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?’
The Things I Should Have Told You Page 5