OLLY
Should I be worried about the evil eye that Evie is sending in my direction? She has me second-guessing my every move now, I don’t want to upset her. She’s been through enough. But I can’t be held to ransom by my thirteen-year-old either, who thinks she’s in love with the first guy she’s kissed.
‘Why can’t we stay one more day and leave tomorrow?’ Evie tries for the fourth time in as many minutes.
‘Because Pops has gone to a lot of trouble to organise this trip and like it or lump it, we are leaving – now!’ I tell her. She storms out of our room, muttering, whilst typing furiously into her phone.
‘She thinks she’s in love,’ Mae shrugs.
‘I don’t give a shit, Mae. I preferred her when she was sad. At least she was less vocal.’ When I clock Mae’s frown, I add, ‘I’m joking!’
‘Look, I know she’s being difficult right now. But that’s her job. She’s a teenager and she’ll always push boundaries, try to change the rules. We wouldn’t want her any other way. Being vocal one minute and then being silent comes with the territory too.’
The size of Nomad never bothered me before. I’ve been enjoying the simplicity of just a couple of rooms. But right now I’m feeling claustrophic.
‘There’s no fecking place to escape from the wrath of our hormonal teenager here!’
‘You should come hang out in my school some day. I’ve got nearly 1,500 hormonal teenagers under my care. And despite being on several acres, there’s no escape there either,’ Mae says.
‘It would be the end of me,’ I say. ‘Do we have six more weeks of her mooning over yer man?’ I ask.
‘At a guess, yes. But look, despite all the moaning this morning, she’s happy. And once we get to our next destination she’ll be fine. It’s just knowing he’s here for another day, that bothers her. But you know what? I, for one, am happy to see her mooning over a guy. I’d rather be worried about her being lovesick than worried about her being bullied,’ Mae replies.
Fair enough. I know Mae’s right. But I’m all aggravated. Everything and everyone is getting on my nerves. ‘Ask her to put her bloody phone on silent, will ya? If I hear it buzz one more time with another message from himself, I’ll not promise I’ll hold my tongue!’
‘If you push her, Olly, she’ll want to go home to Wexford,’ Mae says.
‘So what? You’d not leave if she wanted to?’ I say, horrified at the thought. I figured that the whole ‘we might call it quits at any stage’ promise was gone now.
‘I don’t want to go home. I’m having a great time. But if it was the right thing for any of us to leave, I’d push for it.’
I can’t speak I’m so annoyed. She just throws that bombshell at me, like it’s no big deal.
‘What’s really going on with you, Olly? You have been in a foul mood all morning. Last night wasn’t much better. This is more than Evie’s hormones, I know it is,’ Mae says to me. ‘Was it something in Pops’ letter?’
She hit the nail on the head first time. She knows me well. ‘Did you not think Pops’ letter was a bit short?’
‘Well …’ Mae says.
‘I mean, it didn’t say much other than tell us where we’re heading to. It wasn’t like the others.’ I know I sound petulant, but I can’t help it. ‘There was no message in this one. I’ve looked over and over to see if I missed anything. Not a bloody thing.’
‘Maybe, when he wrote it, he was having a bad day. Pain-wise,’ Mae suggests.
‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘So is that it from now on? All the letters are going to be just a few sentences and nothing more? I feel like I’m losing him all over again, Mae. All I have left of him is a few fecking ashes and those letters.’
And then to my absolute horror, I start to cry. I’m forty years old and have only cried a handful of times in my adult life. When each of the children was born. On our wedding day, when I saw Mae walk up the aisle towards me. God, she was beautiful. The day that Pops died and then at his funeral.
My head is spinning with so many thoughts. I can’t believe that this is it. I’ll never talk to my father again. Never sit down and watch the football together again. We’ll never drink a pint of Guinness together and make the same joke about saving the family business.
Mae slides in beside me on the bed and puts her head on my shoulder. ‘I miss him too.’
‘One more time. I’d just like to see him one more time,’ I say and the tears start to come thicker, faster.
‘Of course you do,’ Mae says and I see that her eyes are filled with tears too.
‘I’m not ready to say goodbye,’ I say.
