admit that perhaps we do have some things in common.
But nothing fundamental.
I watch the landscapes change. The parks of the south melt into the woodlands of the Midlands, and in no time at all into the rugged, Gothic hills of the north. Although it’s only mid-morning, the sky in North Yorkshire is mauve with damson clouds. Not the cottonwool clouds of textbooks but strong, imposing smudges, more like a painting a child would make with a thick brush. It’s breathtakingly beautiful.
But then, once you’ve seen a scene, it’s over with. It’s not as though you can wear it.
I call Bale on my mobile to explain what I’m doing. It’s a difficult call, as I have to make it from the minuscule British Rail loo, awash with urine and with a dodgy door lock designed to make occupants nervous.
‘If we get him on the show I’d put money on the fact that hell be a pin-up within weeks and he’ll have his own chat show within months,’ I enthuse to Bale.
That good, hey?’
That good,’ I assert.
‘And do you think Fi will manage?’
I enthusiastically sing her praises to reassure him (it doesn’t – he’s understandably suspicious). He wavers, trying to decide whether any guest can be worth my absence. I sense his indecision, so dramatically turn up the charm. I promise I’ll give it two days and travel back overnight on Tuesday in time for Wednesday’s filming. In the meantime, I reassure, he can reach me on my mobile.
When we arrive at Darlington station Darren’s brother, Richard, is waiting for us. Richard is younger than Darren by three years, but he’s beefier (that will be the fish and chips and Yorkshire pudding) and so looks a bit older. Darren’s filled me in with details of his family. There is Sarah, who is thirty-seven, married with three kids. Darren who is thirty-three, like me. Richard, thirty, he’s engaged to Shelly and finally Linda, who was a bit of a surprise to Mr and Mrs Smith. She’s seventeen now. Darren is the only one who has moved away from home. I must ask why. Richard and Shelly are buying a house a few streets away from her parents. Sarah and her family live in a nearby village. I commit all these details to memory in an effort to flatter him and ingratiate myself with his family.
The two men slap each other on the back and this action instantly makes them appear boyish, but in the very best sense. Whilst not obviously showing affection by embracing, it’s clear that they are delighted to see each other.
‘Richard, this is Cas.’ Darren hesitates and then adds, ‘A friend.’ I’m strangely gratified to be described as such and therefore treat Richard to my most winning smile. Naturally he’s enchanted and falls over himself to help me with my luggage. I catch Darren’s eye; I want to know if he’s noticed that I’ve impressed Richard. I can’t be sure; he’s laughing to himself.
I am keen to leave Darlington station behind. Not that there is anything particularly wrong with the station – it has everything one expects; small WH Smith, cookie-cut café and smelly loos – but it is a station and I try to avoid public transport whenever possible. However, I’m not thrilled when Richard indicates which is his car.
The Escort?’ I ask, hoping there’s been a mistake.
‘Yes. The one with the red door,’ says Richard.
‘And the blue body,’ adds Darren in case the situation demanded any more clarity. I try not to show how disgruntled I am, but quietly climb into the back seat, which I share with furry dice (honestly) and an entire forestworth of sweet wrappers.
I don’t say much in the car journey from Darlington to Whitby. Instead I let Darren and Richard catch up with each other’s news. As an only child I’m always fascinated to see siblings’ reactions to one another. Richard is obviously delighted that Darren has paid this surprise visit. I can’t imagine that my arrival anywhere would be awash with such excitement. Except perhaps for Harvey Nics – my personal shopper is always blissed out when she sees me. When Richard asks Darren how he came to have unplanned holiday, I’m unaccountably relieved that Darren fudges the answer. I’m also mollified when Darren comments vaguely that we ‘met at an interview’. Richard obviously feels bad that I’m not part of the conversation and tries to include me by sharing details of the route.