The Things I Should Have Told You Read online

  ‘I don’t know,’ I lie and whisper I’m sorry, which I am. She leans in close to me and we stay like that for a long time, not saying a word, but thinking about a time when we had to lock our bedroom door to stop the kids bursting in while we were naked, having sex.

  Yes, what happened to us Mae.

  Will we find the answers in this new home, over the next few weeks? Now that it’s time to leave, I’m afraid to. What if the answers are ones that neither of us can live with? What if we can’t go back and find us and instead are left with this shell of a marriage that makes us both bleed inside?

  ‘You coming?’ Mae sticks her head out her window.

  ‘One minute.’ I dive inside Nomad’s garage to compose myself. It’s crammed tight with not an inch spare. The amount of stuff Evie and Jamie have tried to sneak into the camper every time Mae and I turn our backs, sniggering when we admonish them. In fact, there’s been a lot of laughing and chatting these past couple of weeks, about unknown destinations and unopened letters. Mae and I have managed to have more than single-sentence conversations albeit about the humdrum banality of kids, school, household chores and of course Nomad. Just don’t ask us to talk about our marriage, because it all goes pear shaped then.

  Life is short. Don’t spend a lifetime regretting what you should have said to someone you love. That’s what Pops said. Problem is I’m not sure that Mae likes me much, never mind loves me. But I know one thing for sure, I can’t go on like this. I’m going to have to find my balls and ask Mae how she feels about our marriage. I’ve been avoiding the conversation because I don’t want to hear the answer, but I need to know.

  But right now I’ve got to get inside this vehicle that is the size of a bus. It’s time to see what awaits us on this adventure. Shit, it feels like I’m on the precipice of something big. I’m standing on a cliff about to jump off into an unknown world. What do I know about camper vans? Feck all!

  I pull out Pops’ letter again. We all had fun guessing where he might send us to first of all. These ranged from various parts of Ireland, to the UK, to France. There was even a wildly optimistic guess from Jamie that we might be going to America. Evie got it right in the end. Félicitations Evie! Viva la France.

  Don’t be sweating buckets, Pops said. I can feel a river running down the small of my back. Ha!

  Speaking of Pops, ‘We have Pops, right?’ I say as I jump in beside Mae. Imagine if we left without the urn on board …

  ‘Relax, he’s is in our bedroom, wedged into one of the cupboards tight.’

  Sighing, I stuff the letter back into my jeans pocket and put my seat belt on, turning the engine on. This is it, no more stalling. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake!’ Of course Nomad shudders to a halt. Only fecking stalled it.

  ‘Dad said fuck,’ Jamie shouts, causing Mae to throw a withering look my way and Evie to snort laughter.

  ‘Language,’ Mae reprimands us both and I resist the urge to tell her to fuck off too. I look at Obi-Wan Kenobi, our resident Nomad mascot, now glued to the dash. I can almost hear Pops saying, ‘Relax, lad.’ So I take a deep breath and refrain from cursing at my wife.

  I check my mirrors again – all five of them. Then realise how stupid that is, because I’m in my driveway still and there’s not much traffic behind me.

  I look at Mae to see if she’s taking the piss at my faffing around, but she isn’t laughing. She looks more concerned as opposed to enjoying my discomfort.

  ‘You know what you’re doing. You can do this,’ Mae says.

  ‘Of course. Piece of cake,’ I reply with a confidence that I don’t feel. ‘I must be getting old, there was a time I’d not have even blinked at this.’

  ‘You are not old. Your confidence has taken a battering these past few months. But just take your time. You’ve got this,’ Mae says.

  Her kindness, her understanding is nearly my undoing. She’s been saying that phrase to me ever since we met. You’ve got this. The day I met her parents. The day I bathed Evie for the first time. As I walked up to the top of the church to say my eulogy for my beloved Pops.

  ‘You’ve got this,’ Mae repeats and there’s so much that I want to say to her, but it’s all jumbled up tight in a knot in my throat. If I speak now and it unravels, I might cry and we’ll never get away. So I straighten my back, stick my chin up and move the gearstick to first and inch off at a snail’s pace. I try to ignore the whoops from Jamie ringing in my ear.

