“Alright,” I say, trying to stifle a smile. “Well, we’ll pull over at the next motorway services. You think you can wait that long?”
“I’ll wait!” Lucy says, her tone a bit too sure of herself, but I nod, trusting her.
Ivy turns around to face Lucy, “We can use that stop for lunch too. What do you want to eat, Lu?”
Lucy’s eyes brighten, the topic change immediately grabbing her attention. “Chicken nuggets! With chips! And ketchup! And a juice!”
I smile at her enthusiasm, glancing over at Ivy. “Looks like we’ve got our lunch sorted.”
Ivy grins. “Fast food it is.”
We pull into the services, the car slowing to a stop. Before I’ve even switched off the engine, I hear Lucy's voice from the backseat, practically panicked.
“Ivy! Ivy! I need the loo! Now!”
I glance in the rearview mirror to see her squirming as she unbuckles herself, eyes wide with urgency.
Ivy, already reaching for the door, says “I’ll take her,” before I can even respond.
The minute Ivy opens the door for her, Lu sprints off.
“Slow down!” Ivy calls after her, half-laughing, half-stressed as she hurries to catch up.
I chuckle under my breath as I step through the sliding doors of the motorway services, scanning for the golden arches. Inside, it’s a wall of noise and movement—buggies, groups of people, someone’s child mid-tantrum over apple slices. By the time I’ve wrestled my way through the queue and emerged with a tray balanced on my arm, fifteen minutes have vanished.
Outside, the sun’s glaring off the tarmac, and I spot them easily. Lucy’s on the swing, legs pumping like she’s aiming for orbit, while Ivy sits on the bench nearby, half-watching, half-wincing every time Lucy goes particularly high.
“Lunch is served,” I announce.
Lucy flings herself off the swing and barrels into me, arms outstretched. “Thanks, Daddy!” She grabs her Happy Meal like it contains a buried treasure and immediately starts rustling through it for chips.
I hand Ivy her burger. She gives me a look that’s half smile, half relief.
“Perfect timing,” she says, picking up a chip before even sitting down.
“I figured you’d be starving after chasing her around,” I reply, nodding towards Lucy, now sitting cross-legged on the bench, already three nuggets in.
“Chasing might be generous,” Ivy says, sinking into the bench with a sigh. “I mostly just issued warnings from a safe distance.”
We eat in companionable quiet, the kind that doesn’t need filling. Lucy finishes first, naturally, and hops up, crumbs on her chin, eyes bright.
“Daddy, can I go back on the swings?”
I glance at Ivy, still mid-burger. “Go on then. I’ll push you. Ivy’s earned a minute of peace.”
Lucy grins and darts ahead. I follow her over, give the swing a gentle push. She kicks her legs and lets out that high, clear squeal that only kids can manage—full of delight, free of self-consciousness.
“Faster, Daddy!” she shouts between giggles.
I can’t help but smile. It’s infectious.
A few minutes later, when she’s soaring high and entirely in her own world, I stroll back to the bench and drop down beside Ivy, stretching my legs with a quiet grunt.
“You feeling ready for the big camping adventure?” I ask, casting her a sideways glance.
She lets out a soft laugh. “As ready as I’ll ever be. I’ve packed everything, I think. Unless I’ve forgotten something really crucial. Like matches. Or my sanity.”
“I thought you had it all under control,” I tease, nudging her gently.
