Chapter 4
We decided to travel in late September when the school holidays had ended, the weather would still be good and the ticket prices came down.
At the end of the week, we would meet up with Harriet’s godmother who was very enthusiastic about us coming and by then had taken an executive decision and reserved three cabins on the ship for us.
We would get the train from Worcester Shrub Hill to Paddington, and then from St Pancras to Paris, clutching our Global Interrail passes in our hands.
Yes, the price had gone up considerably since Anna and Harriet had gone all those years ago, but at least we did get a seniors’ discount.
There had to be some advantages to being over sixty, even if using them did make us feel even more ancient.
‘I’m beginning to wonder about the backpack,’ Anna said a few days beforehand. ‘How on earth did we manage back then? I could fill mine with just knickers and my makeup these days to be honest.’
‘Of course, we can take cases but not huge ones, because we’ll be the ones dragging them around,’ Harriet warned.
‘Perhaps we should compromise and take backpacks for everyday use, but take small wheelie cases as well,’ Anna decided. ‘We’re not barbarians. Perhaps your knickers are bigger now than the ones you had back then.’
‘Well, no, not really,’ Harriet bristled.
‘Only joking, silly,’ Anna said, giving her a friendly punch on the arm.
‘And how can we take enough clothes for two weeks if we don’t?’ I added.
‘Last time we found a launderette or we bought something new when we needed to,’ Harriet said, always the practical one. ‘I remember throwing away a wrap skirt in Paris because I tore it on a fence. I was fond of it too. It had a pattern of elephants round it.’
Anna raised her eyebrows. ‘I remember that skirt. I don’t know why you bought it.
Elephants round one’s bottom would never be a good look.
Anyway, I haven’t thrown any of my clothes out for years.
I’ve probably still got the cheesecloth shirt I wore in 1979 somewhere.
I mean, I wouldn’t fit into it because of the boob job—’
‘I knew it!’ I said. ‘I keep meaning to ask. You always did say you were going to have cosmetic surgery.’
Anna gave a pleased smile and patted the front of her T-shirt. ‘Best money I ever spent. That and the nose job.’
‘You had a nose job? Why?’ Harriet said.
Anna looked incredulous. ‘You must have noticed! I thought you were being polite not mentioning it! Don’t you remember my nose? It was terrible.’
‘Was it? No it wasn’t. I swear you look exactly the same now as you did back then,’ I said, peering at her.
‘No I don’t. When we were at school Miss Shaw used to call me Woodpecker, because I had a beaky nose and my surname was Wood. She wouldn’t be allowed to get away with that these days. I got very self-conscious about it,’ Anna said, obviously annoyed even after so many years.
How horrible it was to feel like that. When a spiteful or thoughtless comment could linger and damage.
But then I knew exactly how that felt. Fred had criticised, commented and belittled for years to make himself feel superior.
Not just me but our son too. And Fred had been wrong in the unkind things he’d said; Ben was not a disappointment, he was clever, he had worked hard and made something of himself.
And I did not have a naturally grumpy face which embarrassed Fred at staff gatherings after all.
I was better than him at decorating, gardening and particularly finding things he had mislaid.
And I had friends, proper friends while Fred’s colleagues in work only seemed to hang around him hoping to impress at the end of the tax year.
‘Miss Shaw was a prize cow,’ I said supportively. ‘And she had an arse the size of Jupiter. Anyway, back to the packing problem.’
‘Can I bring my laptop?’ Anna wondered.
‘We’ve been through this already. Yes if you don’t mind carrying it, and all the cables and adaptors you need,’ Harriet said firmly. ‘It’s two weeks of your life, surely you can do without Candy Crush for a few days?’
Anna huffed. ‘Perhaps I’ll just take my iPad instead. So just a phone and charger? Underwear, T-shirts and – oh heavens. What about makeup and toiletries? The last time Rupert and I went to Rye the back of the car was rammed with stuff, and we were only going to a hotel for three days.’
‘They sell shampoo and mascara in Europe you know,’ I said, having just wondered something similar.
What we were forgetting was that at eighteen one didn’t need or expect to have much luggage; at sixty-four other factors came into play.
Not the least of which were prescription medications, comfortable shoes, proper sunglasses, giant tubes of factor 50 suncream, insect repellent, a pouch of charging cables and plug adaptors and if there was room, a decent pillow.
