And she’s right. Our room isn’t. I dump our suitcase on a bed and look around me. It’s not the lap of luxury either though. More like Motel Five, only with bright ocre wood panelling on the walls, a high wood-beamed ceiling and stone floor. ‘It’s cheerful in its own way…’ I chirp, then open the balcony doors, pushing away thoughts of how surreal it is to be holidaying with my mother and not Jonathan. ‘Well, on second thoughts…’ I am confronted with the concrete jungle outside of our window. ‘I suppose requesting “a view” was too open-ended.’ ‘That aeroplane sounds mighty low overhead,’ my mam looks up at the ceiling and whistles. ‘Good heavens! Somebody needs to give that its walking papers, don’t they?’ ‘Apparently it doesn’t go on all night. I was reading that they shut the airport down between midnight and five a.m. on account of not disturbing the sea turtles. They’re an endangered species.’ ‘Well hoorah for an endangered species.’ At that point, we lie on top of our beds, fully clothed, and fall asleep.
