You, I think,and how much I love you.How privileged I am to have such a wonderful human in my life. Luke, and how lucky I was to meet him at the time I most needed help. The beauty of the world, its endless potential, the scary but scintillating prospect of a whole different future opening up in front of me. Of loneliness and loss and how easy it is to find yourself thinking that you need to carry it all on your own shoulders; of the joy at realizing that maybe you don’t. That if we dare to take a risk, to step outside our own isolation and our own worries, there is a kaleidoscope of wonders just around the corner. Of the mysteries of what is yet to come.
“Oh, you know,” I say, smiling up at him, “just Henry Cavill.”
Chapter 11
We spend the night parked up on an isolated field in the midst of sweeping mountains and conifers. The lake itself is perfection—quiet, secluded, chilly even after a day of sun. It really is easy to feel completely disconnected from the real world that we know exists around us.
After getting permission from the landowner, we settle on a spot that is surrounded by hills, sheep our only neighbors. There is no traffic nearby, no other people, nothing but us and this primeval landscape. We hire kayaks, and eat, and lie around on grassy banks, and talk of everything and nothing. It is the warmest it has been so far this summer, and it feels inconceivable that the storm that caused so much destruction happened in the same universe.
Much of the area around the lake is traffic-free, so we make the short hike back to the van as the sun starts to sink, and Luke grills up some fish on the barbecue. He’s quite the chef, I have discovered, having mastered the art of cooking on the move. I had years in an actual house with a full-sized kitchen and never made much progress. After our meal, we settle into a mutual silence. Charlie is sprawled on the grass, looking at hisphone. Luke is playing his guitar, picking out tunes that I half recognize. I am writing—another review of our day.
“What ya doing, Mum?” Charlie shouts up, without ever taking his eyes from the screen. Who says the younger generation can’t multitask?
“Being all creative and stuff. That piece I wrote yesterday has been quite popular.”
“Wow—are you, like, Insta-famous now?”
“Yeah. I broke the internet by describing the toilet facilities in Malham. But, well, it got a little thumbs-up sign from a lot of people, and some nice comments saying how well I’d brought it to life. The whole thing, not just the toilets.”
I steel myself for the inevitable mockery, but I am actually quietly proud of myself. I enjoyed writing it, and the fact that people enjoyed reading it is a bonus. It feels nice, gives me a tiny warm glow inside. Writing again feels a bit like coming home, rediscovering part of me I assumed I’d lost.
“That’s great,” Charlie replies, surprising me by not taking the piss at all. “You should set up a blog or whatever. Chronicle our amazing journeys... You could call it ‘The Lady in the Van’ or something.”
I meet Luke’s eyes and we both smile. Uncultured youth.
“I think that’s already been done, love... Plus, I don’t know how to do things like ‘set up blogs or whatever.’ You know I can barely manage WhatsApp.”
Charlie sits up, and Betty looks at him disapprovingly. She was sitting on his chest after all. “I’ll do it for you. I’ll make you a page, keep it simple, so just do some words and maybe pictures and then I can upload them. It’ll be fun. I can look back on it when you’re old and I’m changing your diapers and say, ‘Ah, well, she wasn’t always like this...’”
“You should,” adds Luke, before I can reply to the diapers comment. “I read it. You’re a good writer. You have a way of making things feel vivid. And you’re funny too. It could work.”
Huh. He’s read it, and he liked it—for some reason that gives me a little glow of pride.
“Yeah,” says Charlie, now looking even more interested. “I can set up some social media around it—Insta and Twitter and TikTok.”
“Easy there, tiger—that doesn’t sound like me at all!”
“It wouldn’t need to be you. It would be me, in disguise. Family effort—me, you, and Luke.”
There is a slight pause right there, in our chatter and in Luke’s guitar playing. A family effort. We have not been together for long, but I know what Charlie means—and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it. This is temporary. This is transient. This is fun—but it is not family.
Charlie seems unaware of what he has said and blusters on, planning world domination and sponsorship deals: a book, a TV show, a collection of Luke’s recipes. He has a whole franchise planned within minutes, while I’m still reeling from the fact that he now seems to see Luke as part of our family. I know Charlie has always wanted more—always wanted a bigger family unit. I wonder if that is why he has fallen so easily into this, accepted our changed circumstances with such apparent nonchalance. He’s taken to Luke with such speed and such ease, and to be fair, I can totally understand that—so have I. But for Charlie, I wonder if it is more. If Luke is somehow becoming a father figure to him?
I’m also finding it strange that neither of us seems to be missing our old life. That neither of us has yet had a swearing fit because of something we lost in the storm, or had a meltdown about being so unmoored, so unsettled. What does it say about our old lifethat we both seem to have abandoned it so readily? If you’d have asked me what our life looked like before the day of the storm, I’d have said it was good, content. There were worries, there were anxieties, but I didn’t feel like they were dominant. I think, with a bit of space and distance, that I now see I was fooling myself—I was riddled with tension and could never even imagine a way out. I told myself I was happy. I told myself it was how I wanted my life to be. I told myself it was the best thing for Charlie. Now I am starting to wonder if that could have possibly been the case—I am not missing a single thing about home and am pondering whether it was all style over substance. Having a pretty garden does not make your life perfect, and losing everything has made me realize that I actually had little to lose. As for Charlie, there has to be more to his newfound bounce than the usual carefree approach to life that teens can have—maybe he was ready for a change too.
I don’t have time to process any of it, because Charlie has already decided that this is game on and disappears back inside the van to start looking at domain names. Wowzers.
After he has gone, I turn to Luke and say: “I think he’s wasted going into science. He should be doing business studies.”
“Can’t knock his enthusiasm. He might be right, you know—you should give it a go. If nothing else, you’ll enjoy it. Charlie was telling me that you used to want to be a writer. Maybe it’d be good to find your passion for it again.”
I am momentarily disconcerted by the idea of Charlie chatting to Luke, letting him in on all my guilty secrets. But Charlie is an easygoing lad, open, full of warmth—it doesn’t surprise me that he is finding this easier than I am. He has had less time on the planet to develop calluses, to understand the need for self-protection.
“Passion? I’m not sure that’s the right word. Anyway, what about you? What’s your passion?”
“You’re trying to change the subject. This isn’t about me. But, to answer your question, I don’t know yet what my passion is. I’m still looking, and in the meantime, I settle for contentment. But is he right? Is that what you wanted to do?”
“Many years ago. Before real life took hold. Then it just seemed... silly.”
