The Things I Should Have Told You

‘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.