tidy. Put your table and chairs out under this and, trust me, you’ll never eat indoors ever again.’

‘Can’t you just imagine it? Us all sitting under the stars in front of an open fire,’ Olly says, that dreamy look back again.

‘Can we have s’mores, Dad?’ Jamie asks him.

‘You don’t even know what a s’mores is,’ Evie yawns theatrically. Yep, I hear you. I’m bored of all this Nomad-talk too.

‘They always have them in movies, stupid. I’ve been wanting to try one for ages,’ Jamie states, sticking his tongue out at his sister.

‘Son, you can have anything you like,’ Olly states, ruffling his hair and I sigh. When was it decided that we are going to go anywhere in this rust bucket?

‘Why don’t you all have a good look around and let me know if you have any more questions? Then who wants to go for a drive? I reckon it’s time to take Nomad on your maiden voyage. Edith and I are staying in the Riverbank House Hotel tonight. A real treat. We don’t normally stay in hotels, but we thought we’d celebrate selling Nomad. If you could drop me there, I’d be proper grateful.’

‘Yes!’ Jamie exclaims, ‘I call shotgun!’ And he races to the driver’s cabin.

Olly laughs and tells him that he’ll be sitting in the back with me and Evie when we leave. ‘I better have Aled beside me for the first spin, just in case.’

And so, before I have a chance to proffer an opinion, I find myself buckled into one of the dinette seats. Jamie and Evie are sitting alongside me, their faces both alight with excitement.

‘Can we watch TV while we drive, do you think?’ Jamie asks. ‘Aled, can we watch TV?’

‘You can watch DVDs, Jamie,’ Aled tells him.

‘Cool,’ Jamie says.

Olly turns to me from the driver’s seat and the last of the evening light shines through the window. It hits his face, lighting him up in a golden glow. It changes him. He looks young – like he did when we first met. His face has seemed contorted into a continuous frown these past few months, with worry and stress for Pops and the kids. And about me too, I suppose. Well, now it’s alive with excitement and I feel guilty once again for not sharing his obvious joy. I want to. I do. I want Olly to be happy.

One problem, though – I’m not going on a crazy-assed mystery tour for eight weeks in a van. Not even for Olly.

Chapter Seven

EVIE

AnnMurphy: Heard about your granddad. Soz. Hope you are ok and not too sad.

My first reaction is, yeah, right, like you care, Ann Murphy.

I re-read the instant message on Facebook for the third time, puzzled and suspicious. Genuine or fake? She’s never really spoken to me before, so why, all of a sudden, get in touch?

She’s not part of the whole bitch-parade in school. But she stood by and watched Martina and Deirdre make my life hell for the past year and did nothing. I decide to ignore it. Just like I’ve been ignoring all of the bullshit that’s been shared on Facebook about ‘E’ from so-called friends.

I rub my temples. I still have a nagging headache. I might have been given a clean bill of health from the doctors, but I don’t feel back to normal yet. It’s all a bit fuzzy still.

Pathetic. Nerd. Weirdo. Loser. That’s the usual tone of the messages I get on Facebook.

I shouldn’t care what they think. For the longest time I didn’t. Then all of a sudden it mattered what everyone thought. I suppose everyone has their limit and I reached mine.

I suppose I could just delete my accounts. But everyone is on Facebook, Snapchat and Instagram. The stubborn part of me thinks that it’s not fair that I should stop using them, when I’ve done nothing wrong. And if I do, surely that means they’ve won.

Maybe they have already won. Maybe when I let them talk me into that stupid dare I made myself into the very thing they called me – a loser. I feel so stupid and shamed whenever I think about that. I can’t tell Mam and Dad what really happened, they’d only freak. And they wouldn’t understand anyhow. Better that they think I was experimenting with alcohol and made a mistake. I’ve not told them about the bullying, I can’t just land all of this on them now too.

I wish Pops were here. I could talk to him, tell him about the message. I try to imagine what he’d say, but I can’t come up with anything. He’s only been gone a few days, but already it’s like his face and his voice is beginning to fade at the edges. I’m not ready to lose him. I just don’t know what to do.

Jamie peeps in the door. I’ve no privacy since Dad banned me from closing my door. It’s a joke, this house. My whole life is a freaking sideshow.

‘Get lost, Jamie,’ I shout and he backs away, but he looks relieved. I know what he’s doing. He keeps checking up on me to make sure I’m alive. He thought I was dead when he found me. And now he’s worried that I’ll die too – like Pops. I hope he knows I’m sorry. I hate that I’ve upset him. He’s just a kid.

He might run around like a Duracell bunny all day and I suppose you could be fooled into thinking he was fine. But at night I know he’s scared. That’s why he’s wetting the bed again. That’s when I get scared too. That’s when I can’t switch off. That’s when I think that my brain is about to explode.

I wish I could cry. But I just feel numb most of the time. Is that normal? Everyone else seems to be crying on and off every day since Pops died. But the tears won’t come for me.