  ‘You’re right, as always,’ I say and then turn left out of the driveway, clipping the kerb as I go.

  ‘Not a word!’ I say to Mae, who pretends to zip her mouth shut whilst throwing her eyes up to the heavens at the same time.

  Glancing at the clock on the large dashboard I’m relieved to see that we have over an hour to make the thirty-minute drive. By the way I’m going, I’ll need every second of that.

  Obi-Wan, the big plastic joker, says, ‘You’d swear you were driving a bus the way you’re carrying on.’

  Ha ha, very funny, get lost, Pops.

  Somehow or other, the rest of the journey passes by without any incident. I won’t let Mae have the radio on, or the kids play a DVD in the back, which goes down as if I’ve just announced that Santa has cancelled Christmas. I’d like to see how they’d cope driving the equal of a bus for the first time in their lives. Irritated, I swipe away another drop of sweat, trickling down my face. I’ve been driving for over twenty years, never had an accident. Nor have I ever felt a moment’s stress over it. So why on earth I’m near having a cardiac over driving Nomad I don’t know.

  Focusing only on the road ahead I manage to arrive at Rosslare Harbour without further incident. I enlist the help of my co-pilot as we try to work out where we should be going. Thank goodness we left early, because we are one of the first to arrive and that means driving into my lane is simple enough.

  ‘You can turn on the DVD now if you like,’ I say to the kids, feeling guilty about my earlier narkiness with them. They have already unbuckled their belts and are up and out of their seats, wandering around. Mae takes her belt off too and swivels her seat 180 degrees so she is now facing the cabin.

  ‘This is, as Jamie would say, cool!’ she remarks and I have to agree, as I do the same.

  I put on my best Captain Kirk accent – William Shatner, of course, the original and the best as far as I’m concerned and say, ‘Europe … the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Nomad Enterprise. Her eight-week mission: to explore strange new worlds; to seek out new life and new civilisations; to boldly go where no man has gone before.’

  I take a bow as the kids whoop and laugh in response to my show. And Mae is smiling too, looking at me in that way she does sometimes, as if I’m surprising her in some way.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve forgotten how much fun you can be, Olly Guinness. It’s good to see you goofing around.’

  ‘I think I’ve forgotten that side of me too,’ I say.

  Half an hour passes by in a flash as we listen to Jamie tell us all about what is likely to happen over the next eight weeks. It’s what I like to call Jamie TV. When he was a baby, Mae, Evie and I would sit around watching him for hours. As he got older, he seemed to become aware of his fans and would put on a show for us all. Chattering, laughing, singing.

  The more we respond, the more he shows off. But it’s nice. It’s easy and it’s fun. Then a flurry of beeps from car horns makes us all jump and we realise that it’s our turn to board the ferry. I swivel round and look in my rear-view mirror to see an irritated driver waving me on.

  ‘Relax dude!’ Jamie shouts and we all giggle. Yeah, relax dude.

  I hold my hand up in what I hope he sees as an apology and, without having time to worry about it, manage to take off without stalling. And then Nomad begins her climb up a ramp, heading into the ship.

  ‘The belly of the ferry,’ Mae says and we all repeat it, laughing, not knowing that for many years to come, one of us will only need to say that phrase to set the re
st of us off into peals of laughter. An inside family joke that only we will ever get and understand.

  I look in my side mirrors again, at the convoy of caravans and trailers and camper vans all following me. I wonder if my insurance will cover us if I roll backwards and take them all out in one big dominos-like hit.

  Gritting my teeth, I inch forward, holding the clutch, with my hand hovering over the handbrake. At last I am guided into my parking spot for the journey by a smiling man wearing a high-vis jacket. I exhale and lean back into the seat. Well, I’ve gotten us onto the boat. It can only get easier.

  ‘Don’t forget your overnight bags,’ Mae reminds us all. We are staying in a family cabin for the seventeen-hour journey across the ocean, the plan being that we sleep for most of it.

  The oily smell of exhausts fills the parking bays. We all squeeze our way between the jam-packed cars and vans, edging towards the entry doors to the ferry. We climb the steel steps and make our way to the reception area to get our cabin keys. There is a buzz amongst the passengers, lots of them with children like ourselves. Excitement bubbles up inside my stomach.