‘And you don’t have to. We’ve still got more letters to come. Who knows what they will hold? But Olly, you’ve got to be prepared that they might be short. Try to focus instead on this gift – the trip he has given us.’
I grab a towel and wipe my face till it feels raw and red. It stops the tears at least.
‘And letters or not, you will always have a warehouse full of memories. What you both had is way more than any letter from him now. Don’t forget that.’
It’s more than I had with my mam, I know that. But she’s part of this too. It feels like I’m mourning her for the second time. Both my parents dead and, while I know I’m not alone, I feel suffocated from the weight of my loneliness. I want my parents. I want Pops.
Mae places her two hands around mine and squeezes hard and once again the tears take over. Finally, spent, the well of tears dries up and in its place I am left with a feeling of embarrassment about my emotional breakdown.
The pain felt inescapable, but now I wish I could take it back. This isn’t how I’m supposed to be. I’m supposed to be strong.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘That. I shouldn’t have let it all get to me.’
‘Olly, your father was the wisest man I have ever known. He said to us, straight off in his first letter, grief is inevitable. Remember that. You’ve nothing to apologise about. You earned that cry. It’s been a shit year.’
How did I get so lucky to have Mae in my life? I want to thank her, but I think I’ll cry again, if I say any more.
‘You go freshen up and I’ll grab a couple of lattes from the shop. Then we can head off. We’re all set to go. Rhine Valley, here we come.’
‘We’ll be a couple of alcoholics by the time we get home to Wexford with all these wine regions Pops is sending us to,’ I joke.
Mae looks relieved to hear me joking and kisses me. I need to get my shit together. I’ve a long drive ahead of me – at least five hours.
‘As we’ll be passing through Luxembourg to get to Koblenz, we could stop there for a lunch, stretch our legs. That way we can add another country to our list,’ I say.
‘Great idea! And once we get to Koblenz, we’ve got four days in the one spot. I’m making an executive decision that you make tomorrow a day of rest. With wine!’ Mae winks at me as she walks out the door.
As we leave France and see the sign signalling our entry into Luxembourg we all cheer and I find my good humour again. Evie seems reconciled to her fate as a lovesick teenager. She has stopped moaning that we have taken her away ‘from the only good thing in her life!’ and instead we are subjected to lots of conversations that start with ‘Luke says …’
I must ask Pops if I was that bad when I was her age. Then I stop as another avalanche of pain hits me. Of course I’ll do no such thing. I keep thinking of things to tell Pops and then in the realisation that I can’t, the pain doubles. I know that it’s all part of the grieving process. But … but bollocks to that!
I’m grateful for the long drive as it’s keeping my mind occupied. Nomad and I do fine in the slow lane, cruising along at a steady ninety.
I exit the motorway when we get to Luxembourg. ‘Let’s see where the road takes us. We might find a gastro pub somewhere, so we can try eating Luxembourgish food.’ Check me out, Mr Spontaneity.
‘With chips?’ Mae winks at me and I marvel at how far we’ve come in such a short time.
‘Get us, with our in-jokes.’ And when she smiles I feel the last of my morose feelings slip away. ‘I’m a lucky bastard.’
She raises one pretty eyebrow in question.
‘Because you’re always there for me. You can sense when I’m down. You get me. I’m sorry that I’ve been such a grumpy old bollocks.’
‘You’ve had reason.’ She lets me off the hook. I cannot lose this woman. I cannot lose us.
‘I love you.’
‘I know.’ She smiles and reaches down to switch on a CD. Soon we are driving through rolling hills and green fields with Ellie Goulding serenading us.
‘It looks a lot like France,’ Mae murmurs and she’s right.
We come across a pretty village after a few km and pull in, to park up Nomad. A quick stroll through the main street and we find a small restaurant. Evie immediately starts looking for Wi-Fi.
‘Right, so far we’ve had cows’ cheeks, shellfish and half our body weight in French cheese. What do you think traditional Luxembourg cuisine is going to offer us?’ I ask.
Our waitress speaks excellent English and tells us that the local speciality is a potato dish called Gromperekichelcher. Easy for her to say. She also recommends a pork dish called Judd mat Gaardebounen.
