The Things I Should Have Told You. Carmel Harrington

just accept that. Split custody of the kids. Others make that work, we’re reasonable adults, we can too.

      I touch my phone in my jacket pocket, knowing that there are several unanswered text messages from Philip. I haven’t been in touch with him since Evie’s hospitalisation. I swore back then that I’d never talk to him again, that I’d draw a line under the flirtation. Because that’s all it was in fairness. A flirtation that nearly tipped over into dangerous territory.

      But why, then, haven’t I deleted him from my phone? Now there’s million euro question.

      ‘Isn’t this so cool?’ Olly says. No, it’s not one little bit cool, Olly, and if you bothered to look at me, to give me more than a cursory glance, you’d know that. But you don’t care how I feel. You are going to do exactly what you want.

      ‘And you will be delighted to hear that you have a bike rack, too, so no need to use up the garage for that,’ Aled says.

      ‘That’s handy,’ Olly nods with approval at the news.

      ‘We’re not a biking kind of family,’ I say at the exact same time.

      ‘Not yet anyhow,’ Olly jokes at me and the realisation that we are in trouble here solidifies. There’s no doubt about it, he’s totally carried away with the whole farce of us heading off in this van.

      ‘You know, I’ve toured with a two-man canoe, a marquee and a folding table and chairs all in this garage here. You’ll not get a better van for storage than my Nomad,’ Aled tells us.

      ‘Our Nomad, don’t you mean?’ Jamie says and everyone laughs again. We are quite the jolly group.

      I’m about to tell him that we’re not the canoeing type of family, either. But he’s gone before I get the chance and at the other side of the van talking about water tanks and sewage and electrics. I switch off because I have no intention of ever getting my hands dirty with any of that nonsense.

      ‘Is it diesel or petrol?’ Olly asks. Oh boy! He’s taking this way too seriously.

      ‘Diesel. 2.8L turbo. Proper nippy when you get on the open road, let me tell you.’

      Olly nods at him with a goofy grin plastered on his face. He’s picturing himself driving on an open road right now, I can tell.

      I resist the urge to give him a thump.

      Aled then stands up straight and tells us to close our eyes. Seriously, he actually tells us to close our eyes for a big surprise, like we are kids again waiting for a bag of buttons. Olly, Evie and Jamie all do as they are bid, much to my amazement, and I feel I have no choice but to join in the madness. That or once again be the party pooper.

      Maybe I am behaving like a child, but I can’t help myself. I have to take a peek. What on earth is he up to? It takes me a moment to work out what it is, but then I get it and to be fair to Aled, it is quite cool. He’s pulled down an awning from the roof and it transforms the van – doubling its width.

      ‘Ta da!’ He smiles triumphantly at us all. ‘This is the best thing I ever got installed. If it’s raining you can still sit outside and watch the world go by. A whole new room for you to enjoy. Proper tidy. Put your table and chairs out under this and, trust me, you’ll never eat indoors ever again.’

      ‘Can’t you just imagine it? Us all sitting under the stars in front of an open fire,’ Olly says, that dreamy look back again.

      ‘Can we have s’mores, Dad?’ Jamie asks him.

      ‘You don’t even know what a s’mores is,’ Evie yawns theatrically. Yep, I hear you. I’m bored of all this Nomad-talk too.

      ‘They always have them in movies, stupid. I’ve been wanting to try one for ages,’ Jamie states, sticking his tongue out at his sister.

      ‘Son, you can have anything you like,’ Olly states, ruffling his hair and I sigh. When was it decided that we are going to go anywhere in this rust bucket?

      ‘Why don’t you all have a good look around and let me know if you have any more questions? Then who wants to go for a drive? I reckon it’s time to take Nomad on your maiden voyage. Edith and I are staying in the Riverbank House Hotel tonight. A real treat. We don’t normally stay in hotels, but we thought we’d celebrate selling Nomad. If you could drop me there, I’d be proper grateful.’

      ‘Yes!’ Jamie exclaims, ‘I call shotgun!’ And he races to the driver’s cabin.

      Olly laughs and tells him that he’ll be sitting in the back with me and Evie when we leave. ‘I better have Aled beside me for the first spin, just in case.’

      And so, before I have a chance to proffer an opinion, I find myself buckled into one of the dinette seats. Jamie and Evie are sitting alongside me, their faces both alight with excitement.

      ‘Can we watch TV while we drive, do you think?’ Jamie asks. ‘Aled, can we watch TV?’

      ‘You can watch DVDs, Jamie,’ Aled tells him.

      ‘Cool,’ Jamie says.

      Olly turns to me from the driver’s seat and the last of the evening light shines through the window. It hits his face, lighting him up in a golden glow. It changes him. He looks young – like he did when we first met. His face has seemed contorted into a continuous frown these past few months, with worry and stress for Pops and the kids. And about me too, I suppose. Well, now it’s alive with excitement and I feel guilty once again for not sharing his obvious joy. I want to. I do. I want Olly to be happy.

      One problem, though – I’m not going on a crazy-assed mystery tour for eight weeks in a van. Not even for Olly.

       Chapter Seven

       EVIE

      AnnMurphy: Heard about your granddad. Soz. Hope you are ok and not too sad.

      My first reaction is, yeah, right, like you care, Ann Murphy.

      I re-read the instant message on Facebook for the third time, puzzled and suspicious. Genuine or fake? She’s never really spoken to me before, so why, all of a sudden, get in touch?

      She’s not part of the whole bitch-parade in school. But she stood by and watched Martina and Deirdre make my life hell for the past year and did nothing. I decide to ignore it. Just like I’ve been ignoring all of the bullshit that’s been shared on Facebook about ‘E’ from so-called friends.

      I rub my temples. I still have a nagging headache. I might have been given a clean bill of health from the doctors, but I don’t feel back to normal yet. It’s all a bit fuzzy still.

      Pathetic. Nerd. Weirdo. Loser. That’s the usual tone of the messages I get on Facebook.

      I shouldn’t care what they think. For the longest time I didn’t. Then all of a sudden it mattered what everyone thought. I suppose everyone has their limit and I reached mine.

      I suppose I could just delete my accounts. But everyone is on Facebook, Snapchat and Instagram. The stubborn part of me thinks that it’s not fair that I should stop using them, when I’ve done nothing wrong. And if I do, surely that means they’ve won.

      Maybe they have already won. Maybe when I let them talk me into that stupid dare I made myself into the very thing they called me – a loser. I feel so stupid and shamed whenever I think about that. I can’t tell Mam and Dad what really happened, they’d only freak. And they wouldn’t understand anyhow. Better that they think I was experimenting with alcohol and made a mistake. I’ve not told them about the bullying, I can’t just land all of this on them now too.

      I wish Pops were here. I could talk to him, tell him about the message. I try to imagine what he’d say, but I can’t come up with anything. He’s only been gone a few days, but already it’s