off. I needed to see it with my own eyes.
I was trying not to cry but you’d never have guessed. Mum and I were in floods. Luckily, Ben only had eyes for his uncles in the back of the Land Rover and their new travelling companion – a corgi they’d rescued, who happened also to be called Ben.
Eventually Dad prised me and Mum apart and they got going. Even as they pulled away I saw Mum repeat the words she’d said so often over the weeks:
‘Come with us.’
She knew I couldn’t. She knew I had a life of my own in Sheffield with Simon and Ben. Maybe that was her final shot at saving me from that life.
I’d broken my parents’ hearts by running away from them. Now they were running away from me.
Christmas Day, 1990. I remember it clearly as the first I’d ever spent away from my family. Even though we had a great time with Simon’s brother Steve and his wife Diane at their house, there wasn’t a moment I wasn’t thinking about my parents.
Ben had a lovely Christmas and received a lot of presents, including various dinky toy cars and cuddly toys. His favourites were animal-related: a plastic set of sheep, cows and ducks. He couldn’t stop playing with them and making the animals’ noises. He was walking by now – barefoot if he could get away with it; he hated shoes – so he also managed to do his own physical impressions. I could have watched him all day, it was so funny. The only downside was knowing that Mum was missing out.
She wasn’t the only one.
I’d been jealous of my family the second they set off. Within a week I wished I’d gone with them; after a fortnight I was having serious doubts about my decision to stay in Sheffield. My family had played such an important part of my adult life. I saw them at least every other weekend and we spoke most days on the phone. They’d always been there for me, even when I’d appeared to befleeing in the opposite direction. Now I was the one left behind – and I hated it. The idea of not seeing them for months or years was heartbreaking.
At least I knew they were thinking about me. Via postcards and letters I was able to track my family’s movements through France, across the Alps into Italy and down towards the Greek border. On a good day I got a photograph as well. On 12 January 1991, I received a snap of my brothers splashing around in the sea with the caption: ‘Having a bath, Mediterranean style!’ I loved having this window into their adventure but at the same time it was killing me not being part of it. Each morning that passed without a note from Mum was another day that dragged by.
Finally I got the message I’d been waiting for. They’d arrived in Kos and parked the caravan on Ramira Beach, the first stretch of public space they’d come across. After a few days, Dad had done his usual trick of finding a man who knew a man who said they could move officially to a space in a field in a coastal area called Paradisi.
‘Honestly, Kerry,’ Mum wrote, ‘it’s Paradisi by name – and Paradise by nature.’
Occasionally Mum would say she’d phone on a certain date. Knowing the international switchboard as I did, I was in place at the phone box an hour early and at least that afterwards if Mum didn’t ring. But when she did get through I’d spend most of the time in tears. She did, too. Our blubbering cost her a fortune! There were some words I always made out: there’d be a sniffle then quiet, then Mum would say, ‘Come out and join us.’ I laughed every time. I couldn’t join them. I had my son, my fiancé, my home and my life. Why would I want to give all that up?Instead, I’d promise to send her packages of Oxo cubes and Branston Pickle, and other home comforts they were missing.
Then one day I surprised us both by saying, ‘Okay, I’m coming out there.’
‘You’re what?’
‘Mum, I’m bringing Ben to Kos.’
She was over the moon, of course, and we spent an excited hour making plans. Mum told me how to apply for a
I was trying not to cry but you’d never have guessed. Mum and I were in floods. Luckily, Ben only had eyes for his uncles in the back of the Land Rover and their new travelling companion – a corgi they’d rescued, who happened also to be called Ben.
Eventually Dad prised me and Mum apart and they got going. Even as they pulled away I saw Mum repeat the words she’d said so often over the weeks:
‘Come with us.’
She knew I couldn’t. She knew I had a life of my own in Sheffield with Simon and Ben. Maybe that was her final shot at saving me from that life.
I’d broken my parents’ hearts by running away from them. Now they were running away from me.
Christmas Day, 1990. I remember it clearly as the first I’d ever spent away from my family. Even though we had a great time with Simon’s brother Steve and his wife Diane at their house, there wasn’t a moment I wasn’t thinking about my parents.
Ben had a lovely Christmas and received a lot of presents, including various dinky toy cars and cuddly toys. His favourites were animal-related: a plastic set of sheep, cows and ducks. He couldn’t stop playing with them and making the animals’ noises. He was walking by now – barefoot if he could get away with it; he hated shoes – so he also managed to do his own physical impressions. I could have watched him all day, it was so funny. The only downside was knowing that Mum was missing out.
She wasn’t the only one.
I’d been jealous of my family the second they set off. Within a week I wished I’d gone with them; after a fortnight I was having serious doubts about my decision to stay in Sheffield. My family had played such an important part of my adult life. I saw them at least every other weekend and we spoke most days on the phone. They’d always been there for me, even when I’d appeared to befleeing in the opposite direction. Now I was the one left behind – and I hated it. The idea of not seeing them for months or years was heartbreaking.
At least I knew they were thinking about me. Via postcards and letters I was able to track my family’s movements through France, across the Alps into Italy and down towards the Greek border. On a good day I got a photograph as well. On 12 January 1991, I received a snap of my brothers splashing around in the sea with the caption: ‘Having a bath, Mediterranean style!’ I loved having this window into their adventure but at the same time it was killing me not being part of it. Each morning that passed without a note from Mum was another day that dragged by.
Finally I got the message I’d been waiting for. They’d arrived in Kos and parked the caravan on Ramira Beach, the first stretch of public space they’d come across. After a few days, Dad had done his usual trick of finding a man who knew a man who said they could move officially to a space in a field in a coastal area called Paradisi.
‘Honestly, Kerry,’ Mum wrote, ‘it’s Paradisi by name – and Paradise by nature.’
Occasionally Mum would say she’d phone on a certain date. Knowing the international switchboard as I did, I was in place at the phone box an hour early and at least that afterwards if Mum didn’t ring. But when she did get through I’d spend most of the time in tears. She did, too. Our blubbering cost her a fortune! There were some words I always made out: there’d be a sniffle then quiet, then Mum would say, ‘Come out and join us.’ I laughed every time. I couldn’t join them. I had my son, my fiancé, my home and my life. Why would I want to give all that up?Instead, I’d promise to send her packages of Oxo cubes and Branston Pickle, and other home comforts they were missing.
Then one day I surprised us both by saying, ‘Okay, I’m coming out there.’
‘You’re what?’
‘Mum, I’m bringing Ben to Kos.’
She was over the moon, of course, and we spent an excited hour making plans. Mum told me how to apply for a
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