Joanne Teague - See You in September

Copyright Joanne Teague 2013

Cover illustration

Copyright Nathan Hudson 2013

Published by Candy Jar Books

ISBN: 978-0-9927548-5-3

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Dedications:

For Danny, Will, Alice and Peter. Family memories to last forever.

How do you eat an elephant?

You chop it up into tiny pieces and you just get on and eat it, piece by piece.

See You In September is dedicated to the memory of Mark Walker, my dearly loved big brother, who lost his battle with Vascular Ehlers-Danlos in October 2012, age 56 years. You were always so much wiser than me!

MAP OF OUR JOURNEY

FAREWELL

If you invite one hundred and fifty family members and friends to your leaving party, should you be flattered or offended when one hundred and fifty turn up?

We would have plenty of time to ponder on this over the next few months; tonight was a time to share with those closest to us. A time for our final farewells before setting off on an adventure that had been so long in the planning.

The hall that we had spent the afternoon decorating with flowers and helium-filled balloons was now throbbing with 70/80s music and the excited chatter of so many friends. The dance floor heaved with the gyrations of the middle-aged reliving their glory days. Sophie, taught by her teenage son to play air guitar, was centre stage, on her second rendition of Stairway to Heaven . Others clapped and egged her on; not that she needed much in the way of encouragement.

Sally, my close friend of many years, was chatting in the far corner and was trying not to wince at the rock music. Both she and her husband are professional musicians, and a cello concerto or piano recital was more their style. Rock music and ABBA medleys were testing their endurance and the fact that they had come to the party was confirmation that they were true friends.

I looked for Danny in the crowd. Fifteen years of marriage had taught me that I was unlikely to find him on the dance floor. He was on the far side of the room, pint in hand, holding court amongst a group of his work friends, no doubt deep in conversation about the latest rugby scores.

Hiya, Jo, got you a glass of red. Jen was tottering across the floor towards me, Lyn clutching her arm for stability. They were juggling three glasses of slopping wine with a large pink box.

Youre a lucky bugger, going on this trip, said Lyn.

Got room in the boot for me? asked Jen.

Sod off! Im going if theres a spare place, said Lyn, cackling. They had obviously started the evening earlier than most. With much giggling they placed the three drinks and large box on the table.

This is for you, dont let him have it, Jen chortled, nodding in Dannys direction. A quick peek inside the box revealed an assortment of fancy face packs, face creams and body lotions.

I thanked them and offered my assurance that I wouldnt need to keep Danny away from the girly treats. Although he did do the ironing once, Danny can hardly be described as a New Man. The chances of him spending the evening adorned with a pink face pack is about as likely as Wales winning the football World Cup.

More friends were arriving and a second large box, highly decorated with ribbons and bows, was paraded in with great ceremony. Danny and I found ourselves jostled to the centre of a circle of friends, all watching us expectantly. A large label proclaimed that the box was an emergency survival kit. Inside were numerous packages each bearing their own label: paracetamol for when the wife has a headache, a nit comb for when little buggers get on your nerves, and, of course, the largest box of Kwells known to man they knew that Danny hadnt stopped fretting about the ferry travel since wed booked it.

Each gift was met with a hoot of laughter and we were egged onto delve deeper and deeper into the box. In the bottom, hidden beneath the other parcels, was an envelope containing a large sum of euros and a note signed by many of our friends saying: Treat yourselves to something special, but make sure you think of us when you do. Danny and I grinned at each other. In a rare moment of thinking alike we both knew that something special was happening.

The evening culminated in a lusty rendition of Summer Holiday Cliff would have been proud. Even Sally could be seen tapping her feet and beating out the rhythm on the table. It was time to say our final farewells.

See you in September! we chanted over and over again, until our faces ached.

The final people to leave were Jen and Lyn. Wine glasses still in hand, they gathered up handfuls of the multi-coloured balloons and made off like two naughty schoolgirls, staggering like Laurel and Hardy as they made slow progress down the corridor.

Danny and I stood hand in hand, laughing as they left. We would miss our friends. Emails and texts would help, but these could never replace catching up over coffee or sharing a bottle of wine together. The school run always provided a rich source of gossip. As we stood together, surveying the remains of the celebrations, we began to wonder whether we had made the right choices.

Itll be funny not seeing anyone, wont it? I mused.

Well be fine. Anyway, whats wrong with my company? Danny replied.

Nothing, nothing at all its just

Its too late to back out now. Just think all those months of planning and were finally doing it.

Danny was right. No more planning, no more fretting; it was time to get on with enjoying ourselves.

THE SOMEDAY PLAN

We began to believe that we might actually do it. Danny was due to retire from the RAF in 2009, and the children would not be in critical school years, so it seemed to be as good a time as any far enough away not to plan the details, but close enough to dream about.

The planning grew more intense, the itinerary grander by the day. Danny had high hopes of six months exploring Australia and New Zealand; I fancied the Galapagos Islands to see the turtles. Ten-year-old William pictured himself lion spotting in Africa and Alice (six) and Peter (five) would settle for anywhere with a swimming pool. The Great Wall of China, India, Borneo and Mexico were also thrown into the pot. So many dreams. So many fantasies. Such a long way to fall.

Our plans came to an abrupt end in January 2003 when I developed a near-fatal heart condition requiring emergency heart bypass surgery. Two months in hospital were followed by many more months of slow, arduous rehabilitation. In a few cruel moments, I had been reduced from a frenetically busy mother of three young children, who managed to walk the odd marathon and juggle home life with work as an occupational therapist, to a pathetic weakling, too frail to move from the sofa. I had a terrifyingly irregular heartbeat, which reduced me to a nervous wreck. I was too terrified to be left alone, too exhausted to look after the children. A rehabilitation programme and sheer bloody-minded determination saw me back on my feet, but even making it to the school gate to collect the children felt like running a marathon. Hiking in the Himalayas was definitely off the agenda.