Mam keeps asking me how I’m doing. But she doesn’t really want to know the answer. She just wants me to say, fine, then she can sigh with relief and move on. I wonder sometimes what she’d say if I answered her truthfully. What if I just said, hey Mam, there’s this pressure in my brain, in my stomach, in my hands and fingers that is building up so much that I think I’m going to explode. It hurts so much. Any minute now, boom, I’m gonna blow like a grenade.

I can feel their eyes on me all the time, watching me. I know they are worried. But I can’t cope. I just want to pretend it never happened. Problem is, I can’t get away from it. My mind has it all on loop and keeps going back over and over it all. That moment when I realised I was in hospital, I’ll never forget.

They think I’m asleep. I’m afraid to speak, afraid of what they will say to me. I’ve been so stupid. The doctor has a clipboard in his hand, all official-like. He looks tired. Like he’s not slept in days. I sympathise because I feel exhausted too. And I’m sore all over. What’s that about?

They all look super-serious standing side by side, facing the doctor. I know I must be sick, because I’m in hospital, I certainly feel crap, but their faces, all kind of grey and pinched, scare me. At least Jamie is asleep on a chair in the corner. I don’t want him to see me like this.

The doc sounds really cross, it makes the hairs on my arms stand upright. ‘Your daughter has more than five times the legal limit of alcohol in her system. Enough to kill a grown man. She’s lucky to be alive.’

His words hang in the air like an accusation and nobody speaks for the longest time. I close my eyes tight and for a moment wish that I’d died earlier on. I don’t want to hear any more about the mess I’ve made of everything. But the urge to look is too strong and I peep out through my eyelashes at the drama that is unfolding. Drama that I caused. Shit, shit, shit. I’m in so much trouble.

The shock has rendered them speechless. Mam has this weird look, like she is about to speak, but she can’t get the words out. I look at the doctor, trying to get a lead on what he’s about to say. Does his countenance have the look of one about to bear bad news? Maybe. What if I’m going to die? What if I’ve done serious damage to myself? Now that the thought takes root, I realise that I don’t want to die, I want to be back home in my bedroom, reading a book. I look at the door and for a second consider bolting for it. But I’m hooked up to drips. I’m not going anywhere.

‘She’s going to be okay, though?’ Mam pleads and I’m shocked by her tone. She sounds desperate. I think Dad is half holding her up.

The doc looks at his clipboard once more but doesn’t answer her straight away. I don’t like him very much. I think he’s enjoying the power of it all.

‘Give me another chance. Please give me another chance. Please don’t take our baby away,’ Mam mutters. I don’t think she realises that she’s speaking out loud.

Oh Mam, don’t cry. I’m sorry.

The doctor’s face softens a bit and he clears his throat, ‘She’s stable.’

I’m okay. Oh. My. God. I’m okay.

‘When will she wake up?’ Mam asks.

‘Any time now.’ He gives a brief smile, but as quick as it appears, the frown returns.

I realise I haven’t taken a breath for a long time because I feel a bit faint. I exhale, just in time to hear the doctor sharing, ‘Her alcohol blood level was 0.40. Do you know how many drinks that means Evie must have consumed?’

Oh boy, that doesn’t sound too good. They shake their heads in unison, their mouths lolling open. They look ridiculous and I feel awful, ’cos I know this is all my bad.

‘I was only gone for two hours. I don’t understand how she could have gotten into such a state in such a short space of time,’ Dad tells him.

Mam throws a look of disgust at him. My bad once again.

‘Evie said she wanted to stay at home and finish her homework, she didn’t want to come with us to the cinema. I’d promised to bring Jamie as a treat because he nailed that Irish test,’ he explains, looking like he could cry any minute.

Pops murmurs something to him. I can’t catch what it is. But it seems to help because he doesn’t start blubbering.

‘Will you shut up for a minute and let the doctor talk?’ Mam snaps. Shit, shit, shit. They’re going to start fighting again. I don’t know what to do. Maybe I should tell them I’m awake, to divert a row.

‘Mae,’ Pops snaps.

‘I’m sorry, we are all under a bit of strain right now.’ Mam does look sorry to be fair. ‘We had no idea that Evie drank. As far as we both know, she’s never had so much as an alcopop before in her life. How much alcohol are you talking about?’

‘Our best estimation is that your daughter had at least thirteen units in quick succession,’ he states.

Did I have that many? I can’t really remember how many I put into the glass. They kept telling me to put more in.

‘How the hell is that possible?’ Mam says to Dad.

I remember putting the gin and whiskey into the glass. Oh damn, I put some wine from the fridge in too. It tasted horrible. Like petrol. Only I’ve never tasted petrol, but I bet it tastes exactly like my stupid cocktail did.

‘As I said, she’s lucky to be alive. We’ll talk again tomorrow.’ He walks out, but not before I catch the look of reproach on his face. Thing is, I don’t feel so lucky right now.

‘I was only gone for two hours,’ Dad repeats and he walks towards me.

I’m so sorry, Dad. Don’t be upset. It’s not your fault. It was all mine.

