Chalk And Cheese
Will a holiday away from her high-achieving younger sister allow Caitlin’s hidden personality to unfurl?
“That’s Chesil Beach over there, Caitlin,” I say. “I daresay you’ve heard of it?”
Silence. As I drive on towards Portland, I glance in the mirror at my granddaughter in the back, gazing through the car window. Maybe she didn’t hear me?
“A lovely area, this. A very famous part of Dorset…” I persist.
Shut up, Emily, I tell myself. The beach is shrouded in mist; Caitlin will think you’re mad!
I frown. This mini-holiday is going to be very different from the one I planned.
Ages ago, I arranged these few days away in my friend’s caravan, but then I was to come on my own. How brave was that? My first holiday alone since Rob died last year.
We were thinking about retiring, Rob and I – excitedly looking forward to holidays abroad, meals out and treating our granddaughters. His heart attack put paid to all that, of course.
I just kept on working, which actually helped a lot.
I think back to when my holiday plans changed. I was drinking coffee in my daughter’s kitchen and she explained they had a problem.
“Neil suggests we go to London for a few days at half-term. The same week you go to Portland, Mum,” Jenny said. “Gemma wants to go to the museums, so it’ll be her treat for getting that award. But Caitlin doesn’t want to come. “
Chalk and cheese, our two granddaughters. We were all so proud when Gemma, the younger, won first prize in an essay competition. She even got a mention in our local paper!
Gemma – popular and outgoing – is clever and, at ten, already talking about becoming an archaeologist.
But twelve-year-old Caitlin is much quieter, can’t stand school and appears to have no interests whatsoever.
Yet she seems happy enough, so does it matter?
No, I keep telling myself. Except that, as a family, we often talk about jobs, hobbies, etcetera, and Caitlin seems to be left out in the cold.
Of course, we love both girls to bits. And Caitlin is only twelve – there’s lots of time yet. But I do worry about her.
“Caitlin says she’ll die of boredom in museums,” Jenny went on, that day. “We asked her where she would like to go in London and she said nowhere – she’d rather not go. She’s going to spoil it for everyone!”
So, that is why Caitlin is now sitting in the back of my car, Portland-bound.
Secretly, I was chuffed she chose to come away with her gran. The average girl would plump for London, every time.
But then Caitlin is not your average girl…
I peep through the mirror again. She is twisting her gorgeous long red hair around her fingers.
I should be grateful she’s not punching at a mobile phone. Even phones don’t interest Caitlin.
Fascinating, how different they are, our two girls.
Gemma – so keen on school, sport, you name it. And Caitlin?
I sigh now. At Christmas, she did ask me to get her a CD of some weird music group: The Snakes. But even that seemed to be a fleeting interest.
A voice from the back interrupts my thoughts.
“Gran, I’m getting a tattoo!”
I swallow hard, imagining her mother’s reaction to that.
“Right! Some of them are great,” I remark. “But you’ll need to wait until you’re a bit older, Caitlin.”
She doesn’t answer and, as we drive on to Portland itself, I decide to stay optimistic.
This is an opportunity to get to know my granddaughter; listen to her dreams, anxieties… tactfully find out how she feels about her clever sister…
The camp site is busy – well, it is half term – and the caravan is basic, but adequate, with a really cosy feel.
Once we’ve unpacked our bags and settled in, I suggest a walk around the site before it gets dark. But Caitlin shakes her head.
“No thanks, Gran. I’ll just watch telly.”
But there’s shopping to get and, aware of seeming helpless, I tell her I’d like a hand with it.
Frowning, Caitlin drags on her jacket and stalks out of the door.
Not a good start, I think, as I gaze out at the churning sea beyond the cliff top.
Caitlin shivers, pulling a face.
A family is just arriving at the neighbouring caravan: mother and grandmother with two kiddies, one a babe in arms. I wave and smile at them.
Caitlin carries the bulk of the shopping back, helps to unpack it and even offers to ‘cook’ our ready meal.
Suspecting her mother has lectured her before we came away, I compliment her on the lasagne.
“I wonder how the others are doing in London?” I remark, as we wash up.
“Oh, Gem’ll be boring the pants off Mum and Dad, gawping at stupid skeletons.” Caitlin laughs. “Give me real people, any day!”
I smile. At last, some ‘conversation’!
I’m just wondering how to begin the little chat I’ve planned, when she grabs the TV remote.
“Can I see Hollyoaks, please, Gran?”
I nod, sighing. Chat postponed, Emily.
Next day, we walk up to the Portland Bill lighthouse. Well, we don’t walk, we battle against a very strong wind. Yet the scenery is breathtaking – literally! Huge waves crash and roar against the rocks below – it’s truly spectacular.
“Wow! Grandad would have loved this!” Caitlin shouts over the gale, as we watch the sea pounding. “Those stories he told us were always about raging seas and silly pirates!”
It was a while before Caitlin, who was especially close to Rob, mentioned him at all after he died. But now she finds it less painful.
