Chapter 2

“You have the luck of the Oirish, Rupert. I swear you do.” Abigail greeted her friend.

“Morning Abi, I’m not disputing that, but why, specifically.”

“Did you not hear? Mr Craft has some meeting that he just has to be at. So Mary suggested that the three women could drive over and Mrs Craft said she couldn’t drive all that way and what if she got lost. So then they said – what?” Rupert was making a rotating motion with his hand, meaning ‘wind it up’; he had to go to a class, and it was one he liked so he didn’t want to be late. “Ohhhh, Miss Rogers? You really are a sad case.”

“I like to be near the front so I can hear -”

“So you can see when she leans over you mean. And the skirts she wears! Unbelievable.” Miss Rogers was renowned for her open front shirts and very short skirts that rode up when she stretched.

“Anyway ... so?”

“Oh, well. In principle it has been agreed that Mrs and Mr Craft will fly over on the day, and back the next day. Mary and Amelie will drive over ... hang on! They will drive over if you can be persuaded to help navigate. Oh, and I can go with them if I like.” She rolled her eyes. “Mr Craft is so old fashioned.”

“I agree, still ... road trip! But why don’t they all fly? Just a thought, but can Mairead fly in her condition?”

“They think they would like their own car in Ireland; and Rupert, she is pregnant, it isn’t ‘a condition’”

“Bye the way, the correct term is Northern Ireland or The North. Not Ireland because that offends the Prods, not Ulster because that is inaccurate anyway, but it offends the Taigs -”

“You shouldn’t use that term, it’s very rude apparently.”

“Yes, I know. I won’t use it again, but also it is a condition, same as my condition is ‘not pregnant’; and yours is ‘hopefully not pregnant’”

“You swine!” she hit his arm with a smile. “But she may have a small one by then. I think that’s another reason not to drive. Apparently she has to go for a wee every five minutes now. That’s what Amie says.”

“Amie is exaggerating, I’m sure.” Rupert said

“Okay, well we need to decide on the route. Which ferry. Where we stay. What!?”

“Can we do this at lunchtime?”

“Oh go on you little pervert. Go and get an eyeful of – hello Miss Rogers.”

Miss Rogers swept past with a smile. She knew precisely why there was always enthusiasm to sit at the front. A boy down the corridor knelt to re-tie his laces so he could look up her skirt. “Silly boy.” she said quietly to herself. She always wore sensible pants and tights; and her skirts were short but did not easily billow to allow a view. She was twenty three, not much older than some of the boys lusting after her; she didn’t mind as long as they got good marks, she had told a teacher once. The fact was, sitting at the front, they listened, hanging on her every word; they did get good grades in their exams. If they recalled information based on the colour of her pants or bra, who cares? They still recalled the information, they still passed.

At lunch, Abi asked “So?”

“What? Oh, did I get a look? No, too late for the best seats.”

“No! Do all boys have one track minds?”

“In my experience, yes.” said Miss Rogers as she walked past their table.

“I meant, what about the route? Mary, will you be insured for North and South Ireland?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I’ll check. Why? There is a ferry from Stranraer.”

“I know, but there is also one from Liverpool.” Abigail

“Wrong and wrong.” Amelie jumped in. “It’s Cairnryan to Larne, Cairnryan to Belfast, Birkenhead to Belfast, Liverpool to Dublin or Holyhead to Dublin.”

“Oh, you’ve done your homework.” Abi replied

“Liverpool and Birkenhead are overnight ferries; Cairnryan is a long way and might need an overnight stop on the way. Holyhead would mean driving up through the Republic, with a stop possibly. All depends on how we organise it.”

Any committee discussion increases exponentially the more people are on the committee. Four people meant that the discussion extended beyond lunchtime, they would carry on later. So they all walked back to the Craft’s house to look at maps and work out a plan.

“Oh, hello Rupert, and Abigail. So glad you are both going with Mary and Amie; such a long drive. Bye the way, it took a while, but I persuaded Michael to extend the insurance temporarily to you Abigail, to share the driving. Sorry Rupert, what with you being a learner, the extra would have been quite a lot. It will be so good to have a car available and not have to rely on taxis. I’m sure you can spend a little time visiting some of the sights. Maybe there would be a caravan you could rent?”

