We are home again.
Home in a sort of sitting on the taxi rank way, anyway, because of course it is Saturday, and the world is having a party, and we can earn some much needed cash.
The weather changed amazingly in the night. We had a glorious day yesterday, but in the night we were woken up by the camper van rocking in huge gusts of wind and lashing rain howling in from the sea, which was thrilling, like being in a cabin on a ship, snug and dry and safe, except obviously without the sickness and the noise of crockery crashing about in the galley and the being afraid of drowning.
By morning the rain had stopped and the sky was an absolutely brilliant blue, but the winds must have been blowing in straight from the Arctic, because they were icy, and we were so pleased that we had had yesterday for cycling and sitting in the sunshine outside the camper in our deckchairs.
We had intended to go ice skating before we set off back this morning, but when we woke up poor Lucy was shivery and hot. Her eyes were pale and watery in that way that shows that somebody is not at all well, and she had a sore throat and earache, so we stuffed her full of drugs and put her back to bed and set off for home.
It was a nice drive home, apart from feeling sorry for Lucy. Blackpool is set in the middle of miles and miles of rolling farmland, and it was green in that glorious fresh springtime way that makes you realise how hungry your eyes have been to see it after the muddy weariness of the winter landscape.
Mark drove, and I read my book, not my new Waterstones one, which I am saving as a joy to come, in the way one does with extra-nice books that don’t have a library date and an inexorable fine and disapproving lady at the counter. It was the epic history of the Civil War which is absorbing my spare minutes at the moment. I like it because I know what happens in the end, so there are no nasty surprises, but also because the bits that happen in the North have got people in them whose names are still around today, and the thing is, quite a few of them have got distant descendants who have family members at the children’s schools.
This makes the whole thing very exciting. It is almost like being able to put faces to long-dead story-book figures, maybe Lord Somebody Something who read the letter to King Charles just might have looked a little bit like George’s dad looks today. I can imagine them all so much better, and all the awful horrors and dreadful upsets of that ghastly time seem almost tangible, it makes for a gripping read. It made the journey pass very quickly, and almost before I realised it the roads were lined with daffodils and cherry blossom, and we were back in Windermere and feeling very cheerful and refreshed at the end of our holiday.
I sent Lucy off to bed and we unloaded the van. We have used it quite a few times now, so I stripped all the sheets off and Oliver carried them in and dumped them in front of the washing machine, and Mark emptied the loo, and we unpacked everything and scrubbed the bathroom and the fridge and made it all fresh and ready for next time, and them Mark took it back off to the farm whilst Oliver and I set about putting everything away and tidying up.
It was lovely to come back home. The smell of lilies and woodsmoke was hanging in the air waiting for us when we opened the door. Mark lit the fire, and in no time at all everywhere was warm and bright and cheerful, and I made pancakes with cream and lots of extra eggs mixed in, the way Oliver likes them, for everybody’s lunch, and even Lucy managed pancakes and fruit juice before going back off to sleep again.
Mark went off to work then, and I set about doing washing and washing dishes and getting everything put away tidily before I had to go as well. I would have liked to stay a bit longer, because I still haven’t quite finished organising Lucy’s packing, but we will just have to do it in the morning before we set off. There isn’t much to do, just her tuck box and a few bits and pieces, and then she will be gone, assuming she is better, of course, and the holiday will be over.
It has been so splendid. I shall miss her so much.
