Lifesaving for Beginners

overnight bag Mum has packed for me, and the keys to her car.
    ‘You’re sure you don’t mind me taking the car?’
    Mum shakes her head. She pulls my hat down so it covers both ears. It’s the type of itch you can’t scratch. ‘How long do you think you’ll be gone?’
    I shrug. ‘I don’t know. It depends.’
    Mum steps away from me, her arms held tightly by each side, her back ramrod straight. She says, ‘You’re doing the right thing.’
    I nod, although it’s impossible to know if this is true. But she seems pretty convinced so I allow myself to be buoyed by her certainty.
    I point to the window and say, ‘I’m sorry. About all this.’
    She tucks a stray strand of my hair inside the itchy hat. ‘Adds a bit of colour to my quiet life.’
    ‘You like your quiet life.’
    ‘Maybe I like it a bit too much.’ I don’t say anything. Instead, I touch her arm and she pats my hand, and then she wraps her arms round me and suddenly she’s hugging me and I feel the warmth of her face against mine, the skin there soft and delicate, smelling of the same talcum powder I remember from when I was a child. She stops as suddenly as she started. Pats me down. Like she’s checking I’m still in one piece.
    Dad says, ‘Do you have enough money, Kat?’
    Mum turns on him. ‘For goodness’ sake, Kenneth. She got paid one and a half million pounds for the film rights to The Right to Remain Silent . Of course she has enough money.’ I didn’t tell her that. She heard that on Morning Ireland .
    I say, ‘I’m fine, Dad,’ and I kiss his cheek.
    I take a breath and go into the den, where Ed is playing the Wii. He says, ‘Do you want a turn, Kat?’
    I say, ‘I have to go now.’
    ‘To see Faith?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And Milo?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Are they going to come and see us again?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘Tell them to come soon. It’s really hard work keeping my bedroom tidy every day.’
    ‘Why are you keeping your room tidy?
    ‘In case they come for a sleepover. I already told Faith that she could sleep in my room the next time she comes, and Milo would probably come too so he’d have to sleep on the top bunk because he’s never had bunk beds, and kids love sleeping on top bunks, don’t they?’
    When I hug Ed, he feels solid in my arms and I say it again, in my head: Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou. I don’t know who I’m thanking but I am thankful, nonetheless. That he is here. That he is OK.
    I put on my mother’s tweed coat and pick up the walking stick. Stoop my back a little. Practise hobbling a bit. For authenticity. I find another golf umbrella in the cloakroom and arm myself with it. Just in case.
    But, oddly, Minnie’s plan works. It wouldn’t have the nerve not to. The remaining journos watch me like hawks and take a few pictures and shout a few questions at me from a distance, as if they’re worried about the umbrella or not really expecting an answer. I make it to Mum’s car, open the boot and get the suitcase inside, then open the driver’s door and get myself inside. It takes ages to get the key in the ignition with the shaking of my fingers. But I needn’t worry because the journos have lost whatever minimal interest they may have had in me. They are here for one thing and there is an air of dejection about the place, which I can only assume is because the one thing that they are here for is not here anymore. Or so they think. My hands on the wheel are slick with sweat. I turn the key. I have a terrible feeling that this is the exact opposite of the right thing to do. But in spite of all these things, in spite of everything, I start the engine. I even remember to drive out of the driveway and down the road like an old lady: slow and steady.
    Slow and steady wins the race. That’s what Mrs Higginbotham used to tell me and Ed.
    There are several moments when I want to stop. Turn back. Go home and hide in my apartment, like I have been doing for the past while. Years, really.
    Like at the airport when the gate is about to close and I haven’t boarded yet.
    Like on the plane when I hear several passengers talking about Killian Kobain and Declan Darker and Kat Kavanagh.
    Like when the plane lands and the captain’s voice says, ‘Welcome to London Gatwick. Weather is cold and bright with snow forecast for later, so it looks like it might be a white Christmas after all.’
    But I don’t stop, or turn back. I don’t go home and hide in my apartment.
    I keep