Page 33 of In the Same Boat

‘A surprise sounds fab,’ I say, trying to sound like I mean it.

Mum’s eyes widen and brighten in a way I should probably be more suspicious of.

‘I already have a place in mind – somewhere we haven’t been before,’ she says. ‘I think you’re going to love it.’

I really do hope I love it, because I’m building up a picture in my head, and I don’t want to be let down. I’m imagining somewhere nice – the Lakes, maybe somewhere in Scotland, or even a city break in London. Either way, all I’m seeing is relaxation, food, cocktails. No laptops or site visits. No Jon saying, ‘Just to play devil’s advocate on this one for a minute…’ as though the devil needs more representation anywhere.

Mum looks so pleased. Not just pleased with herself, although there’s definitely some of that. Pleased to be arranging something for the two of us – a break. A real break. Not just from work but from being stuck in the same loop at home.

She crosses the kitchen and pulls me into a hug.

‘I’m so looking forward to this, darling, you’ve made my day,’ she says into my hair.

She smells like her usual perfume and the particular brand of hairspray she has used for as long as I’ve been alive. Both smells that make me think of home – as a concept rather than a place.

‘Can I at least know if it’s hot or cold?’ I check.

‘Warm.’

I suppose it is summer here, but it does rule out a trip to the South Pole, at least.

‘Abroad?’

She taps the side of her nose.

Okay, so probably not abroad, if she’s not answering that one. Then again, I didn’t think she would be whisking me away to the Bahamas. Blackpool makes more sense.

I can’t believe it. I’m taking a break. An actual break. On the one hand, I’m excited. On the other, I’m wondering what happens when I finally hop off the treadmill for a while.

Here’s hoping I can still stand.

8

SAMMIE

By the time we leave Nice airport – yep, Nice in France! – I have managed to convince myself that whatever my mum has planned is probably, at the very least, going to be restful. So far, so good. The flight was great, the destination is beautiful, Mum is in a fantastic mood – so easy-breezy – so I need to follow in her footsteps. This actually seems like it could be just what I need.

She’s started strong, in a way that gives me confidence. I didn’t even know that she was planning something abroad, so anywhere feels like a bonus, but she’s doing it all with style. Well, no one sips champagne in an airport lounge, has the comfiest seats and then lands in France and checks into whatever the equivalent of a French Travelodge is, right?

I still don’t know the details of where we’re going exactly but knowing we’re in France has my imagination piqued. I’m imagining flaky pastry, delicious coffee, fresh bread, more cheeses than I can name. Oh, it’s going to be great from a food perspective alone.

A driver takes our cases without making a fuss, and opens our doors for us, which feels incredibly luxurious to me because the last time I got a taxi the driver didn’t even want to stop the car to let me in, never mind open the door for me. It’s nice, having one less practical thing to do. Like I’m on holiday from absolutely everything.

My mum slides into the back of the car beside me with the expression of a woman who does this sort of thing all the time, when I know in fact that she doesn’t, and she would probably be squealing with glee were the driver not here.

‘This is nice,’ she says.

I glance around the car. It is very nice – unaffordably so, to the likes of me. I hope she hasn’t gone too wild, digging into the money she has set aside to buy her next home. She deserves a nice holiday though, after losing my stepdad, and my dad years before that. It must be difficult to move on, when things feel so temporary.

The seats are cream – and cream is such a luxurious colour, because you can only afford to have it if you can afford to get it dirty. Everything smells expensive – the leather, the diffusers on the vents, I can even smell the driver’s aftershave.

There is bottled water in a little compartment between us, cool air con blowing and soft classical music playing.

‘Mum, you’ve really splashed out,’ I tell her.

She smiles.

‘Maybe,’ she says.