  We do a whirlwind tour of the boat, find our cabin and dump our bags. Our first row of the trip erupts when Evie realises that we are in a family cabin and all sharing. She’s not one bit happy and tells us she might as well be in a prison. It feels like only yesterday that Mae and I thought Evie would never sleep the night through in her own bed. She was forever sneaking into us in the middle of the night. I miss those days.

  We grab a spot in the lounge and while away a few hours having a meal in the restaurant and watching the on-board cabaret show. I’ve seen worse. Under duress, Evie takes Jamie to the kiddies’ disco. And then it’s just the two of us and as I look around at our surroundings, I can’t quite believe that we are here. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘For what?’ Mae asks.

  ‘For changing your mind. For throwing yourself into all the preparations. I know there was a lot to do,’ I say.

  She nods, acknowledging my words.

  She doesn’t answer me at first. Continues to stare at the stage, where a magician is currently doing card tricks with a kid. Then, without turning to face me, without taking her eyes off the stage for even a moment, she says, ‘Pops said, say you love each other every day.’

  The muscles in my cheeks are taut as I bite my teeth down hard together. So she has been thinking about his letter as much as I have. Should I tell her I love her? Because I do. I’ve never stopped loving her. But before I open my mouth to tell her this, she says, ‘I suppose I came to see if we do really love each other any more, if we have a marriage worth fighting for.’

  Sometimes things are better left unsaid.

  ‘Mae …’ I begin, but cannot find words. What is wrong with me? So much I should say to my wife, yet I am rendered speechless continuously.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she replies. ‘I don’t want to fight. I’m not trying to hurt you. But Pops is right. Life is short and I don’t want to continue living a half-life any more. And that’s what we’ve been doing, Olly.’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply and hate myself for not having anything useful to say. Before I have the chance to come up with something, anything, that will let my wife know that I do love her, the kids come back, declaring the disco to be full of toddlers and ‘lame’.

  Maybe it’s the sea air, but I suddenly feel bone-tired.

  Our cabin is small but comfortable and despite ten minutes of chit chat from Jamie, we all fall asleep quickly. I think it must be the roll of the boat, but that sleep in the bunk bed is one of the best I’ve had in years.

  Another outburst from Evie threatens to negate my good night’s sleep. ‘I’m not getting dressed until you all leave,’ Evie declares, sitting cross-legged on her bunk and her face is truculent.

  Mae whispers to me, ‘I told you that her privacy, or lack thereof, was going to be an issue. She’s not a little girl any more.’

  That I’ve worked out for myself. I miss the little girl who used to sit on my lap asking me to sing songs to her. Life was a lot easier back then. For the first time since Pops’ letters, I worry that Mae is right. Maybe our family will never get into the whole spirit of camping and if so, oh boy, it’s going to be one long trip.

  ‘Go into the bathroom to get dressed, Evie. It’s a tight squeeze, but manageable,’ Mae says.

  ‘I’m starving,’ Jamie shouts pulling his PJ top over his head. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  ‘We better get breakfast so, but maybe we’ll put some pants on first, dude,’ I say and we all head to the canteen.

  ‘Our last full Irish for eight weeks,’ Mae remarks, picking up a pack of Kerrygold butter and smearing it onto her toast. Jamie declares that the sausages are the best he’s ever eaten. As I look out the large windows and take in the approaching Normandy coastline, I can’t help but agree. I feel energised and relaxed and ready to take on the world – or at least this French part of it.

  When the announcement comes over the Tannoy that we should return to our vehicles, I look at each of my family, one by one.

  ‘Let the adventure begin. I know there will be some adjustments to make, as we get used to living in Nomad, but are we up for it?’ I say. They nod one by one.

  ‘Come on, Captain Kirk. Boldly go and all that,’ Mae says.

  And we’re off.

  Chapter Thirteen

  OLLY

  When I wind down the window, a warm breeze tickles my skin. A weird bouquet of fish and oil assault my nostrils. It shouldn’t surprise me, considering our location. Mae pushes buttons on Captain Kirk, our recently named sat nav, and we are all set to go. Captain Kirk tells us that we are ‘one hour thirteen minutes away’ from our destination.