When I was eighteen I could nap anywhere; at sixty-four I could quite easily put my back out just by sleeping wrong.
We wrangled about this for a while until Anna wondered if she could just make do with a bigger backpack but then imagined herself like a soldier going off across Dartmoor with something the size of a small car on her back and finally decided she was definitely going to take a case after all.
‘Minimalism, girls, that’s what we need to go for,’ Harriet said firmly as though a few minutes earlier she hadn’t been worrying about the weight of her hair dryer.
‘I think we should all have a final trial run and report back,’ I said, ‘and be ruthless.’
‘Gosh, I knew a girl called Ruth at college. She played the trombone so no one wanted to share a flat with her,’ Harriet said.
‘So, in fact everyone was Ruth-less?’ I said.
‘Oh, very funny.’
* * *
It was a proud moment for me as I stepped onto the London-bound train. This was what I had wanted to do all those years ago and instead I had been left on the platform as the others pulled faces at me and waved out of the window. I couldn’t have been more excited.
I was looking forward to some fun, to seeing new places and meeting new people. There might be brilliant sunny days and marvellous food to enjoy. I had company and yet at the same time I was free to experience all of it through my own eyes and with my own thoughts.
In the event, all of us had decided to bring medium-sized wheelie suitcases and we stored them without incident in the luggage bays.
Then we settled into our seats and I looked out as we passed the acres of countryside, the trees just starting to turn to their autumn colours in the bright morning sunshine.
We checked and rechecked our passports and tickets, bought coffee and biscuits from the trolley and at last reached London and the vaulted halls of the station where we rubbed the nose of the Paddington Bear statue for luck.
Then, filled with enthusiasm, we got a taxi to St Pancras as Anna said she couldn’t cope with the Underground, joined the queue for our passports to be checked, texted our families to reassure them we hadn’t got lost and had a forgettable cup of coffee while we waited to board.
Harriet, who had been in charge of most of the arrangements because she had spent years organising student trips, had booked our seats around a table for four and just as we were congratulating ourselves on having plenty of space, a tall man of about my age came to sit in the empty seat next to mine.
I said hello and gave him a small, polite smile, which he ignored. Instead, he took out a laptop, spread it over the table and started typing before the train had even started. Anna, sitting opposite him, looked annoyed and firmly pushed her magazine back onto her half of the table.
‘Lovely weather. Off to Paris?’ I said, still feeling excited and in the mood to communicate with strangers.
He didn’t look up. ‘I would have thought that was obvious.’
‘Business trip by the looks of things,’ I said. ‘We are off on an escapade.’
He didn’t answer, just nodded.
‘You might have been going to Disneyland,’ I murmured, ‘for a bit of fun.’
He looked at me and his mouth twitched a little.
‘Hardly.’
Well, not much chance of witty, excited traveller’s conversation to be had with him, I guessed.
I took a couple of sneaky looks at him. He was quite nice looking actually, or he would have been if he hadn’t had such a cross expression.
I shifted away slightly to show I wasn’t bothered and looked out of the window.
I hoped I wouldn’t need the loo any time soon, otherwise I would have to ask him to move, and he didn’t look the moveable type.
I was already beginning to regret the coffee I’d had at the station.
Across the aisle a girl was clutching a massive, insulated water flask and sucking at the straw. You wait until you’re my age, I thought, you won’t be so keen to keep hydrated then.
Even when we were getting close to the Channel Tunnel the man next to me didn’t stop typing. Occasionally he looked thoughtful and rubbed one hand through his grey hair, which was quite thick.
I tried to sneak a look at what he was doing, leaning towards him slightly. It was a report, something about customer experience and travel delays, and then – aware of me and my inquisitive stare – he shifted his screen a bit so I couldn’t see.
Opposite me, Anna had been convincing Harriet that she had definitely turned off her cooker and reassuring herself that Rupert had more than enough ready meals in the freezer, then they noticed what he did and both pulled faces at me.
I rolled my eyes and looked back out of the window, looking forward to catching a first sight of France.
My phone buzzed with a text from my son.
Ben
When are you home?
I’m nearly out of milk.
Me
Then you’d better buy some more.
All my travel details are on the fridge door. I’m on my way to France. Remember?
Honestly, he was old enough to have an ex-partner, a good job and a fancy car; surely this sort of thing wasn’t beyond him?