For some unknown reason, most people were up later for their breakfast the following morning. The exceptions, of course, were the four young people nesting in the Edifice, who were clearly audible, even through earplugs, from shortly after dawn. I popped my plugs out just in case we were to be visited by a lively LC, only to hear the typically calm voice of Jan as she corralled and fed the child pack. By the time I finally surfaced, they were gone, apparently delivered by Shan’s Mum Ginny to the children’s play area.

Priorities at that age are somewhat fickle.

The day was almost identical to the previous one, though without the bus ride, which sounds boring but was far from it. We ate another decent breakfast in the sun, culinary and cleaning duties having rotated again, we ambled around the ‘Village’, we ate ice creams (delivering some to abandonous infants), watched a variety of dance sides and musical acts on the Village Stage, while our older offspring disappeared for cooly aily practice, gathering together for a light lunch in the food tent, where another impromptu session was underway.

Maz sat with her thigh pressed against mine, both of us in shorts and T-shirt, as I followed up an idea that had come to me, as usual, at about two in the morning.

“I could get Used to this life, Mr MBR”

“Well, Mrs MBR, I’ve been doing some research”

“Do tell”

“There’s a regular festival in about six weeks at Hillary’s”

“Yes, but that won’t be camping”

“And there’s one in November in the forest inland from Mandurah”

“Ooh! Can we see if there are tickets?”

I showed her my phone screen.

“They had some”

“When you say they ‘had’ tickets…”

“They had them, we now have them”

I expected a snog, but what I got were tears. Di was nearest to us, and she looked shocked, reaching over to take my wife’s hand. Maz simply squeezed it, then released the clasp to wave reassurance.

“I’m so sorry, but it’s just, well… Things don’t go away. I sit here, and it is wonderful, and I KNOW it’s real, but every so often, my subconscious says ‘This is a dream’ and that when I wake up, it will be back in that place, and each time Mike, or you, or whoever, each time you do something amazing--- something ELSE amazing--- I get the terrors. Mike, darling?”

“Yes love?”

“Like our little voices, way back, yes?”

She wiped her eyes, giving us all a smile; weak but yet a smile.

“My beloved man here has just shown me two dates for later this year, for music, and that’s another thing I never had: planning for a future. Actually having a future, in essence. Nobody here has done anything wrong, quite the opposite, but it’s like… It’s like managing to get my head above water, and the breathing is wonderful, but I can’t forget the drowning”

She grimaced, before adding, “I’ll be fine. Just taking time to get used to being free. It was fine when we were climbing, but now, I don’t know. Too many choices available, all at once. Now, who’s on tonight, big name?”

Blake answered for the rest.

“Adro-Celt Sound System. Finally someone I’ve heard of”

Di gave him a Mum-stare.

“You’d heard of Chrissy!”

“That’s different! That was work”

“Bollocks was it. You were the one who bought her albums. Anyway, tonight is them, and tomorrow is Richard somebody”

Both the Woodruffs, extended edition, and the Johnsons were at her like a shot, Enfys and Alys just laughing, until Ginny asked, quite politely for her, “Is he the really miserable fu— er, sod?” and was answered by a wave of nods and a quiet whisper from Annie of “Fuck, yeah”

Kate was far saner in ger response, with a wave to Shan.

“This one’s too old now for doing kiddy stuff…”

“No I’m not!”

“…unless she really wants to. Anyway, remember there will be a massed uklear attack tomorrow, and tonight will be the lantern parade”

Maz gave me a puzzled look, which was a huge improvement over the earlier tears, and Ginny explained.

“They are given all wicker and coloured paper and shit, and they make lanterns, Chinesey style ones, with a tea light in, and there’s a parade when it’s dark, so we’ve got to hang around here for a bit, cause we haz gotz kidletz what haz gots lantlightz”

Something else I had missed in watching over son and wife, or perhaps while lazing in the sun. Not good, Rhodes. Alys was the voice of reason, yet again, but I was steadily discovering that being said reasonable voice was remarkably easy when competing against Shan’s Mum Ginny, who almost outdid Steph at what her husband called ‘her hairiest’. Alys had the simplest of solutions.

“Unless someone has a specific act to see, we can hear the bands from the beer tent over there, so if we sit there for a bit after some set dancing, watch the glowwwww—er, sorry, an attack of Tom Lehrer, blame Eric and Annie. Anyway, see the lights, collect and distribute infants, and dance ourselves silly to the Afro-Celts. Sound like a plan?”

It did indeed, and after another solid meal and a turn around the dance floor after Love’s Young Dream had returned, we waited until the procession of other people’s offspring and some of our own.

The lanterns were a mixture of thins ranging from surprisingly artistic to items worthy of, well, a mother’s love, and LC’s effort was an aeroplane. Oddly shaped, with peculiar proportions, it was still recognisable, and that was a dilemma: how the hell would we be able to transport that back home?

Maz was almost back to herself once again, whispering in my ear that she knew exactly what I was thinking, and that she had a solution in mind.

