It was dark outside, and it felt like it was still the middle of the night. She tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Come on, Megan, get up. We’re going on our trip.’ I moaned and turned over. ‘Aw, Mum. I’m tired. Can’t we go later?’ (Or maybe never.) She laughed. ‘No, Megan, we can’t go later. Now get up and get dressed quickly, if you don’t hurry we’ll miss the train.’ Suddenly I didn’t feel tired any more. I sat up in bed. Mum’s ‘special trips’ usually involved walking, or bikes, or once even a canoe journey. Mention of a train was good news. Maybe we were going to visit my cousins in Mallow. Or maybe she was going to take me to Cork and buy me some vaguely fashionable clothes. I got dressed as quickly as possible, and ate all my porridge without complaining. When we were driving to the station, I kept asking, but Mum still wouldn’t tell me where we were going, and it was only when we got to the ticket window that I heard the magic words ‘An adult and a child day return to Dublin.’ I didn’t dare to hope.
