The final leg of the journey to Plymouth takes me along the A38 and I have to say that that road is very significant for me. Almost three years ago when I travelled it, I was in immense emotional pain. I cried with hysteria the whole way there, I swore at the radio that was failing to soothe me with the music blasting from it, I drove erratically as I tried to make sense of the craziness of the previous 24 hours, screeching into a lay by and vomiting en route. Most importantly though, I needed to get to my son as quickly as possible. He had had an accident at uni and needed an operation, (nothing serious) but an operation and all it's risks none the less. I needed my son as much as he needed me. That was such a disturbing journey for me.
I spent a few days in Plymouth 'waiting'. Waiting for an NHS bed space to become available for my son, waiting for my head to absorb the effects of the body blow I had received just a few days before, waiting for my tears to stop falling, waiting for some space away from the phone calls and texts and endless explanations to my friends and family that added more questions to the many questions that I already needed answering, waiting for the seconds, minutes, hours, days and nights when I could drive home to Manchester and finally start to get those answers. The waiting was endless.
When I did finally leave to travel that long road back up North I left behind my boy, who had only been in uni a few weeks, I left behind a holiday that ended in the most traumatic way and I had left behind my marriage. My husband had admitted to having an affair. The journey along the A38 was painful for so many reasons but I had to drive carefully as I had a long way to travel. I put on music I loved that didn't invoke memories of others and I took regular breaks with my dogs to walk them and have drinks and snacks. I made it back to Manchester drained and in emotional pain but the pain threshold was about to rocket to the moon as the details of his affair began to emerge. That was the most painful joinery home in my life.
Almost three years later and I was off to Plymouth again. I was excited to embrace this beautiful place once more. Full of seafaring history, I was looking forward to walking on the Hoe and meandering my way down to the quayside, basking in the sounds, the smells and the sun as I sat at the outside bars! More importantly I would be spending time with my son and being able to see where he had been living for the past two years would allow me to visualise his whereabouts during our phone calls when I got back home to Manchester.
This journey on the A38 was so different, it was 9ish on a Sunday morning and fairly quiet and I was able to drive freely, sing loudly and enjoy the warmth of the sun and the warmth in my heart as I visualised embracing my boy again. It had been about 12 weeks since I had last seen him. The only disturbance on this journey was the voice of the woman giving me directions via my map app on my phone. The greeting from my boy was as you can imagine after 12 weeks not seeing him. I'm a lucky mum, I have a son who loves his mum and I am a mum who loves my son. Both my children are away from home and I miss them both terribly, so reunions are always filled with emotion and demonstrative acts.
I walked on the Hoe, I lunched by the quayside, I sat in the sun and drank beer looking at historical maritime vessels clashing with state of the art yachts and catamarans. A lovely start to my stay. I spent time sitting in the sun at a pavement cafe with my dogs, whilst reading the Sunday paper, drinking coffee and eating cake as I waited for my son to finish watching the Manchester United game. I looked at the architecture of the old maritime warehouses, the court house, the gin distillery and centuries old pubs nesting in amongst the modernity of the Barbican area and I smiled at the once public toilet building now transformed into a world famous (so the sign says) quayside bikers cafe, as I watched the bikers come and go by the dozen, their loud exhausts clashing with the sound of the seagulls screeching as the small trawlers came into harbour. It had been a perfect Sunday so far.
I went back to my sons residence which is a house shared by eight lads. They were welcoming and friendly and that was just to the dogs! I jest, of course. They were lovely. Offering to brew up and being happy to chat with me as they fussed the dogs. BUT. A student house full of boys is a student house full of boys and there was no way I was cooking or bathing unless I had cleaned the kitchen and bathroom. It's just in me. I do it when I go on holiday too (unless it's an ultra posh hotel!). Cleaning done, I then made curry and my son and I watched tv as people popped in and out of his room all evening to chat. A very long day having set off from Manchester at 4:30am but a really lovely, memory making day.
The next few days were all about dog walking, editing, eating and then repeat, repeat, repeat as the dissertation hand in date drew near. High fives, high spirits and hand in done it was a celebratory good bye meal and ready to head back up North. As my son packed some of his belongings for me to bring home for him, in a box under his bed was a copy of my book Exactly 23 days the first chapter of which details those awful months almost three years ago. The poignancy of the journey I had taken, that then took me on a journey to write my book and now here was THAT book going full circle, nestled in a box with the sandwich maker, XBOX console and dvds, on it's own journey back up to Manchester. Plymouth bonds me to my son, it bonds me to my journey back to me and it bonds me to my journey as a writer. It bonds me to Exactly 23 days.
As I drove back along the A38 to head home, it was bright, it was sunny and I was calm. The music was from my 'happy' playlist because I am happy in my life and I felt a soothing sense of closure. The A38 will always be etched in my mind as a part of a very significant journey for me. I am proud of me, proud of how I came through it, proud of how I dealt with my husband (silence is golden), proud of how I committed to my book idea and all that it continues to encompass to get it out there in the world. Yes, I am so proud of Exactly 23 days and of the journey it has taken me on. Welcome home book, welcome home.
You can BUY your copy from amazon, apple iBooks, Waterstones online, Barnes & Noble, Indiebound, Foyles and many more online outlets or by clicking the link here: https://completelynovel.com/books/exactly-23-days
Finally as a mum I am immensely proud of my son, he's almost there. A few more pieces of work to complete but he's almost there. Within sniffing distance of his degree. He is a fun loving, funny, happy, caring young man who will hopefully get to pursue a career doing what he loves, working in the sports industry. Two children through uni as a single mum! I'm proud of that too. My greatest achievement in life by far.
