Dear Sean

Six

            We hitchhiked to Paris, and even though Daddy did that, you shouldn’t hitchhike. I’m a bad example sweetheart, don’t make the same mistakes as me.

            Again with the dress codes.

            “Blokes who dress funny are picked up, it gives the drivers a laugh,” Paul said confidently.

            “Bowler hats? Why don’t we paint our faces like clowns and juggle while we’re at it?” I grumbled.

            Paul gave me his best “stern schoolteacher” face, then it quickly melted into a crooked smile as he perched one of the hats onto my head.

            “You look cute like that,” he whispered, looking round anxiously to make sure no one would see. It was bloody illegal, and we both knew it, but we never said anything about it, just worried wordlessly whenever we were in public.

            “’M not ‘cute,’” I mumbled, but five minutes and some quid later, we both had bowler hats.

            The first person that picked us up was a lorry carrying cargo from the Liverpool port down to London. We only did that because we were adults. Sean, listen to Mummy and don’t ever get into a car with a stranger.

            “Why the bowler hats, then lads?” the driver asked jovially.

            Paul shot me a triumphant glance. He told the man that we hoped it would get us noticed.

            “Well, that it did. Where are you two headed?”

            “Oh, we’re holidaying in Spain,” I said.

            “Just the two of you? Two lads holidaying by themselves?” the lorry driver asked, and I realized with a sinking feeling that he’d gotten suspicious.

            Paul shot me a warning look, and I knew he was going to try to charm his way out of this one. The look was telling me to keep quiet.

            “We’re going on holiday to visit Aunt Betty, she hasn’t been feeling very well,” Paul said.

            “Oh, where does your aunt live?”

            Under the impression that we were family, the lorry driver relaxed, and I sat further down into my seat, the discrete yet comforting pressure of Paul’s hand on my knee helping me relax.

            For the next four hours, Paul was in deep conversation with the driver about our supposed Aunt Betty, and he went on making up more and more outrageous details as he went on.