  ‘Are we going straight to the campsite?’ I ask her.

  ‘I think so,’ Mae says. ‘I’m a bit nervous about connecting Nomad to all the services. I’d rather get it done in the daylight.’

  ‘It’s not even ten a.m.!’ I say, laughing. ‘I think even I can manage to do this in the next eight hours.’

  But I’m not sorry. I’ve visions of connecting the water to the electricity and frying us all. Pretty soon, I’ve navigated my way onto the motorway and signs for Bayeux are in sight. Driving on the wrong side of the road feels alien, but I can’t help but feel chuffed with myself as I soon get the hang of the roads over here. I’m on a big road going in a straight line. This I can do.

  ‘Do you notice how many services they have? I’ve counted three already and we’ve only been on the motorway for ten minutes,’ Mae says.

  ‘I know. Not like us in Ireland, where the only toilet you can find on long trips is the ditch!’ I say.

  ‘We don’t need a toilet, we have one here,’ Jamie shouts to us. ‘Can I go now?’

  ‘No!’ both Mae and I reply in unison.

  He doesn’t need to go; we both know that. He just wants the novelty of being able to go to a bathroom whilst in transit. It’s the third time he has asked in ten minutes.

  I glance in the mirror and see Evie has her head stuck in a book. She’s got her iPod on too, lost in her own world. I try not to worry about the amount of time she spends like that. Mae says it’s normal, she’s just doing what teenagers do all over the world.

  I’m not so sure. Every time I think about her in hospital, attached to all those tubes, my chest tightens in panic, so much that I think I’m going to have a heart attack. I thought she’d never wake up and the manic relief that coursed through my veins when she did was almost overwhelming. In that moment, I looked at Mae and our eyes told each other, gleefully, joyfully, we haven’t lost her. She’s alive. She’s here. We have that second chance we prayed for.

  By some silent mutual agreement, we both avoided asking any difficult questions straight away. Maybe we were being chicken, putting off hearing answers that we were not ready to accept. Or maybe we just wanted to enjoy the moment for what it was, a joyous celebration of a loved life saved. In truth it was a bit of bot
h. So we held Evie and murmured words of reassurance to her. We smiled in grateful relief at the nurses as they came in and did their early-morning round of check-ups.

  But that was then and this is now. She’s recovered, physically at least. And I can’t help think that she’s gotten off this whole drink episode lightly. She’s been quiet and uncommunicative pretty much since then. We can put a lot of that down to Pops’ death and normal teenager hormones, but bollocks to that. I want to see Evie smile again. She’s hiding something, I know it. I can’t put my finger on what, but I need to get it sorted on this trip. Whatever it is she’s not telling us, we need to get her to open up.

  In unison Captain Kirk and Mae alert me to the fact that we are approaching our destination. As we drive up the long, straight driveway lined with green, high trees on either side, we all gasp at the view in front of us. It’s an impressive sight.

  The sun is shining bright and strong and the chateau ahead of us is like a picture from a French postcard. Shutters frame paned windows and yellow buttercups add splashes of colour on the green grass.

  It is picture-perfect. Only nothing is ever really perfect. I glance at Mae and peek at the kids at the back. To the outside eye, we are pretty much the perfect family. We look good, as long as you don’t get up too close and examine the cracks.

  ‘Wow,’ Mae remarks. ‘It’s perfect.’

  Ha! If she could read my mind now. ‘I was just thinking the same thing,’ I reply.

  ‘Cool,’ Jamie adds.

  I wind down my window, ‘Hear that?’ I ask them all.

  ‘I can’t hear anything,’ Mae says, sticking her head out the window.

  ‘Exactly!’ I reply and I can’t explain it, but the silence is energising. I feel alert and ready to take on the day. To hell with perfect! Real families never are. I just need to find a way to bring us all back together. With a little help from Pops and this trip, I can do it. I WILL do it!

  Birds are chirping amongst the faint rustling of leaves, as if they are singing in agreement with me.