That’s Never You
We were nearly at the end of our journey when I became aware that I was sitting next to a stranger.
Syilvie, my daughter, had rented a cottage in the north of Scotland, just outside Gairloch, for her and the three children, and she had asked me if I would like to go, too. I think she hoped that I would help her with the two boys, Richard, 14, and Euan, 12.
Her eldest child, Tammy, 16, was taking up a lot of her time at the moment as she needed her mum’s support and attention more than usual.
Teenage girls can be very susceptible to their peers’ cruel jibes, and they were making Tammy’s life unbearable, both at school and on Snapchat and Facebook. There was only a small group of them, but even so, they seemed to wield a lot of power among the rest of her peers. The remarks they made about Tammy on these social media platforms were particularly vicious, and she had taken these to heart.
This had been going on for some time. It affected her so badly that she was getting thinner and thinner, and her face was gaunt and white. Sylvie was desperately worried about her and didn’t know how she could help her. She wished Tony was here for support, but he wasn’t due back off the rigs for another two weeks.
Sylvie had taken this cottage for them all and had told the children they weren’t to take any kind of technology. This was to avoid Tammy seeing anything on social media that would set her back. So instead, they were taking some games, walking equipment, and books to read, and they were going to have a good old-fashioned holiday, spending time with each other, talking, and doing things together. I had been invited as the expert on old-fashioned holidays, apparently.
I wasn’t at all sure about this. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go; I did. I loved seeing them all, and I didn’t get to be with them nearly enough. This would be a great opportunity. But being in the car with them absolutely terrified me. I would be scared that the journey there and back would weigh too heavily on me; I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else while I was there. It would spoil everything.
I remember being in the car with them just for short journeys, and they always kicked off.
“Stop digging me in the ribs,” one would say.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” would come the reply.
“Yes, you did.”
“Didn’t.”
“Did.”
“Mum, he’s thumping me”
“That’s because he’s kicking me, Mum.” That was the third one.
“Stop it, all of you,” Sylvie would shout, turning her head, while me in the front seat would take a sharp breath. Don’t turn your head. Then, holding my breath and gripping the handle attached to the door pocket so hard my knuckles were white, I would stare at the road ahead, as if so long as I was looking, I would be able to stop us hitting anything that might get in the way, but then she would whip her head back quickly, and I would breathe out, relieved, only for it to start again, even worse.
“Mum, he’s banging his leg against me.” Sylvie would reach behind her, flapping her hand at whichever of them was there.
“STOP IT, WILL YOU. BEHAVE YOURSELVES,” she would shout, reaching into the back and flapping at them as if swatting flies. My whole body would stiffen. In my panic, I would think I felt the car drift towards the busy outside lane. My mouth would open to scream ‘Sylvie’, but all that would come out was a high-pitched, strangled sort of squeal, which she would hear, despite her shouting, because she would turn back.
“You alright, Mum?” she would ask, a hint of amusement in her voice, while my insides were a sobbing mass of fear. This sort of scenario was played out every single time I was with them in the car. By the time we got wherever we were going, my nerves were in shreds, and it took them longer to recover with each passing year.
So, when she asked me, I didn’t want to go. Mainly because of my experiences with them and journeys, but also because the older I get, the more aware I become of my mortality. And with the number of cars on the road increasing, it is becoming more obvious that the car is one mean killing machine, especially in the wrong hands, which to me is anybody’s hands, not even my own, and this is the reason why I no longer drive, and why I don’t like being with someone else driving. But I now had six months till I had to make up my mind.
I only heard from Sylvie twice during that time, and both times she was in quite a state and not very coherent. I managed to calm her down enough for her to tell me that things weren’t going well with Tammy. However, both times Tammy had gone into the room, causing Sylvie to abruptly change the subject. Privately, I suspected she was doing her usual and shouting too much, but I never said that to her, of course.
When it came time to finally make up my mind, I decided I would go, because I felt Sylvie could do with my support.
They came to pick me up on a sunny early August morning, and despite the brightness of the day, which usually made me feel good and energised, my stomach was feeling rather nervous and jittery, and I tried not to think of the long journey ahead.
Sylvie didn’t know exactly what time they’d be with me, so I got myself ready early and then just sat waiting. The longer I sat, the more I worried, and the more I worried, the worse I felt, I had been waiting over an hour and had just decided that I wouldn’t go after all, when a toot on a horn announced their arrival.
Sylvie put my case in the boot of the car, I got in the front, and off we went. So now, here we were, children in the back, driving on a dual carriageway, and so far, my worst fears hadn’t been realised.
“I’m hungry, Mum,” said Richard.
“And me,” Euan agreed.
“How about you, Mum?” Sylvie said, glancing in my direction.
“It seems like it’s been a long time since breakfast,” I said. “So, I wouldn’t mind getting something.”
“Ok,” said Sylvie. “Look out for the services.” I don’t know how far we had gone before Richard spotted a sign, but his shout of triumph when he saw it cheered us all up.
Tammy wouldn’t come with us into the services, so she waited in the car while we all went. The two boys were pleased to see a burger place there, so we all had a burger and fries to go. Euan picked up a couple of sachets of tomato ketchup on the way out. When we were settled in the car, Sylvie, who hadn’t wanted anything herself, set off and rejoined the dual carriageway. To my relief, the journey had been uneventful, and I had relaxed a bit.
“Mum, tell Euan to stop it; he keeps shoving his beefburger under my nose,” Tammy’s voice sounded whiny. I felt my muscles tense. Here we go.
“No, I’m not,” said Euan.
“Aww, Mum, he’s got tomato ketchup on my trousers. I’ll never get it out,” Tammy was tearful. And there you have it. The beginning of a perfect demonstration of why I didn’t want to come in the first place. I was so tense it felt as if premature rigor mortice had set in.
“Mum! How am I going to get it clean?” Tammy’s anxiety was rising, and I felt a full-blown tantrum was imminent.
I waited for what surely would come next. But it didn’t come.
“It’s all right, Tammy. We’ll clean it when we get there,” Sylvie’s voice was gentle, placating. Her hands stayed on the wheel. Her body was still. Only her eyes flicked up for a glance in the mirror.
“Richard, give Tammy your serviette to wipe it, please.” Sylvie’s voice was quiet but firm. Richard passed it to Tammy.
“It’ll stain,” Tammy wailed. Sylvie didn’t move, didn’t shout.
“I’ll sort it out when we get there. Don’t worry.” Sylvie’s voice soothed. Inside the car, we all felt as if we were being stroked, lulled into a state of peaceful calm.
I turned my head and looked at her. She was dignified, controlled, and confident.
Who was this stranger I was looking at?