She used to hang on to every word of Rob’s stories, her eyes like saucers as she listened.
Now my own eyes are watering – and not just because of the wind.
“Let’s go for a cuppa to get warm!” I yell, pulling my jacket hood tighter around my chin.
We make our way to the nearby café.
“I wonder why it’s red and white, the lighthouse?” Caitlin remarks later, sipping her milkshake. “Cool, eh?”
About to search for the answer on my phone, I think better of it. Caitlin seems chatty, so here is my chance.
“So clever of Gemma to win that competition,” I begin. “How do you feel about it, Caitlin?”
She stares at me for a long minute under that mane of red hair, now wild and windswept.
“Me?” Caitlin frowns. “I’m fine! It’s brill, Gem liking all that brainy stuff. But it’s not for me.”
“So, what do you like, Caitlin?”
“Dunno!” She shrugs, then catches sight of someone at the next table. “I say, look at that!”
I follow her rapturous gaze. A woman has just removed her coat… and her arm is smothered in colourful tattoos.
I grin. Gemma’s success is not really bothering Caitlin. At least I’ve found that out.
Next morning, I’m up early. In the other tiny bedroom, Caitlin is still buried under the covers, so I quietly head out of the door.
I did warn her last night I might go for a brisk walk first thing. She’ll not even be aware I’ve gone.
I love early mornings like this: crisp, chilly and damp. The solitariness of it all here – surrounded by fields and trees, instead of houses and streets – is wonderful. Portland Bill lighthouse looms up out of the mist, looking quite eerie.
As I walk, I wonder what to suggest we do today.
Drive into Weymouth, have a meal… I wonder whether there is a cinema? I haven’t a clue what girls of Caitlin’s age like to do.
On my way back to the van, I remember I forgot the bread last night, so call in at the camp shop. It’s just opened and there is a queue.
Never mind, Caitlin could now be busy cooking that bacon we bought last night. My stomach rumbles at the thought.
Alas, when I open the door of the caravan, no scrumptious smell of sizzling bacon greets me. All is quiet. I go to shake Caitlin awake. Then I stand back, gasping. Her bed is empty!
I blink at the rumpled covers. No need to panic; she’s twelve, Emily, not two!
Her clothes and jacket are missing from the chair she threw them on last night; she has gone out for a look around.
But I’m biting my lip and my heart is banging. I never should have left her!
As I hurry out, the older lady from the next caravan is slowly making her way down her own steps. She waves her stick.
“Morning! I’m Kathy,” she calls out. “Looking for your Caitlin, are you? Come in, love!”
I stop. How does she know Caitlin?
Puzzled, I do as I’m bid. And there, in the stuffy living quarters of that caravan, I spot my granddaughter.
“Caitlin!”
The relief is enormous. My legs are still jelly-like as I try to take in the scene.
Caitlin is squatting on a rug and tickling a laughing baby while whirring a toy car along at the same time.
“Hi, Gran!” she cries. “Bit of an emergency – this is Tommy!”
“My Sue had to drive little Arthur to A and E,” Kathy explains, signalling me to join her on the settee. “An asthma attack – he gets them a lot.
“Sue knocked your door for help, knowing she’d have to leave baby Tommy. If he cries, I can’t lift him proper, see.
“Your Caitlin, here, she was so calm! She’s changed Tommy, fed him his cereal, even rung Sue at the hospital. And she says she’s only twelve!
“Sue and Arthur are just on their way back. He’s OK, she says – panic over. But we’re so grateful to your Caitlin!”
Amazed, I grin at my granddaughter.
“Caitlin, that’s brilliant! I had no idea you could cope with babies –”
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She expertly removes some Lego from Tommy’s mouth.
“No probs! I watch my friend’s mum with her little sister. I love babies.”
“Your lass had to calm me down, too!” confesses Kathy. “I was in a right state! You’ve got a good ‘un there.”
“Well done, Caitlin!” I say proudly, stooping to give her a hug.
We stay until mother and child return. The lad is pale but quite lively – almost back to his old self.
Sue is over the moon with her thanks, but Caitlin takes it all in her stride.
“I’ll be in to see you again, Tommy. Promise!” she says cheerily.
Later, while we’re looking around the shops in Weymouth, Jenny rings. I can’t wait to tell her about our little adventure.
“I reckon I’ve discovered Caitlin’s hidden talents,” I finish.
“Wow, that’s great!” says Jenny. “Do put Caitlin on!”
Caitlin chats to her mum for a bit, then turns to me, laughing.
“Mum’s only booked tickets for us all to see The Snakes next month. Gemma can’t stand them!
“Oh, look!” she adds, pointing to a display in a florist’s window. “See that gorgeous red rose, Gran? That’ll be my first tattoo! Grandad loved red roses, didn’t he?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I now know that there is absolutely no need to worry about Caitlin.
My granddaughter will find her own way, taking a very different road from that of her younger sister. And it promises to be just as exciting a journey.
