CHAPTER 34
We began a series of those last-minute preparations that always remain last-minute, no matter how many aeons in advance you start them. So much to get ready, so much to sort into little boxes of my attention span. What the boys called “The French Ride” with audible capitalisation was almost on us, there was no way we were going to miss Shrewsbury at the end of the same month, we had some large social event or other a week and a bit later and Polly had apparently stolen a march on everything by starting the documentation for moving Darren’s status forward.

It was becoming obvious that in some aspects I was completely transparent to other people, even when I didn’t know myself what they were seeing. That surprised me, for surely Annie must have been spotted in the past? A little thought gave me that answer: I had, by my father, by my aunt, and each in their own way had reacted, and Annie had learnt to hide better than loving fiancée or hopeful mother had ever needed to do.

It is something very hard to explain to someone who has not shared the experience. Stephanie, Sarah, Alice, with them so much was unspoken, despite our different routes, and Eric…

There are times I look at him, and I wonder if the reason I had such a shitty life, seeing such obscenities as the visitors who will always come to my dreams, if the reason for all that isn’t simply that we are each given a certain quantity of good luck for our lives. That amount, for most people, is parcelled out through the years, but for me it all arrived in one sweaty, snoring, passionate lump.

He isn’t perfect, because dream lovers are perfect, and I have never wanted a dream lover; I wanted a real one, and he is very, very real. There was no immediate acceptance of me, no fairy story miracles, just two people who took a while to understand where their lives lay, and how they fitted together. That last phrase…

Yes, it covers sex, as any sniggering teenager would see immediately, but it is more than that. It isn’t just the body-soul incongruence that people like me suffer from and seek to mend, either, but that is a huge part of it. It’s more about how people fit together, how their differences and similarities mesh. I couldn’t think of many couples who fitted so seamlessly as Ginny and Kate, but at the same time their personalities were so very different. Inside, though, right at the core, lay love, and passion, and something I had come to value above everything else: generosity. Generosity of spirit, more than anything else, seemed to be the thing that bound my friends together in a common theme, and I realised that if there had been any one thing that had drawn my family back onside, it would have been that quality, made visible.

Love, in all its senses, just love, that was what bound us all together, what drove Sally and Polly in their work, what had dragged the souls of two broken children back from the edge of Hell. Dragged mine back, too…

We set out the preparations for the trip to France like a military operation. One of my first acts was, in fact, the most profound to date, as I walked into an office block near Victoria Station with a bundle of papers and a set of photos, and a little while later walked out with the most wonderful little burgundy booklet with that single letter that made such a huge difference to my life. Goodbye, Adam. Goodbye, “M”. I will admit to doing a little jig on the pavement, which nearly caused me to fall off my heels. And thus, new passport in hand, I was fully equipped for the long boat trip that followed.

We had decided to go by way of Portsmouth, down to Ouistreham and then across to the start line south-west of Paris, and we made quite the convoy. Somehow, the few friends the boys had lined up for support had gone forth and multiplied into an invading army.

Steph’n’Geoff had the van, of course, with bikes and camping/cooking kit, workstand, tools, tyres, everything except the giant bottle of fizzy water or advertising board on the roof. Bill, Jan, Kelly and Mark were in their car, and Kate had hired a people carrier, with seven seats, that carried the three girls, Eric, myself, and our son.

Two words, each so, so important, so delightful. ‘Our’ was what I had yearnt for, ever since I was that little girl I was never allowed to let out. “Son”…there were all sorts of formalities yet to go through, of course, but it was like the old custom of marriage by jumping a broomstick. The clever words and the stiff clothes could come later; we had made our vows already, as a family. Naomi had understood immediately, as had Albert. She saw our little army off from Surrey.

“We shall be fine, my dears. Albert is on the mend, and a rest from trying to keep up with his inner and outer adolescents will help that along. Just return our boy without too much of the lingering smell of garlic about him”

We had an uneventful entry to the ferry for the five or six hours of the crossing, finding a comfortable little spot with an array of sofas and a table, and it was all so mundane, even if the fast food was French, up until the point I started paying attention to the children. I had toured extensively with my bike, as had Eric and the girls, and all of the Woodruffs were seasoned travellers, so it was a vicarious pleasure for me to watch the faces of two who had hardly been out of their own county until we took them to dance and play, and they had certainly never been abroad. I tried to place myself behind their eyes, as French crew members chatted happily in what must have sounded like gobbledegook to them.

Well, it sounded like that to me, even with the time I had spent there. I was never any good at languages, but Steph was, and so I took a bit of a back seat as she led them through the cafeteria.

“Wossat, Mrs Woodruff?”

“That is chicken Kiev, Shan. Never had it? It’s basically garlic with a bit of chicken round it”

Darren laughed at that. “Not snogging you if you is all garlicky, yeah?”

Shan just grinned back. “If you eats some, iss all the same, and then you gets your snog, cause I am being all Froggy on this trip, innit?”

Steph smiled at me past the youngsters. “I thought these two were supposed to be shy and nervous?”

Darren winked at Shan. “We don’t need to be nervous, lahk, we got all out mums here, yeah? And our aunties”

There was a particularly devilish twist to his grin just then, and I was astonished at the extent of the blush that covered almost every visible inch of the taller woman.

“Don’t you two start, I get enough of that from Happy Feet over there. Oh, and while I am rather pleased to actually BE Mrs Woodruff, there are two of us here, two Mrs Woodruffs, and it might get just a little confusing, OK? Steph works, Aunty Steph will be sweet, but if you even THINK about ‘Steffy’ I will throw you over the side. Right?”

She had hit on a truth, though. Shy and nervous…day by day they had blossomed, come out of the shells they had closed around their minds, and more importantly they seemed to be losing that niggling fear I had always sensed in them, that all of the good life they now led was a temporary aberration, that normal service would shortly be resumed.

For Shan, it was clear that the steadiness of the family home had shown her that what could be there for her was hers to take, that there were such things as real love, freedom from fear. Darren, now; he had made his own leap, and the more I thought about it, the more I realised that in that moment of doubt, there on the cycle path under droning jets, beside a smelly stream, it had been the first time he had ever dared to ask for something important, something for himself. More than that, it had been the first time he had let himself hope that he might actually be given what he asked for.

They had chicken Kiev, and they clearly enjoyed it, even if the chocolate mousse that followed must have given them an interesting mix of flavours. Then they tried a quick snog, just to be sure.

I don’t think they found anything wrong.

I took the two of them out on deck as we pulled away and threaded the narrow harbour entrance, the Spinnaker soaring above us and the Warrior decked in flags, and tried to lock every smell, sound and sight into my memory. If the smell of a roast dinner could call back abominations, then let the smell of the sea and the scream of gulls always bring the memory of hands holding mine as we left the land.