The pork arrives and is in a large casserole with broad beans and a thick creamy sauce. The potato dish appears to be deep-fried shredded potato cakes with onions, shallots and parsley in them. Both are gorgeous and we all tuck in with vigour. The waitress also brings us a dish called Kachkéis, which is a soft cheese, melted and served with bread. Jamie starts to sing the cheese song and we all join in, giggling.
‘We’re all going to turn into cheddar or Brie, the amount of it we’ve eaten!’ Mae says.
We all munch in companionable silence and with no bleeps from lover boy to interrupt us. It’s nice.
‘You look happier,’ Mae says.
‘I am. I’m good,’ I say. ‘Cheese makes me happy.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ Mae laughs.
‘I’m good too,’ Jamie declares. ‘Super-good.’
‘And how about you, Evie? Are you super-good?’ Mae asks.
Evie’s smile is the answer. ‘Luke posted a picture of us both on Facebook. Look.’
We look at the picture of them both in front of Sleeping Beauty’s castle. They look young and carefree. And indeed, super-happy.
‘Check out the couple auditioning for a toothpaste commercial,’ I joke.
‘You look beautiful,’ Mae tells Evie, who looks chuffed with the compliments.
‘Should I share it too?’ Evie asks Mae. ‘I’ve not posted anything for ages.’
I watch her looking at Mae for guidance, her nose scrunched up as she doubts her next move. Mae takes the phone and looks at the photo again.
‘This picture is way too cute not to share,’ Mae nods her approval.
‘What will I say?’ Evie asks, but she is beaming. ‘What if Martina or Deirdre makes a smart comment?’
‘Just say, had great fun with Luke in Disney,’ Mae advises her. ‘Keep it simple. And if I may, I have a suggestion to make.’
‘What?’
‘Remove them as friends from your Facebook page,’ Mae states and I cheer my approval.
‘But they’ll know I did that. What would they think?’
‘Who cares what they think?’ I say.
‘Life is hard enough, pet, without having those kind of toxic “friendships” in your life. They made your life hell for the past year. Remove them. And I bet by doing that, it will make it easier to move on.’
She looks down to her phone and flicks away at the screen for five minutes. ‘They’re gone. And three others, too, who’ve been horrible.’
Mae picks up her glass and makes a toast, ‘To detoxing negativity from our lives.’
And we all raise our glasses and chink them and I try not to whoop when I see the smile that is lighting up my daughter’s face.
I marvel at my wife once again. Every day she proves to me once again how much the children and I need her. She said last week that she didn’t feel needed. Well, I better change that.
We go for a quick stroll to work off the plum tart we shared after our meal. Then we fill Nomad up with the cheapest diesel we’ve yet to buy on this journey and head back to the motorway.
‘It says here we’ve another 221 km to go. We’ll be there around four,’ Mae says, looking at Captain Kirk.
I check the mirrors and see that Jamie and Evie have both fallen asleep. And when I look at their contented sleep-filled faces, innocent and pure, I feel tears prick my eyes again. It’s another lucky bastard moment.
‘We make good kids,’ I nudge Mae, pointing to the kids.
‘Yes we do. Pretty perfect.’
They awake with perfect timing just as we arrive in Koblenz. Pops has booked us into a campsite south of the town. We start to climb a steep hill, where we find the campsite right at the top. A few weeks ago this hill would have bettered me. I feel a sense of achievement that it doesn’t even cause me to break out in a sweat. I park Nomad up and we all climb out, glad to stretch our legs after the long drive.
When we walk into reception, there are two elderly ladies watching us. I smile as I approach the reception desk and say in my best German, ‘Sprechen-sie Englisch oder Franzozisch?’
I’d practised in Nomad with Mae, because I’d read it was rude to launch straight into English. So I half expect a round of applause for my efforts. Instead they throw daggers my way and one of them says, ‘Ich spreche Deutsch.’
I’ve got nothing.
‘Englisch?’ Mae rescues me and bestows on them one of her dazzling smiles. Why the hell does it work for her? Fräulein Grumpy, who was so terse to me, can suddenly understand and speaks English to Mae. She gives us a map with directions to our allocated pitch, I pay her the deposit and we make our way to our new home.
