‘No, that’s my Spinosaurus. I need my Argentinosaurus.’
‘On your bookcase, but if you pack that one, then Spino . . . saurus has to come out.’
‘Aw, Mum . . .’
‘One dinosaur only, Jamie – that was the rule.’
‘How come Joy gets to take a million clothes and I only get one dinosaur?’
‘Joy had better not be taking a million clothes,’ shouted Russell from the safety of his studio.
‘She took the big suitcase, Dad, and I wanted it for my sauropods. And now she can’t get it shut properly and—’
‘Joy – you’re going away for less than forty-eight hours. You don’t need to take your entire wardrobe. Just pick up a coat, shove a pair of knickers in one pocket and your toothbrush in the other. Done. And then I won’t be giving myself a hernia trying to drag your entire wardrobe outside to the car.’
‘Mum! Dad says I can’t take any clothes with me and—’
I sighed. ‘Three tops – plus the one you’re travelling in. Two pairs of jeans. Underwear and . . . toiletries, Joy. That’s all you need.’
‘But Mum—’
‘It’s a youth hostel, for heaven’s sake,’ shouted Russell. ‘Not a fashion parade. Just pack a change of clothes in case you get wet. Which you will because the weather forecast says it’s going to be rough this weekend. I mean, yes, you could take half a dozen strappy wisps of nothing but you’re going to look pretty silly when all your mates are snug and warm in their hoodies and you’re dying quietly of pneumonia in the corner.’
‘Quietly?’ I said, grinning, sticking my head round his door.
He paused, standing in front of his easel, brush in hand. ‘Oh. Yeah. You’re right, Jenny.’ He raised his voice. ‘Forget the quietly, Joy. Never going to happen. Unlike the pneumonia.’
‘No one in this family does anything quietly,’ I said. ‘It’s ten past, everyone. We have to . . . be out of the door by quarter past. Anything not . . . packed now gets left behind.’
Given the ensuing packing frenzy, I actually wasn’t sure that was the right thing to have said. And it would probably be a very good idea to go and check exactly what was being rammed into suitcases and sports bags. On the other hand – did it matter? It was perfectly possible – actually, it was very likely – that Jamie would wear the same pair of underpants throughout the entire weekend no matter how many pairs I put in his bag. And we all knew that Joy would wear every item of clothing she possessed throughout the same time period, so I suppose, in the end, they cancelled each other out.
I’d said quarter past because this is the Checkland family and assembling more than one of us at any given point and at any given time is a bit of an uphill struggle. We didn’t actually need to depart for another thirty minutes, but I always build in at least half an hour’s arguing time.
As a family we have a great deal to say for ourselves. Well, Russell, Joy and Jamie do. I don’t. I have a bit of a stutter. It’s nowhere near as bad as it used to be although it does come back if I’m tired or anxious. It can be quite difficult to get a word in edgeways sometimes. Most times. Mine is a very . . . articulate . . . family.
Although not this weekend.
This weekend was School Trip Weekend. Russell had been counting down the months, then the days and now the final hours. I had more mixed feelings. This was the first time both Joy and Jamie had been away without us and it was certainly the first time they’d been away overnight. Two nights actually. They were bubbling with excitement at the thought of getting away from their parents. One of their parents – Russell – was bubbling away for exactly the same reason. I agreed that yes, it was good they were looking forward to their trip. That they were independent. That they were confident enough to see it as an adventure rather than abandonment – but deep down, I couldn’t help wondering if just a little sadness at being separated from their parents might not be such a bad thing. They could at least pretend. Just a little bit.
We assembled outside in the farmyard by the water trough. The official Checkland assembly point.
Our farm – Frogmorton Farm – is not particularly picturesque. ‘Ramshackle’ is a word frequently used to describe it. No black and white timbers or thatched roofs. It’s built mainly of red brick and Russell always says the windows look as if they’ve been hurled randomly at the building by a bad-tempered giant. It eats money and never ever looks any less dilapidated no matter what we do to it. Russell says it’s a bit of a mystery and he’s baffled. Andrew, his cousin, says it doesn’t take much to baffle Russell.
The barn and stables are flanked by oddly shaped wooden sheds – original purpose unknown. Opposite them is the big gate to the lane. Another gate opens into Boxer’s field and a third leads to our biggest field, which is frequent home to Martin Braithwaite’s surplus sheep. Sensibly, given the weather forecast, he’d brought all his livestock in under cover, so the field was empty.
The yard was comparatively uncluttered, which, given the way the wind was blowing us around, was just as well. The water trough is heavy and never likely to blow away. The chicken coop is also a substantial affair, with several new wings (!) and another storey added over the years. Since it was usually weighed down with sleepy, overfed chickens who hadn’t quite got the hang of exchanging board and lodging for daily eggs it seemed safe to assume that wasn’t going anywhere, either.
All doors were bolted. Everything firmly secured. We could safely leave for a while and, fingers crossed, it would all be here when we got back, because the weather forecast was not reassuring. A big storm was brewing. There had been images of swirling masses of weather enveloping Britain on the breakfast news, and flood alerts and gale warnings were being broadcast. I cast a glance around at the tossing tree branches and heavy, scudding clouds.
‘Should we bring the animals in before we go, do you think?’
‘No,’ said three voices simultaneously.
Russell was slinging cases into the boot. ‘We don’t want to lose momentum, Jenny. Never allow the herd to scatter.’
‘Herd?’ said Joy indignantly. ‘Mum, Dad’s calling us a herd. That’s pretty disrespectful.’
‘Please get into the car – we’re going to be late,’ I said.
We weren’t, but I’m quite an expert at deflection.
Everyone climbed into my car. The gate was already open and we pulled out into the lane. The Checklands were on the move. Finally.
Just a word about us – the Checklands.
Joy is technically a teenager, but in reality she’s been a teenager since the age of two. And we still have another five years to endure. Russell says to hang in there because one day a mature and responsible adult will emerge – just like him. He never appears to be aware of the silence following this remark.
Jamie is . . . well, Jamie. Completely dinosaur obsessed. Apparently he’ll grow out of it and it could be worse. Although when questioned closely, no one seems to know how. Russell says he’ll either grow up to be massive in the field of dinosaurology and able to keep his parents in the manner to which we’d love to become accustomed, or we’ll have to lock him in the attic for the rest of his life and tell everyone he’s gone to live abr. . .
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