We went back to Weymouth in August 1999.
I say ‘back’ because I had been there as a child, though Claire and Michael did not regard my 1972 holiday as relevant evidence. Claire was thirteen and Michael ten. They wanted to know whether the flat had a television, how far it was from the beach and whether they would have to share a room.
Alan wanted to know where we could park.
We rented a small self-catering flat near the seafront for a week. It had two bedrooms, a sitting room with dining chairs against one wall and a kitchen in which two adults could work if one of them stood still.
The children shared the smaller room. Claire said this was unfair because Michael moved in his sleep. Michael said Claire took too long in the bathroom. Both statements were true and did not improve the arrangement.
I tried to find the boarding house where we had stayed in 1972. I had no address, only a memory of the walk to the beach and a front step that seemed much higher when I was nine. We drove along several roads while I said it might have been near the next corner.
Alan asked whether I would recognise it.
‘Probably.’
By mid-afternoon, I was less certain.
We gave up and went for chips.
As a child, I had gone where my parents took us. Beach in the morning. A walk after tea. One visit to the shops. In 1999, Claire and Michael had their own plans. Claire wanted to browse the shops. Michael wanted the amusement arcade. Alan wanted to see the harbour. I wanted everybody to stop asking what we were doing next.
We managed all four.
One afternoon, Claire and I walked through town while Alan took Michael to the harbour. Claire bought a bracelet with her own money and spent the rest of the week checking that it was still on her wrist. Michael returned with several facts about fishing boats and no interest in repeating them to me in the correct order.
We ate out twice and cooked in the flat on the other evenings. Alan made breakfast. I made sandwiches. The children judged the contents before knowing where we were going.
On the last day, we walked along the seafront before driving home. I told them about the wet week in 1972 and Peter losing one of his shoes.
Claire asked whether I had told her that before.
I had.
She had forgotten it. I remembered that part clearly.