That’s not entirely true. I’d begun packing three weeks ago. One week ago I’d finally decided upon everything I was going to bring. And all of it had remained packed in my suitcase under the bed ever since. Two weeks of dreaming, shopping, packing, unpacking, shopping, organising and repacking had finally resulted in the definitive holiday collection, packed finally and lovingly into the suitcase under the bed. As my excitement for this holiday grew, I also became just a little annoyed with myself for not having done this sooner. Tia and her mother Veronica had invited me to their holiday home every summer since Tia and I were teenagers. And every summer I would make up an excuse not to go. And every summer, Tia would return home, radiant and bronzed from top to toe, to regale me with tales of holiday hijinks and lollapalooza. Some years, especially early on, I genuinely could not go. It may have been a question of money, or time, or some other inflexible decider.