‘Wow look at that,’ Mae says as we pull into our pitch. We have an amazing vantage point and can see the whole town twinkling below us. On one bank there is a castle and on the other we can see the reflections of lights on the River Rhine.
‘You know what I fancy right now? A cold beer.’
‘Then you shall have one,’ Mae says. ‘Let’s get set up, then we’ll sip a Kronenbourg as we take in this stunning view.’
‘I’m knackered.’ I realise I haven’t felt this bone-tired in a long time. I think between my emotional breakdown this morning and the drive, I’m fit for nothing.
‘Let’s stay in the campsite tonight. The kids can explore, I’ll cook and we’ll have an early night.’
I like that plan and start my ritual of getting Nomad set up. Each time, it seems easier to master. I made sure the tanks were half-full this morning when I left, so I can leave that job till the morning. Awning up, groundsheet down, satellite hoisted and within twenty minutes I’m sitting in a chair relaxing. Mae and the kids have gone off in search of essentials.
Then it starts to rain. It’s funny, two weeks of sunshine and I’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel rain on my skin. All four of us are slightly stunned to see its return. Mae cooks pasta for dinner as we hear the rain pelting down on the roof of Nomad. I like the sound of it, like drums, serenading us.
We all tease her about not embracing her courageous palate in Germany, as she plates up our food.
‘Ein sauerkraut bitte,’ I say to her.
To which she responds by throwing a tin of tomatoes at me.
‘Your mother has a violent streak in her. You all saw that,’ I say to the kids, who start threatening to call the police.
After dinner, we switch on the TV and settle down on our couch to watch Independence Day.
‘If aliens come here, I’ll punch them in the nose too,’ Jamie declares as Will Smith heroically knocks out a green being from outer space. ‘Hit pause, I’m going to the toilet.’
‘Dad, Mam …’ Jamie screams from the bathroom. We jump up and find him standing in a pool of water. The toilet is overflowing, flushed water splashing onto the floor.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ Jamie swears.
Mae grabs some towels and starts to mop up the water and I investigate. Fucking blocked. That’s all I need.
‘Who put something in the toilet?’ I feel the remnants of my earlier good mood disappear.
Nobody answers me, but I notice Evie looking shifty. ‘I’m gonna have to go check the tank. See what’s clogging it all up. I told you all, nothing but pee down here, unless it’s an emergency.’
‘I hate you. I hate this stupid camper van and I want to go home!’ Evie shouts and walks into our bedroom.
‘What the …?’
We follow her and her body is heaving with sobs, she’s crying so much. I never said a fecking word to her. What the hell is going on?
‘I want to go home. Mam. I want to go home.’
‘Ssh. Come here. It’s okay.’ Mae ushers me away.
‘Dad …’
‘Not now Jamie,’ I say, trying to hear what’s going on behind the door.
‘Dad …’
‘I said not now.’
Then I hear crying and turn around to see Jamie with big fat tears splashing down his face and a puddle of pee at his feet. ‘I couldn’t hold it any more.’
How did we go from watching a bloody movie to me standing in a pool of piss? I mop up the mess and strip Jamie, getting him into fresh pyjamas, telling him that it’s all okay, then head outside to investigate the blockage.
It’s pitch dark and the area around Nomad is uneven. As I step down, I land in a hole, full of rainwater. ‘Fuck!’ I swear as I twist my ankle, go down in a heap. And then a stench hits me, the putrid stench of shit. I look down and realise that my hand is in a pile of dog shit.
That’s it. I have fucking well had it! Damn it to hell. Piss and shit all over me now. I try to scramble up, but the ground is wet and I slide back down again. And then I see her, Mae, standing in the doorway, laughing her ass off. I swear to God, I’ll kill her.
Then she says in between snorts of laughter, ‘Are you quite alright?’
And the red mist disappears and I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts as I remember Pops and me at the funeral, him on his ass.
‘You okay now?’ Mae asks.
‘The best.’ And I stand up and walk to the blocked toilet tank like a boss.