We’ll be going down the motorway.
Because we won. Mother is elated.
We’re all to stay at Aunt’s.
She’s been stalwart.
I have few belongings to pack.
My old mobile phone, some mellow
sketches my girlfriend did for me.
Step-Mother is sour, uncommunicative.
Father has gone somewhere.
I feel buzzy, slightly headachy, glad.
We pile into Aunt’s old jalopy,