Nothing Lasts Forever

Twilight descends as we leave Gordano Services on a warm evening in July 1984. We’ve had shepherd’s pie for dinner, and I popped into the shop for a quick look at the magazines. “Come on, James, let’s get home. You can look at the comics tomorrow when we fetch the paper.” It had been a long drive from Greystoke, Cumbria, to see Nanny and Grandad. Dad grew up in Threlkeld, and Grandad was a signalman. He’s slow now; it’s the cancer from smoking.
 
He stopped a year ago, but the damage was done. There was nothing left to do but prepare, and everyone knew it. I wasn’t totally sure what was happening, but Dad just said Grandad wasn’t well.
 
Dad hasn’t spoken much on the way home. Maybe he’s just tired. We also stopped at Sandbach Services. Dad flicks the indicator on the old beige Rover 2200 as we head west and homeward-bound—Exeter (M5), then it’s the A38, where life slows down.
 
Dad says the faster world begins in Exeter, but I’m glad we live on the slower side. Motorway lights flicker on, and the radio picks up interference from nearby power lines.
 
Avalon plays as I learn my head against the window.

*And the background's fading
Out of focus
Yes, the picture’s changing
Every moment
And your destination
You don’t know it
Avalon*
 
It’s cooling down now as we pass the exit for Weston-super-Mare. I wind-up my window.
 
Dad looks sad, as though there are permanent tears in the corners of his eyes. Mum is asleep. I reach forward and touch Dad’s shoulder. His large, warm hand envelops mine, a squeeze that says, "I love you." I squeeze back. He turns slightly, smiles, and winks.
 
By the time we arrive home, it is pitch black, and as we drive through the estate, something strange happens. The engine falls silent. Dad tries the ignition. Nothing.
 
“Oh… that’s not good,” he says, shaking his head. Lights out. Radio silent. Not a sound from the car. He thinks quickly; there is just enough momentum to take us to the top of the incline.
 
Our house is halfway down the hill, and Dad coasts it down, easing on the brake as he goes. Then he makes a turn into the cul-de-sac and a sharp right onto the drive before braking slowly.
 
Handbrake up, and we are home. We’ve just made it back, and what a final journey it was for our old Rover—all the way from Cumbria to South Devon.
 
Three motorways and one final trip. Dad knew a lot about cars, so when he said, “It’s dead,” I knew it was true, but I still asked anyway, “But Daddy, maybe it can be fixed. It’s only an engine.” He still had both hands on the steering wheel.

“The damage is done, darling. It’s too late now.” He welled up, and Mum and I held him as he sat in the driver’s seat.

“Come on,” he said, “she won’t empty herself.” A chill in the air from Dartmoor as we carried the bags into our house. The stars were out, as were all the lights in the surrounding houses, except one—the Bishops. They were watching telly. Stillness on Brakefield.
 
I was soon in bed, and Mum and Dad came up to kiss me goodnight. As Dad switched off my light, my glow-in-the-dark E.T. stickers on my headboard glowed brightly.
 
“Love you, James—phone home!” he said in his E.T. impression voice, pointing his finger, but I could tell he was sad and fighting hard.
 
“Love you, Daddy… it was a good car, wasn’t it?” I pulled my Star Wars duvet up to my neck.
 
“The best. Sleep now, and we’ll get the papers tomorrow. How about that comic?”
I nodded, and he switched off the light. Down the stairs he went. I heard Mum ask, “You okay, love?” Silence. I couldn’t see them, but I knew they were holding each other. The sound of a kiss.
 
I dropped off to sleep. It would turn out to be the last time he saw his dad, and when we left his parents on that warm morning, my dad and Grandad held each other for a long time. but they had to let go so we could drive home, because nothing lasts forever.