Open Writing

At last, the holiday is here. I could get weepy looking at Jim, with his crooked smile and dry sense of humour, and Rory, tall and athletic with Brad Pitt good looks. They've both made sacrifices and worked hard to save the money for their air fares to come on this trip with James. David easily fits in and the four of them roam the airport, too excited to sit down.

It's a long, long way to California but we have a three hour layover in Detroit. I let my family know and my brothers and their wives prepare a magnificent picnic and drive an hour to meet us. Unfortunately, the airport is massive and we never manage to find each other. I'm very disappointed and feel guilty for asking them to come on such a silly wild-goose chase.

Sitting all day is surprisingly exhausting and we've been awake for over twenty-four hours when we touch down in LA. The large, white people-carrier, with black tinted windows, that we hire, thrills the boys. They christen it the Mafia-mobile. We stop for supplies and, set loose in a supermarket, the lads run wild looking at the strange variety of foods lining the shelves. Fortunately, we're able to find our rented cottage without too many problems. At 1 am, we drop into our beds.

The beach is only a short walk from our accommodation and James manages fine with his crutches in the sand. The days blur past as we take the boys to Disneyland, Universal Studios, Six Flags Magic Mountain, Sea World, Tijuana, Mann's Chinese Theatre and do the Hollywood Stars' Homes Tour. They experience the longest, highest, scariest, newest rides in California. We also enjoy shopping, beach days and go to the cinema six times. In Sea World we see a rescued 'baby' grey whale being fed. In Triangle Square we drink iced smoothies on the roof and see space age fitments in the huge Nike store.

We develop catch phrases. 'I'm hungry,' brings a chorus of, 'let's have a Taco!' and peals of giddy laughter.

The boys are noisy, messy, bursting with energy and absolutely fantastic. My heart sings with pleasure to see them enjoy themselves after the time we've been through together. They all take a turn at sharing the cooking and that just adds to the memories. There's a blazing barbecue trying to cook very fatty hamburgers one night. Jim makes us all a Yorkshire fry up, aided by some 'beach babes' they'd collected that day. There was a heated debate about whether bacon should be cooked in a microwave or not. And Roiy will never forget that pasta sheets come in two varieties, pre-cooked and not-precooked. Crunchy lasagne was a new one for us all.

I slip away in the early mornings. It's not so easy to shake off the stress of the past year and I still wake long before the others. The beach is empty, the sand cool with the night's damp. The air is crisp and clean blowing in off the grey waves and the rhythm of shushing sand is soothing. The sun will burn the clouds away in an hour but now I like the dull light, the white crash against black rock.

Our two weeks at the beach vanish into Time's purse. We pile everything into our Mafia-mobile and set off on the next leg of our adventure. This is even more exciting because we haven't booked any of it; we're just seeing where the whim, time and money will take us. We drive up the Pacific Coast Highway as far as Ventura, taking in tacky Venice Beach and lush Santa Monica along the way. The boys' conversations and observations ebb round me. I relax into semi-listening and watch the world go by.

In the late afternoon we cut inland, over the mountains to Bakersfield, where we find a cheap motel with a pool and stand-up breakfast in the lobby. We fill ourselves with enormous portions in a nearby Denny's restaurant then let the stiffness of travel wash away in the pool. It's twilight and too cold for me but the boys have to be chased from the water when their whoops and laughter disturbs other guests.

The next day, we drive across a flat, fertile valley with crops as far as you can see, before we reach the Sequoia National Park and climb another mountain range. The scenery is spectacularly breathtaking and the massive trees indescribable. The four nearly-full-grown, boys, Howard and I all link hands and still can't stretch around the trunk of one tree, even using James' crutches to extend our reach. The wonder of this place is slightly marred, for David in particular, by the handbook we're given at the entrance, which warns of the dangers of bears, cougars, ticks, snakes, plague and the water in the mountain streams.

The air in the park is liquid and green. The roads twist, climb and fall. We crane our necks to fill our eyes with all there is to see, hoping for a glimpse of a deer or a bear. Then suddenly, the car clears the forest and pauses on the lip of the mountain. Below us, in fierce sunlight, is the great bowl of Death Valley.

We edge down the side of the mountain. With each passing half hour the temperature soars. The colours surprise me but the heat is terrifying, when we stop and get out of the van. Reaching 120 degrees F in the shade, it burns the inside of my nose when I breathe and squeezes my chest tight. Howard revels in it and barely flits into the cool shop for a drink. How could anyone travel there without air-conditioning? I can't believe people once crossed this way in covered wagons.

It takes the rest of the day to drive across the desert, through the shimmering heat haze. The air is literally visible, belly dancing over the sand. We have to turn off the air conditioning. It's used so much extra fuel that we're in danger of running out. Mirages taunt us. I imagine myself walking to the nearest petrol station and start to pray. We coast up to the pumps on fumes.

As night drops, we rise and dip over small foothills. At the crest of one such rise, we see the 'over the top' opulence of Las Vegas spread before us. It's certainly best seen at night and has the most amazing, infectious electricity in the atmosphere. The hotels are each a full block in size, with shops, theatres, thousands of rooms, theme parks, live circuses, zoos and, of course, casinos. The power used for the lights alone would probably be enough to run a small country.

We're able to watch a performance of magicians, Penn and Teller, ride in a stretch limousine and visit a 'Wet and Wild' water park. It's still so hot, even in the shade, that I feel like I'm being blown dry by a giant hair dryer. James and Rory also claim to have been driven down the strip one evening, in a pink convertible, by two lovely girls.

After three nights, we head back to Newport Beach, calling in at the ghost town of Calico on the way. James and Rory can, and do, talk and debate about nothing, endlessly, mile after mile. In exasperation, Jim challenges them to be silent for half and hour. I doubt it will be possible but they take it with their usual competitive spirit and tension flows from the car. Our last day is spent body surfing, swimming and sunbathing; squeezing in one more film before we head to the airport.

We fly together as far as Detroit, when we have to say goodbye to Howard, Jim and Rory. They are returning to the UK, whilst my boys and I continue on to Baltimore for an action-packed visit with my aunt, uncle and cousins there. We see Washington DC from a Tour-bus, visit the Air and Space Museum, have a picnic on the Potomac and spend precious time with these dear relatives who've shared our worries.

Last, but certainly not least, we return to Michigan and Dad, Lynda, my step-sister, brothers and their families. They are delighted and amazed at how well James looks and how tall David is, now over 6 foot.

'I was bracing myself for the worst,' Keith confides to me, as we watch our children play in the pool. 'I'm so surprised and relieved.' He turns away. His eyes are moist.

The little girls, Karly aged 3 and Kelsey aged 4, are the most interesting. They spend some time with James when we first arrive then come to find me and demand to know when he is going to get his leg back and how it had been 'broken'. It's quite tricky answering such big questions without frightening them. Having managed to their satisfaction, they then want to know if I am old and why I have little hairs around my mouth. Kelsey tells me her mom is never going to get old.

Ready to rejoin the boys, Kelsey wants to know if James can remember when he was 'lower' (younger?). We wonder if she can remember him from our previous visit eighteen months earlier. Watching him doing back flips and somersaults off the diving board, she turns to me and says, in hushed tones, "Isn't he talented!"

The children adore their 'big' cousins just as they are. Kevin invites one of his friends in to meet them and proceeds to tell the boy that James has had cancer and only has one leg. His mother is mortified but this is honest and open. We are more used to it, I guess.

During the week that we are visiting with my family, we have several phone calls from Howard to see how we're going on. There is something wrong, I can hear it in his voice, but he keeps assuring me all is well, he's just missing us.