The drive south was awful, almost entirely on motorways once we had hit the edge of Newcastle. Partway through, Maz passed a disc forward, and we spent the next fifty minutes or so listening to ‘Galloways’ by Jez Lowe.

“Dad?”

LC, once again daring to break a silence, even if it was filled with someone else’s music.

“Yes, love?”

“Is that the man we saw playing things the wrong way in that city?”

“What do you mean by ‘the wrong way’, love?”

“He was using his dirty hand”

Fuck you, you bastards.

“Mum will explain it to you as well, love, but some people are simply left-handed. It’s how they’re made. Nothing dirty about it”

I took a slow breath to calm myself, choosing my words and running them through my sense-checker before I spoke.

“I think what I can say… Everything those people told you was wrong. They said it to hurt you, or Mum, or someone else. We, our family, and that means you, love, we don’t do that”

We do make some fucking exceptions, though, especially for people called Nigel or Suleiman. I would always keep a little space free for that sort of exception.

She changed the subject abruptly, as children so often do.

“Are we going to see Neil again? He was nice to me and Kawan”

Maz answered that one, as I overtook a line of lorries.

“We will see Neil in a few days, love”

“Will there be more music?”

“Dad?”

I had intended a surprise, but, well, arse.

“There will be, love. Where we are going now is where I used to work with Mr Smiley Beard, and I have timed it so we can have music. Then, when we get to the mountains, there will be more, and Neil will be there”

LC was silent, possibly having exhausted her courage., but Ish was on point.

“There’s a folk club in the mountains, Carolyn, and I think there’s one in Sheffield”

“Will there be falling stars?”
Ish gave up on that one, leaving it as my own hospital pass.

“There won’t be on the first night, but then we move to a tent, and I am hoping we will have clear skies for more falling stars. What is really good is that we will have to walk some way in the dark for a meal2

And beer

“So we will be in the dark for that bit, really dark, so, here’s hoping”

Sheffield arrived, having taken its time, and I stop-started my way to the city centre, or rather the western edge of it, where I had booked a Premier Inn, with some argument.

We had, in the end, a room with a double bed and a convertible sofa, which suited three of us, but LC ended up in bed with me and Maz that night. The problem wasn’t sleeping with our daughter, but rathe explaining to the receptionist that it wouldn’t be a problem. There was a pub a short walk away, but I had other plans, which involved a taxi.

We walked into the club, and there was a round of applause and shouts of greeting, half of my office there to cheer my return.

“Mike, mate?”

“Shaun! Who’s watching the pub?”

“The wife, mate. Got a proper business head on her, and she doesn’t like this sort of music, she says. Anyway, your boss is in, and he’s put some money behind the bar for us”

He waved towards the other end of the room, where Mr Charteris himself was recovering some of it in the shape of a pint. I warned Maz before leading my family over to him, His smile of welcome seemed absolutely genuine.

“Mike! And Maz… do you do hugs?”

She nodded, but to my surprise, it was me he embraced first.

“I was talking to both of you, Mike. Maz…”

He did spend longer with her, and I asked myself what he must be feeling. Was it guilt, perhaps, for putting us in harm’s way, even if indirectly, or perhaps that deeper sense of failure in not being able to bring her back? In the end, it didn’t matter.

“Pint, Mike? I’ve put a couple of hundred behind the bar for the staff, and there’s some finger food over there. I’m told it’s only floor spots tonight. Why here, and not just at the pub, by the way?”

I indicated Carolyn.

“Because our daughter here likes the music”

“Ah. Maryam? Drink?”

I went for a summer ale, Ish choosing an IPA, while Maz opted for some sort of ‘Mexican’ lager. Caro had two glasses of coke once again, because Kawan had developed a thirst during the long drive. The barman understood, and I got a happy grin from him.

The current club chair was Dick, and as he trawled the crowd for performers, he had a quiet word with all of us.

“Don’t want to put you on the spot, Mike, except as a floor spot. If you fancy giving a little chat about where you’ve been, I’ll understand, but only if you fancy. Plenty of new faces won’t know you, but there’ll still be loads of them as will have seen the news. If I put you on last thing before the break gives you time for a, well, an informed catch-up. That suit you?”

“Absolutely fine, Dick. It’ll just be me, and I’ve got two songs”

“Chorus stuff?”

“Second one, most definitely”

I did the rounds of former colleagues and club members, many of whom seemed somewhat reticent as they were clearly trying not to open wounds that might not have healed. Carolyn sat with us in silence, broken only by a whispered question about being allowed to sing when the first ‘chorus’ appeared.

My own spot came, and I ambled out to the front, in the familiar way of fplk clubs everywhere.

“Hiya, everybody! I’m Mike, and that’s my wife Maz and our kids Ish and Carolyn over there; we are visiting from a Land Down Under and, no: I am not doing that song. Nor am I doing any Eric Bogle, and certainly no Dylan, ey, ey, ey?”

That reference got a laugh, which was a good start.

“Those of you I used to work here, know me, and I’d like to thank our boss Mr Charteris for his hospitality. Could I have a ‘thank you’ from the audience? Thank you!”

I let the noise die down again before continuing.

“Most of you will be aware that my family suffered a serious loss six years ago, only now put right. This evening is part of that recovery process, so if my singing creaks a bit, blame it on not really feeling in the mood until very recently. I have two songs for you, and they’re sort of apt. Join in, please!”

I started with ‘All Things Are Quite Silent’, a song about losing a husband to the Press Gang, which sort of fitted, and my voice did indeed creak, but the audience were in fine form.

“Now for number two, and it’s one of the best chorus songs I know, and very fitting”

‘When We Go Rolling Home’ is actually about the end of a working day for farm labourers, but it worked well for me, and that was all that mattered. I was watching my family as I led the belter of a chorus, and both wife and son had their heads back and eyes closed as they gave it their best. LC, on the other hand, was staring at her bear. I saw her lips moving, and with a little surge of joy I realised she was singing to Kawan.

It was a wonderful night, and it felt almost like that time walking back from a Cyril Tawney gig, so many years ago, as the taxi took us back to our hotel. That night, I slept spooned around Maz, as she herself spooned LC, and our daughter did the same with her bear. Once again, that seemed to keep the night terrors away from my wife.

The breakfast was adequate, but nothing like the spread Anth had treated us to, and well below the standard at the Station. Maz was bubbling away over breakfast, still reliving the previous evening.

“Seen this, love?”

She handed me a small notebook, the cover clearly adapted with stuck-on paper to read ‘Aussie Family Rhodes’.

“It’s just a collection of best wishes, darling, but so many of them it would have been too much for a card. I was worried when they gave it to me”

“Why worried?”

“That it would be a mass of e-mail addresses we’d have to reply to. Is that being ungrateful?”

“No, love. Just realistic. Anyway, there’s a cheat for that”

“Which is?”

“Global messages. One to the office, one to the club. Simple as”

Bollocks: they had me doing it.

It wasn’t that much of a drive to the camp site, but I took the Ringinglow road for the views, with an obligatory stop at the Burbage bridge for the view down the valley.

“That’s all sorts of routes right next to the path. Really easy ones, plus some harder stuff. Bottom end is a former quarry, with REALLY hard stuff. Now, we aren’t due at the camp site until the afternoon, so I thought we could just boulder here for a bit, let you get used to the rock”

“What’s bouldering, Dad?”

“Very short climbs, just trying to make a move but only as high as you can jump down from”

“Will I need my harness?”

“Not for here, love”

I packed our rock boots into a day pack and led my family down from the road until we were at the first low walls.

“Now, you lot, THIS is what we came for. This is a hand jam, and you do it like so…”