Page 84 of When We Were Young

Liv

I’m sitting on the right, but Mum is driving.

As I sort out a playlist, I’m reminded of the car journey that ended with a lamppost in the bonnet.

When this all began. This time she’s wearing sunglasses and we’re on a highway in Denver, heading out to the Red Rocks Amphitheatre.

She is relaxed and happy – more like the girl in the photographs in Will Bailey’s garage.

She catches me looking. ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ I fix my eyes on the road ahead.

This was my idea. Dad suggested we all go on holiday together like we used to when I was little. When he asked us where we wanted to go, I didn’t hesitate. ‘Colorado,’ I’d said, ‘where Will Bailey’s ashes are scattered.’

Dad looked at Mum to check if this had upset her.

‘They scattered his ashes in Colorado?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, at Red Rocks Amphitheatre. I thought you knew…’

‘There’s a lot I don’t know.’ She went quiet. ‘Anyway, Dad doesn’t want to go there .’

Dad was wrinkling his nose.

‘There’re loads of other things to do there,’ I said. ‘I only want a quick visit to the amphitheatre. We could do a road trip.’

Dad was excited again. ‘Why don’t we fly out to Colorado? You two do your pilgrimage to Red Rocks, then we all drive to Los Angeles? I’ve always wanted to do an American road trip.’

Dad is playing golf while we visit Red Rocks. There’s not a cloud in the sky. I can’t wait to see the view.

‘Are you enjoying sixth form?’ She pushes her sunglasses on top of her head and looks over at me.

‘I love it. Studying is much easier when you know what you want to do. Paul says Leeds is the best uni for journalism, so I’m going to work hard to get the grades I need to go there.’

‘He’s a great mentor. I’m so embarrassed about the way I spoke to him.’

‘What will you do when the six months is up on the coffee shop?’ I ask.

‘I’m starting up a business with Magda.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Running art clubs for kids after school and in the holidays. Magda already does one at her son’s old primary school, but we’ve worked on a programme together and I’ve got two slots at your primary school now they’ve fired the head.’

‘Mrs Taylor got fired?’

‘Kay says the governors have intervened following a “safeguarding issue”, whatever that means. She’s on a leave of absence.’

‘I hated her.’

She wrinkles her nose. ‘Me too.’

‘If it works out, we’ll do more at other local schools. Apparently, they’re all desperate for art clubs.’

‘And maybe you’ll get more commissions once you finish the Amsterdam one?’

‘The idea is I’ll work on my art when I’m not helping the kids with theirs.’

‘Yeah, you can steal all their ideas.’

She chuckles and the sat nav pipes up: ‘ Take the next exit on the left .’

We’re silent for the last part of the journey and when she pulls up in the car park, her relaxed look has vanished. She has that sad, anxious expression I’m more familiar with.

‘Are you ready?’ I ask.

She can’t speak, she just nods.

I put my hand on her knee.

She takes a deep breath, and we get out of the car.

There are a lot of stairs. We are breathless by the time we reach the top, but the view is awesome.

Rows of steps act as the amphitheatre’s seating, leading down to the stage with its craggy rock backdrop.

Exercise nuts run up and down the steps; one guy is doing weird squatting jumps from one row to the next despite the early evening heat.

‘Where exactly did Mary say they scattered the ashes?’ Mum asks.

‘Here, at the top.’

She nods.

‘I’m going down to check out the stage,’ I say, to give her privacy.

Once at the bottom, I take photos of the view back up the steps from the stage.

Lowering my phone, I scan the rows for Mum.

When I finally spot her, she’s on her hands and knees on the top row where I left her.

Shit . Is she okay? I push past the exercise freaks and run to her, but I only get halfway before my lungs are screaming and have to stop.

Mum is sitting on the step now, her head in her hands.

She seems more composed, so I take a moment to catch my breath before continuing the climb.

As I get closer, I can see her body shaking – she’s crying.

I monitor her from a few rows down, sweat trickling down my face.

After a while, she lifts her head and wipes her eyes with the heels of her hands. Her shoulders rise and fall. She turns her head to take in the stunning view.

She gives a slight nod of her head and stands up.

And I’m so glad she got the chance to say goodbye.