Читать книгу The Throwaway Boy - Alix Chapel - Страница 18

‘Are we there yet?’ I asked expectantly.

‘Not yet, darling, we still have quite a drive ahead of us.’

I was lying in the back of our orange Volkswagen van, looking out of the window, watching the changing scenery and listening to the sound of Tony Orlando and Dawn as ‘Tie a Yellow Ribbon’ played on the radio. The smell of Daddy’s Pall Mall cigarettes wafted back. I was eight years old. We were on our annual, summer camping trip and that year we were driving further than we ever had. My sisters and I had known for days that we were going on a trip but we didn’t know where. Kate had seen Mummy with the holiday checklist, then I noticed that our sleeping bags, after being pulled out of their winter storage and washed, had been hung on the line in the backyard to dry in the summer breeze.

That night, Daddy announced at the dinner table that we were going to Disneyland. My sisters and I were thrilled. Sophie, who was then four years old, not knowing what all the fuss was about, was swept up in our excitement and was soon shrieking in as high-pitched a shriek as us, if not higher. We were told we could bring two favourite things, but no more, because Daddy would need to be able to pack everything we’d need for two weeks in the van. I put a lot of thought into what I would take, and finally decided on my pet rock and my ‘Holly Hobbie’ doll.

The days leading up to our trips were always full of anticipation. I’d sit on the driveway, watching Daddy pack everything into the van. He always put the things in the van in the same order and everything always went in the same place. He routinely put the clothes in first. My clothes always went in a little box under the back seat. The bedding went in last. All the sleeping bags were folded and piled on top of each other in the very back, behind the back seat. That created a ‘bed’ level with the back window, where we took turns lying and looking out of the window. That was my favourite place to be when on the road. Sometimes, Naomi and Sophie fell asleep on the back seat and, as Kate liked to sit in the front between Mummy and Daddy helping to navigate, I’d get to stay in the back longer.

Exploring the campsite when we first arrived was the best part. My favourite sites were the ones with lots of trees. Sometimes, the trees were so dense you couldn’t even see the other campers in the neighbouring sites.

‘I just saw a California licence plate!’ Kate had announced from the front. ‘First one to five is the winner!’

Kate’s voice jolted me out of my trance. ‘OK, I’ll look out the back and you look out the front,’ I grudgingly replied.

I didn’t really want to play. I preferred to lie with my own thoughts. I’d lie for ages thinking about things and retreating to my own little world while being mesmerised by the passing traffic and the soothing sound of Elton John, The Carpenters or Helen Reddy playing on the radio. I was the quiet one and was quite happy to be by myself. When I wasn’t thinking, I would read. I always took a few books on holiday, thankful that books didn’t count as one of our allotted items.

The previous Christmas Grandma and Granda had sent me, from England, another Enid Blyton book, which I had kept for our summer holiday. It was one of the Famous Five series appropriately titled Five Go Off in a Caravan. I had already read two of her books and couldn’t wait to start another adventure. I would immerse myself into their world, feeling as though I was there with them. Page after page, I became more and more engrossed and was always sorry to get to the end. Often, Mummy and Daddy would have to repeat themselves over and over to get my attention. I also had two Nancy Drew books to take, so I had been well prepared.

Kate ended up winning the licence-plate game but I didn’t care, as I hadn’t been paying attention anyway.

The only thing I didn’t like about camping was when we had to go out at night, into the darkness, to go to the toilet. I imagined there were bears lurking about, ready to pounce on us if we left the van. Even though Mummy or Daddy would come with me, I often just waited until morning to go. Sometimes, I would lie in bed, listening to the night noises, and get really scared. Then the morning would come and I would look around at the harmless surroundings and feel silly for being so frightened. Gone were all the dark shadows and mysterious shapes, only half-seen in the moonlight, to be replaced with tree stumps and picnic tables by day.

We eventually got to California after two days of driving. Daddy explained that California was a big state and that Disneyland was down at the bottom. We started to see lots of palm trees the further south we drove. Big open trucks filled with tomatoes hurtled past us. Often they would fall off, leaving horrible-looking red splatters along the road, baking in the hot sun. On and on we drove, through a sort of desert that Daddy said was the Sacramento Valley. We saw row upon row of orange trees filled with the delicious-looking fruit. Daddy told us that the part of California where Disneyland was was called Orange County. I thought that was a perfect name.

On the third day, we finally got there. We set up camp and went to bed early, willing the next day to come quickly. I hardly slept at all that night. I tried, without success, to imagine what it was going to be like. When the day finally dawned, we were eager to go.

It was agony having to wait for Daddy to get his wallet in order. Every morning, he would get out the day’s money and put it in the front of his wallet. He budgeted a certain amount for each day. Some days, if he was under budget, the left-over money would go to the back part of his wallet for ‘extras’. He never went over budget. We had watched him do this on every trip we had ever been on, so at eight I knew more about the importance of budgeting than the average adult. He also wrote a log of the mileage, where and when he bought gas, and the amount paid. Normally, Kate and I enjoyed watching him get organised, but that morning we were itching to get on our way.

We eventually got there and found it to be everything we had hoped it would be and more. We went on loads of rides, including The Pirates of the Caribbean and the Matterhorn. We ate huge pickles and pretzels and even bigger ice creams. We were exhausted by the time we returned to the campsite.

