The journey back to England is much more straightforward than the outgoing one. They take their time, sharing the driving, making regular calls home to check on Nigel and Petunia, camping in Calais for a night to give Isaac a chance to keep up with his work, and generally enjoying the feeling of freedom and lack of pressure. Taking the scenic route wherever possible, they wind their way through countryside populated only with long rows of vines, along tree-lined lanes mainly used by farm vehicles and through deep forests where no birds can be heard.
Lucia feels deep peace finding its way into her very bones, something she’s never experienced before, or at least not since the accident. Tommy avoids being alone with her, or maybe it’s the other way round, she can’t be sure. In any event, they seem to have reached an unspoken agreement to put their personal lives on hold and just enjoy the road trip.
As they drive, the group talk and talk as if they’ll never run out of words. Peter tells them about the ups and downs of life on the Meadowthorpe estate, Tommy spins tales of his many travels and even Isaac waxes lyrical about his new business. Polly is the only one who seems to be holding back. She’s happy to mention her sister but never gives any real details of what happened before the tragedy or the circumstances of how Reggie came into being.
On the final day, as the van trundles towards Calais and their first experience of the tunnel, Peter makes an announcement. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he says, glasses in their usual place on the end of his nose as he unfolds the last French map of the trip.
The others all cheer and guffaw loudly. Everything’s making them laugh today. ‘Shut up and let him speak,’ Polly says eventually. ‘I know we’re pleased he’s been thinking, but give the guy a break.’
Peter bows to her and continues. ‘And what I’ve been thinking is this. I’m feeling so much younger since we started on this adventure. What I’d really like is a good long walk. Where exactly are we going next, Tommy?’
‘I was going to suggest we go straight to the seaside, maybe Weston-super-Mare or Burnham-on-Sea, but my favourite hills in the whole country are nearby. How do you fancy exploring the Quantocks?’
‘It sounds like a nasty disease,’ says Isaac. ‘As in, I’m feeling okay apart from a slight touch of the Quantocks?’
Polly splutters but Peter frowns at Isaac. ‘I can see you have yet to experience the splendour of those particular hills, my boy. I agree with Tommy. An experience everyone should have,’ he says. ‘Let’s go hiking!’
The windows of the van are open and the cheers that greet this suggestion make a cyclist that Isaac’s overtaking wobble so much he nearly ends up in a ditch. Lucia, checking in her mirror to see that he’s recovered his balance, gives the man a wave. The resulting gesture could be understood in any language.
‘I think it might be a good job we’re leaving France,’ she says, laughing. ‘We’re starting to outstay our welcome. Next stop, Somerset and Tommy’s hills. We can share the driving, stop every hour to give Reggie a break from his car seat and be there by teatime. Can someone find us a campsite?’
‘Mum, are we getting the hang of being impulsive at last?’ Isaac whispers to Lucia as he follows the signs for the tunnel.
‘Do you know, Isaac, I rather think we are,’ she replies. ‘And about time too.’