Looking at the same old stretch of pebbly coastline, she asked herself, ‘Why this resort, every time?’ It was further from the station than Helen remembered. Surely now, with middle-aged, grown-up legs, the distance should seem shorter than when she had walked it as a child? Only, of course, they never had walked it. Helen, Susie and Timmy had hopped, skipped, wheeled and jumped and run ahead, shouting with glee: “Holiday! Ho-li-day!” all the way from station to sea. Mum, struggling with the weight of the bag, had to call Helen back to help with it.
Later, when they were bigger, they had their own backpacks. Timmy still had his. Helen was wearing it today. “I’m borrowing your backpack, Tim, OK?” He hadn’t agreed. Or objected. So she had taken…
