Part 29 (1/2)

'You went there?'

'Yes, when I was ten. Pat, shall I sort something out?' She looked at me enquiringly, head tilted to one side. 'You don't really hate surprises, do you?'

'I guess I don't but no more rocks?'

'No more rocks,' she promised.

A few days later, she called me on my cell. 'It's all arranged for Friday,' she announced. 'You'll need your pa.s.sports and a change of clothes, or maybe three for Polly. We'll be away two nights.'

'Why do we need our pa.s.sports?'

'Why do you think you need your pa.s.sports, dummy?'

'Where exactly are we going, Rosie?'

'You'll have to wait and see.'

ROSIE.

I had to face it some time, and going with Pat and Joe and Polly meant I'd have distractions.

'Come on, Rosie, spill?' said Pat on Friday morning when he rang me at the office.

'You'll soon know,' I told him.

'Do the kids need factor forty?'

'Yes, might be a plan.'

'You're such a tease, Miss Rosie.'

'Just a few more hours to wait, Professor, and all will be revealed.'

Although I'd booked it, paid for it, got overdrawn for it, I was still going to give myself the chance to chicken out.

I met them at St Pancras.

Pat was looking puzzled, Polly solemn. But Joe was jigging up and down and grinning, ready for adventures. He had spiked his hair with gel and wore a stylish, brand new denim jacket.

'It's from Gap,' he told me.

'Cool,' I said. 'I like the corduroy collar.'

'It's Sherpa-lined as well. You do rate it, don't you?'

'Joe, I love it!' I'd never known a child so keen on fas.h.i.+on. He was going to be the next Marc Jacobs, Ralph Lauren or Jasper Conran, I would bet my new Armani shades. 'How did you hurt your finger?'

'I cut it on some paper.'

'Ouch, those paper cuts are horrible.'

'Yeah, there was a ton of blood. But Mom got me Batman Band-Aids look?'

'You said we needed pa.s.sports. So why are we here in central London?' asked his father, dispensing with the niceties of greeting and cutting to the chase. 'Why aren't we at the airport?'

'Good evening, Pat. It's great to see you. h.e.l.lo, Polly. What a pretty anorak. I love the pink embroidery.'

'Rosie!' Pat looked ready to combust spontaneously.

'We don't need to fly.' I handed him my iPod. 'Listen for a moment, will you?'

So he did, still frowning. But then, as comprehension dawned, he smiled. 'It's An American in Paris. We're not going to Paris, Rosie?'

'Yes!'

'Paris, France?'

'No, Paris, Texas, Pat. Of course we're going to Paris, France, you clot.' I turned to Joe. 'We're going to catch a very special train. It goes under the water.'

'Awesome!' Joe exclaimed, his brown eyes sparkling. 'Do we get to see some sharks and whales?'

PATRICK.

She played me An American in Paris, my favourite piece of Gershwin.

So she had been listening that time in Minneapolis when we were at the concert hall and I had talked about my favourite music and she hadn't seemed to hear.

Until I came to Britain, I never rode the train. British people do it all the time. But in America, we have about destroyed our railroad network. There've been a few attempts in recent years to change this situation but, apart from in New England, mostly tourists tend to ride the few remaining routes. The rest of us drive everywhere or fly.

As soon as we were boarded, Joe spent several minutes unfolding then refolding the tables which were fixed between the seats and worrying because there were no seat belts and no fire extinguishers, or none that he could see.

'What if there's a train wreck?' he demanded anxiously.

'There won't be a train wreck.'

'Dad, there could so be a wreck! One time I saw a wreck on CBS. It was someplace in Africa. A ton of cars caught fire. Mommy said the people were all fried. I don't want to be fried.'

'There won't be a train wreck,' I repeated. 'Now will you quiet down, relax a while? Chill out, like Polly?'

Polly started yawning soon as we began to move. So her brother let her put her feet up on his lap to lie full-length, and pretty soon she was asleep. That baby would sleep anyplace, I swear. But Joe was permanently wired.

ROSIE.

As Joe sat there dismantling and then rea.s.sembling Lego heroes in all kinds of different permutations, as Polly slept and Pat read through some academic papers, I looked at his pa.s.sport.

The photograph was very good. It showed him looking calm and grave and intellectual. My own pa.s.sport photograph is of an electrocuted hare that's seen a buzzard and knows its time has come.

'You didn't bring a book?' asked Pat, glancing up from something that looked like one long algebraic formula. Do I mean an algebraic formula? Something I could never understand, at any rate, even though I'd sorted out percentages at last.

'I have some novels on my phone, but I don't feel like reading them right now.'