‘We’ve gathered that!’ Mam says. Here we go again. Ding dong! Round nine hundred and nighty-nine between my folks.

I jump when Pops speaks, his voice raised in anger. ‘What the hell is wrong with you? This is not the time to throw punches at each other. You and Olly need to pull together. For Evie and Jamie, if you can’t do it for each other.’

I close my eyes quickly, before anyone notices that I am awake. Sleep, I need to sleep some more, I can’t deal with this. With them.

I still can’t deal with it all. It’s not fair. I hear people talking about getting ‘black-outs’ after they have drunk too much. Why can’t I black out that whole nightmare, then? I jump off the bed. I need to get out of this house. Damn it. I sit back down on the end of the bed. What’s the point? I’ve nowhere to go anyhow. No one to talk to. I’m all on my own and the loneliness hits me smack across my face.

Ping – another Facebook message.

AnnMurphy: You there? School was so boring for the last week. You didn’t miss anything. Mrs Byrne actually dozed off on the last day in class. Lol.

I grin, picturing the scene, and before I can psychoanalyse any further, I answer.

EvieGuinness: Lol! What about Kent, was she still in that foul mood?

AnnMurphy: Yep. She had a go at Shauna, proper lost it.

EvieGuinness: She’s gonna blow any minute.

AnnMurphy: Like a grenade.

EvieGuinness: Pow!

AnnMurphy: LMAO hey what you at?

EvieGuinness: Nothing.

AnnMurphy: Are you feeling better?

EvieGuinness: I’m fine.

AnnMurphy: I wanted to talk to you about what happened. I feel really bad about it.

EvieGuinness: I’d rather not discuss it.

AnnMurphy: K. But I’m sorry.

EvieGuinness: K.

AnnMurphy: I better go peel the spuds. Mam has been shouting for me to help get dinner ready for ages. Chat later?

EvieGuinness: I’d like that. Laterz.

‘It’s nice to see you smiling,’ Dad’s voice takes me by surprise. He’s standing in the doorway, watching. Damn it, I need to get them to let me close my door again. ‘You want something to eat?’

I shake my head and feel my smile slip away. Dad looks like he’s going to try persuade me to eat, but changes his mind and walks out. I’m so irritated with him and Mam right now. I don’t buy the whole happy families gig that they have been on for the past few weeks. For months it’s been obvious that they can’t stand each other. The truce since Pops died is about to end any day now. I can feel it.

As for Nomad, part of me thinks, well played, Pops. Nothing suits me better than to get away from all of this drama for the summer. What have I got to stay around for? I sneak a look at the list of ‘friends’ who are online on Facebook. Are any of them really friends? Did any of them stand up for me when I was getting bullied? I don’t think so.

I look for Luke. Nope, he’s not there. The only person I want to see, but it appears that’s not the case for him. One perfect evening with him, and then he disappears off the face of the earth. Have Martina and Deirdre been spreading rumours to him about me? I thought he was different. I thought he really liked me.

Yes, we should go on this trip. It’s what Pops wants and I’ve nothing to stay here for. Although, how the hell I’ll cope living so close with my crazy family, I don’t know. At least here I can disappear to my room. Sometimes I wonder how we’re even related. I’ve always felt a little different to them. I’m not saying that to be dramatic and I don’t mean it in a bad way. We all kind of look alike, but we don’t like the same things. Dad calls me the family’s resident geek.

Pops used to say, ‘The people who make fun of geeks, usually end up calling those same geeks “boss” one day.’ Pops always knew what to say to make me feel good. I picture being Martina or Deirdre’s boss one day. I’d make their lives hell. See how they like it having someone on their case morning, noon and night. Ha!

Pops was a geek too. That’s why we got on so well. But now he’s gone and I’m all on my own. Who’ll buy me the Guinness Book of Records Annual now? I can’t remember a year when he didn’t buy it for me and we’d spend hours poring over it, checking out the new entries. A pain stabs me with the realisation that we will never do that again.

‘Time to check out the family annual,’ Pops would joke every time. Pops had me convinced for the longest time that the whole thing was named after us. We swore we’d do a record attempt one day together.

Another pain of regret. My bad, Pops. I should have made us do something when you got sick. I should have thought about you instead of all of the stuff going on in school and online.

I should have … damn it …

I pick up the 2015 album and flick through it to try and stop the should-haves driving me demented. I love reading about the crazy things people do to break records. At a guess, I would say that for almost every day of my life since I was seven I’ve read about at least one new record. Some are much cooler than others. Some are downright weird.

‘There’s nowt so queer as folk,’ Pops always says. Said. It’s past tense now. I bite my lip till I taste metallic blood. It works and I hold my own record for being the non-crying Guinness family member.

I come to the bookmarked page, the last thing I ever read to Pops. The day he died, I told him all about this guy from the Czech Republic. A dude called Fakir something or other. Anyhow, he only decided to break the record for the most days being buried alive. Why anyone would want to do that baffled us, but I was fascinated by the actual doing of the feat. Yep, Pops, you’re right. Nowt so queer as folk.