Rupert shook his head as if to say it didn’t matter. He had messed up his test entirely, in his three point turn he had hit the kerb; that had convinced him he was done for and, so keen to get back to the test centre was he, he went at 35 in a 30 zone. To cap it all, the examiner had said he would have let the kerb bounce go as it was only light, but the speeding was an immediate fail. “Still, at least you weren’t caught on a speed camera.” had been the man’s parting comment. Rupert had promptly got totally, inconsolably, incomprehensibly drunk and had been picked up by a police car and dumped at his home with a ticking off. So it clearly did matter. The annoying thing was, he was due to retake his test the following week, but he wasn’t telling anybody that; he didn’t want the ignominy of telling people and failing again.

The option to go overnight seemed rather good, then the option to go overnight to Dublin seemed nice too. So the route turned into an escapade in finding the ‘pretty’ route, there and back. Liverpool to Dublin, Dublin to Belfast stopping off to see the Battle of the Boyne site, stay over in Belfast to see the Titanic (“Umm, You do know the Titanic sank, Amelie?” “Yes, I’m not stupid! Wasn’t there a documentary about raising it?” “No, there was a crappy film about raising it. There is a museum about it.” “Told you so!”), then out to Ballymoney for the night, drop off Pinky and Perky at the church (“Who?” “You and Rupert; who is clearly hoping to be Perky.”) back to get Mum and Dad from the airport, back for the ceremony and job done! Next day drop M&D at airport and then up to Giant’s Causeway, over for late ferry, stay in Stranraer and drive back next day.”

“Well done, Amelie.” Abigail said, “That looks like a plan. Are we sure we wouldn’t prefer a caravan? It would be cheaper.”

“Would mean staying for a week, they are only available for whole weeks.”

“I’m game. Mary? Rupert? Okay. Let’s do it. The wedding is on a Thursday isn’t it? That would work okay.”

“Other kids are planning holidays in Ibiza to celebrate end of exams, we’re going to a caravan in Northern, bleedin’, Ireland.” said Rupert.

“Nevermind, there may be compensations.” Abi responded.

“Mary? A word.” Mairead pulled Mary out for a short chat.

“Okay?” Abi asked when she came back.

“I do like my Mum, she just said to make sure we all took plenty of ‘precautions’.” then lower voiced, she added “Dad still doesn’t realise that we aren’t exactly pure any more. Oh, and Mum also said had we checked out pods? They are often available for shorter periods.”

They would look into it. They all smiled broadly; actually some holiday in Ibiza offered the prospect of instant gratification, but it was like a Pot Noodle. A sudden rush of pleasure was rapidly followed by a feeling of emptiness. Their trip to the boring wasteland of Norfolk had been a slow delightful exploration of all that was sexual rather than a sudden and gross bit of sex in some bar in Spain. They started to look forward to their trip to Sinead’s wedding.

A few days later Abigail was holding forth in the school canteen. “Do you know what? They disagree on almost everything you can think of. Presbyterians think Catholics are lemmings heading for Hell, whilst Catholics think Presbyterians have committed the ultimate sacrilege of denying the Pope is head of the church. You know what they agree about? Divorce and abortion. They don’t like to admit it, but they have the same views. If you’ve married in church then you are married by God so you can’t unmarry. And if you haven’t married in church then you are living in sin. And if you kill a foetus then you are a murderer. They both agree!

“We’re Church of England.” said Rupert.

“I think, secretly, both sides hate the Church of Ireland. Not Catholic enough AND not protestant enough.”

“I’ve never been quite sure about abortion. I mean I agree with the right to choose, for the woman I mean. But supposing Mum had opted not to have my baby brother?” Amelie said. “How do you know it’s a boy?” Abigail asked.

“Statistics. Each pregnancy is 50% boy or girl. Mum has had two girls, so it must be a boy this time.”

“Umm, right. You sure it works like that?”

“Why wouldn’t it? It’s the law of averages.”

“But, well you believe in God, suppose God decides your Mum, Mrs Craft, should have three girls?”