Rachael Chadwick - 60 Postcards. Some people scatter ashes. She scattered words.

First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2014
A CBS COMPANY

Copyright 2014 by Rachael Chadwick

This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
All rights reserved.

The right of Rachael Chadwick to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

Postcards Norman Parkinson Ltd/Courtesy Norman Parkinson Archive

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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Hardback ISBN: 978-1-47113-430-2
eBook ISBN: 978-1-47113-432-6

The author and publishers have made all reasonable efforts to contact copyright-holders for permission, and apologise for any omissions or errors in the form of credits given. Corrections may be made to future printings.

Typeset in the UK by M Rules
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

This ones for you, Mum.

With all of the love that you could imagine,

Paul, Sarah, Hannah and Rachael xxx

Life isnt about waiting for the storm to pass. Its about learning how to dance in the rain...

Vivian Greene

Before you start this book, please buy a blank postcard to use as a bookmark.

It was 6.20am on a bitterly crisp December morning. December 6th, 2012, to be precise. And, if Im honest, I didnt exactly look as classy as I had hoped for the journey ahead. In fact, my puffy eyes and make-up-less face were not a sight that anyone would want to see at any hour of day, let alone at that time. This is way too early for me! The brisk winter morning was a very severe wake-up call, which was going to be helpful as we were running a little late. An occurrence I am definitely used to, Im afraid. We were scuttling down Regents Canal from my house to Kings Cross St Pancras as quickly as our sleepy bodies could carry us. It is just a stones throw away but it seemed like a million miles on that morning. Hurrying along with me were Katie, one of my housemates, and my school friend Beth, who had travelled up from Exeter the evening before. We rushed through the station, over-sized bags in tow. One bag was taking a lot longer than the others to drag along. Katies suitcase was broken and we couldnt help but laugh at her lagging behind. Of all the suitcases to bring! I was calling another school friend as we ran. Bethan (two people with Beth at the beginning of their name I know, this could get confusing) must still be on the tube I got her voicemail. No problem, we would meet her there. As we walked through the entrance to the station, we spotted her and we all embraced, hugging as if we hadnt seen each other for years. (It had only been a matter of weeks, but this time was different! This was special.)

Oh, the sleepiness was over and we were now wide-awake and raring to go. Reality was kicking in. This was it journey time! Tickets check. Passport check. Pants check. We were ready to board the Eurostar. Destination Paris.

By the time wed passed through security and were boarding the train, the excitement level had risen even further; our outdoor voices were in full force. I can only imagine the fear of fellow passengers, Oh, please tell me those girls are not sitting near us. I mean I can only imagine it now. I definitely couldnt at the time I flew through the aisle to find my seat number, a shadow of my former (sleepy) self. Bethan and I had booked seats next to each other but Katie and Beth had separate seats in coaches miles away. They decided to take a chance and took the two empty seats behind us assuming, understandably, that they would be kicked out when the rightful owners arrived. But amazingly, as the train departed no one came. You may think amazingly is a bit strong. It does sound a little dramatic, I grant you. But, you see, it was a full carriage. Every single seat was taken. Every one! Apart from the two Katie and Beth were in. A stroke of luck! And it turns out that it was not the first bit of luck that we would experience on this trip.

We took it in turns to hit the buffet carriage (no offence to Katies pre-made picnic snacks) to stock up on breakfast croissants. We were preparing our stomachs for the dietary delights that would be devoured on the weekend ahead. It dawned on me at the time how like a school trip it was being on a train to somewhere fun, being over-excited and nattering away with your best mates. Except this time we were adults (supposedly) and we were allowed to drink alcohol even better.

It may have been first thing in the morning but, naturally, not long into the journey we cracked open a bottle of Champagne. Sorry, did I say Champagne? It was probably cava, come to think of it. (I would just like to point out that drinking at 7.30am is not a habit of mine.) We made the unanimous decision that pretty much the only time you can get away with sipping morning bubbles is on the way to Paris. Especially on your first ever visit to the city, which it was mine. Keeping our British roots close to us, we poured the bubbly into none other than Keep calm and keep drinking red cups. Pure class. It was celebration time we were going there for someones birthday. But, not only that, we were on a mission. This was no ordinary city break.

In true school-trip style, we spent the journey laughing, joking and turning around in our seats. The people in seats 21a and 22b were probably wondering what the fuss was about. If only you knew! I had celebrated my own birthday on the previous weekend and the build-up to this trip had been huge mainly because it just meant so much to me. Before we had even finished our croissants and our glasses of fizz (which I was no longer sipping, as such), we were through the tunnel and looking out at the French countryside. Bonjour! The phone network soon changed to LOrange (or something similar) and we said farewell to our Wi-Fi, with a wave to the far-too-overused Facebook and Twitter. Now that certainly wasnt an issue in my school days I dont think I even owned a mobile phone until I was about fifteen years old. Ah, the days where you had to call someones landline to speak to them or even arrange a time and a place to meet in advance and hope for the best!

After a read of our books, a little practise of our franais and after I had, so kindly, finished off the rest of the bottle (hiccup), we pulled into the Gare du Nord dans Paris (insert French accent here). I realised as I stood up that it was not only excitement that I was dizzy with. We hopped (I stumbled) off the train and, for some reason, I thought that this would be a great opportunity for me to stop in my tracks and take a picture of the Eurostar logo on the side of the train. This would have been a good time to take the shot, if it werent for all the other people piling off the train. I gave up pretty quickly and the girls reassured me, in a very cheeky manner, that it probably wouldnt be the last chance I would get to take a photo of the Eurostar logo, given that I resided in Kings Cross. Good point. And so, I put the camera away for now.

We queued for a taxi outside the station. I was preparing to use my (terrible) French but, of course, as I got into the car I decided it would be easier to show them the address written on a piece of paper.