We also went to Mexico for a day trip. We drove down to San Diego, stayed overnight in a campsite and then drove from there early the next morning. We waited in the queue at the border, sweltering in the sun, our bare legs sticking to the seats. We all had the windows rolled down but it wasn’t helping. There was no breeze and the air hung heavy and hot. We were all getting uncomfortable but, luckily, it didn’t take too long.

I didn’t know what I was expecting Mexico to be like, but it wasn’t that. We drove to a place called Tijuana. I didn’t like it. There were too many people and the buildings were all grotty. Children with dirty, ripped clothing were wandering the streets. A lady stopped Mummy and asked her something I didn’t quite hear. She was holding a baby that was wrapped in a dirty shawl. It had a runny nose and it just stared at me. That look left me feeling very uncomfortable. I felt scared and a bit sick, but not really sick, there was just a funny feeling in my tummy. That feeling stuck with me all day. Mummy asked me if I was OK, as I was so quiet – even quieter than normal. I shook my head up and down in response, with my thumb stuck in my mouth. I couldn’t say what was wrong because I didn’t know.

Later that night, as I was lying in bed, I asked Kate why the people we saw were so dirty.

‘Oh, they are just poor,’ she had flippantly replied.

‘Why?’ I asked again.

‘I dunno… go to sleep!’ she snapped.

I didn’t ask her any more questions that night but my mind was still working overtime. I wondered where they were at that precise moment and hoped they were as cosy as I was. I wondered if the baby I had seen was a boy or a girl and what its name was. I finally drifted off to sleep but I tossed and turned all night, haunted by the eyes of the little baby.

The rest of the trip was full of new places and adventures and, before we knew it, we were on the ferry back home to Vancouver Island. I still thought about Mexico and the people we had seen. I even noticed, for the first time, people in the other places we visited along our route home, and even in our own city, who made me have that same unsettled feeling. Why hadn’t I ever noticed them before? I wondered. They didn’t seem to be as poor as the people in Mexico, but they still appeared to be living through hard times.

When the opportunity arose, I asked Mummy why the people we had seen were like that. She tried to explain, as best she could, saying that the people we saw didn’t have jobs and were very poor. Some didn’t even have homes. I was horrified. She talked for a long time but most of it I didn’t really understand. I couldn’t imagine not having my own bedroom, let alone not living in our house. It was the first time I realised that not every one lived like us.

* * *

My reflective mood stayed with me all through that morning. It was a lovely sunny day so the nursery children and I walked down to the beach for a picnic lunch. As I sat watching the children playing in the sand, I thought about my memories of that distant camping holiday. I realised that the Mexico day trip was actually a pivotal juncture in my childhood. Being exposed to the poverty there really was the first time I had noticed and understood – well, as much as an eight-year-old can, and definitely enough to make me feel uncomfortable – that life would always have the potential of being tough. I accepted that most children probably would have noticed the poverty but I really didn’t think many would have been as affected as I had been. Kate, being three years older, certainly hadn’t seemed either to notice or care.

I recognised that it had been a blessing that I had had that experience – without it, my advantaged childhood could have actually left me too sheltered. Of course, there had always been evidence of poverty in our city as well as, to a certain extent, in my day-to-day life, but before Tijuana I hadn’t noticed. Nor had I noticed that one or two kids at school didn’t have a packed lunch anywhere near as nice as the rest of us; or that those same kids wore coats with sleeves that were just that bit too short. Granted, I would have been excused for not recognising such subtle indications but I guess the shock of Tijuana packed a big enough punch to have brought even the smallest things to my attention and to have left such an impression. It made me think that being exposed to some bad stuff in childhood might actually be a good thing. Too perfect a childhood could leave one unprepared for the harsh reality of the real world – or lacking in the ability even to contemplate the possibility.

The next day, we left, as planned, on the first ferry out of Swartz Bay. The trip ended up being great. We drove down through Washington State and into Oregon. The interstate was huge in parts, with five lanes of traffic filled with shiny, big, expensive sport utility vehicles zooming along. The further south we drove, the warmer the air became until getting out of the 4Runner felt like entering an oven.

For Billy, it was like another world. We continued into California, down through LA and across to Palm Springs, where we spent a week with my best friend from childhood, Samantha. She lived there with her husband, John, and their two small boys, Connor and Rhys. It was incredibly hot there – so hot, in fact, that we couldn’t be outside during the day unless we were in their pool. Neither Billy nor I had ever experienced that kind of temperature before.

In the evening, once the sun had dipped behind the surrounding mountain, we enjoyed sitting outside on their patio, drinking ice-cold fruity cocktails, while John prepared delicious steaks on the barbecue. It was so different from our life in Victoria that it was the perfect place to forget my health problems. Watching Connor and Rhys playing in the pool, seeing their toys strewn around the house, hearing their laughter and even sometimes their cries, of course I was reminded of what we didn’t have, but it was so evident that Samantha cherished her children. I could never have begrudged her having them and I was genuinely happy for her.

The week spent with them flew by. On the road again, we drove up the coast along the 101, stopping at campsites along the way. I remember vividly the way the world looked to me on that drive north – the sky made bleak by the clouds gathering overhead, the temperature dropping – and how suited the weather was to the feeling in my soul and the thoughts in my head.