We were too much of a risk for the airlines so we had to take a less mainstream means of travel home, paid for by Dad's credit card. Standing beside the brown heavy metal carriages of the sleeper train I felt very small and terrified at the prospect of the journey ahead. I had been given diazepam just in case of other seizure's, it was just us now. But then up reached a little hand hugely thrilled and excited at the prospect of sleeping on a train. No fear just a beaming smile with arms out stretched asking to be carried on board. Then I saw the adventure in the unfamiliar, the intrigue of the unknown. He loved the way the seats turned into bunk beds and lying tucked up in the top bunk he quickly drifted off with the gentle rocking of the old overnight diesel.
I lay with the smell of Dad's shoes and socks under my nose, I'd never smelt an unwashed Dad before and I realised I saw both my Dad and Step mum slightly differently. Their humour and support in a situation that had been traumatic and uncomfortable for them. Just one more night of sleeping in my clothes I thought and then I contentedly fell into sleep.
We were all more cheerful in the morning and we reflected on the last few days with humorous disbelief. Step mum returned like Mrs Overall after a coffee run and presented three coffee's on a tray with just a spoonful of liquid remaining in each of them, giggling away to herself as she stumbled from side to side with the rocking of the train.
Journeys end at Waterloo station and we stood at the top of the escalators like refugees, plastic bags in hand, blinking in the sunlight and laughing at Dad's unzipped flies. Dishevelled and exhausted we got into Dad's car knowing that we would soon be home but that things had changed. An experience like that gives you a new perspective, a depth and a feeling that things will always be a little bit different as a result.