“Leave it with me, my darling”

Lantern extinguished, chairs and blankets gathered and up to the Pengwern again, just as the interval was called before the Afro-Celts. Time for a beer, and it was the only one I drank until we arrived back at the Berwick Bar, because I, ME, was dancing at the front throughout the set, like some bloody teenager. It was Steph who explained it to me, or at least told me her thoughts.

“When we met, Mike, me and Geoff, that is, it was all about dancing”

Enfys was grinning as she and her wife nodded along.

“Steph trots this one out regularly, Uncle Mike. Still makes sense, though”

The redhead simply waved at Enfys.

“You say it, then”

“Okay. It’s music. Some of it makes you want to sing along, some makes you want to move to it. Music, different types for different people, it gets you wanting to be a part of it. Some people play, some simply listen and feel it, but if you don’t get some urge from hearing it, are you fully human?”

Annie chipped in.

“Our son there, and don’t blush, Daz, that’s Shan’s job. Our boy plays, er, is it ‘boss’ or ‘wicked’ these days?”

The lad laughed, calling back “Neither, Mum!”, and Annie grinned again.

“He is a superb bodhran player, Mike, and when he first realised that, he said something about the difference between being ‘at’ music and being ‘in’ it. Everybody here is like that, in our group. Not all ‘in’ the stuff, but feeling the pull. Even the kids, at the ceilidh”

Memories… I pointed at Enfys and Alys.

“Tradition time, people. Now, I am not a parent to these two, so I can’t do the usual trick of dragging out the baby photos, but I have known them for a very long time, which is their entire lives. Something lots of people commented on, when they were little, was how intent they were at the Cow, the local folk club. They weren’t just being quiet, they were listening. Music’s always been a huge part of their lives”

Annie shot Kelly a smile, and that girl’s Mark blushed bright red before smiling and giving a nod of agreement.

“Aye, it were like Kell here: found some lad, he met the family, ran away screaming. With my Granda, I’d been sort of inoculated already”

That was when I put his surname together with recent memory, and Mark nodded.

“Granda’s been busy this weekend, so he’s only here for the Monday. On at two, stay for the big session, then off Tuesday morn for a gig in Salisbury. He says he’s looking forward to seeing you all again, especially the little girl. Hang on… I like that tune!”

He pulled a bundle of whistles from his rucksack and headed for a drift of tables, already joining in with something Irish, and then out of cases and bags came fiddle and flute, bodhrans and squeezebox, banjo and bouzouki, even a cooly aily, and yet again, we were extremely late to bed.

Or early; it blurs.

Monday morning arrived, or rather continued with a lot more light. I was on dish duty for breakfast, along with our son, LC and the other three insisting on running a shuttle service of clean dishes back to the Edifice, which was helped by the simple fact that all dishes were unbreakable.

“Dad?”

“Son?”

“You know that Clar’s got a train ticket, but Di and Blake have offered a lift?”

Maz AND I had been anticipating the moment, so we had our specific ducks in a very neat row,

“Yes, son”

“Well, I was just wondering…”

“I said ‘Yes’, son”

“Do you mean…?”

“It’ll be a squeeze, but LC can take the middle seat”

At six, going on seven, LC was large enough not to need a booster seat, which was probably something to do with my genes, and Clara was skinny enough, given that my own beloved was still far too thin, but getting there, albeit slowly.

Before he could reply, I turned him to face me.

“Your Mum and I have already discussed it, so it’s not just me saying yes, Ish. LC has already said her bit. And… neither your mother nor I is deaf. At some point we will need to have a very personal chat with you about that”

He looked round, checking who was in earshot, before stammering out a reply about girls, and anatomical limits, and that she was a woman, and an adult, and, and, but it was a jumbled mess, and he looked so close to tears that all I could do was put a gentle finger to his lips.

“Not now, son. This is a very big thing for all of us, and for me and Mum, well. You are our baby, son. You always will be. We, to be honest, we’d have preferred different circumstances”

“Oh. Because she’s trans? That’s a problem for you?”

There was a hint of anger there, so I pulled hard on those thoughts of Steph, Alys, Annie, even bloody Neil’s wife.

“In one way, son, it is, so hear me out, please. Clara has massive issues in her life. We understand that. It’s not that we disapprove of Clara, it’s that we are sorry that she has been dealt the hand she has. Means that you have to stay strong. Life for all of us would have been easier without those issues, but they exist, they’re real, and so we have to dig in, as a family. That’s all. Now, want to let her know? We will be taking a slightly devious route to Cardiff, as Mum spotted some place called Slimbridge, so we shall be heading down to Gloucester, then to the Wye Valley, before the big city”

“These places, Dad: would they involve birds?”

“Might do, son”

“Dad?”

“Son?”

“I… I didn’t choose Clara. It just sort of happened. It’s all new to me, but she was…”

He paused for a while, wiped his eyes and then continued.

“Please help me make sure I don’t make a mess of it all”