The games people play

In 2015, between houses and counties, Adrian and I spent five months living in Berkshire in a small quiet close with a river meandering around the edges of the gardens. The house did, and still does, belong to Adrian’s sister, Debby, and her husband Jean-Paul; it’s their base in the UK when they visit from Mauritius to spend time with their children and grandchildren. This is easily accomplished now that Anabelle, their daughter lives in this house (with her gentle German Shepard, Cassine) and their son, Christopher, Nadine and their three children live in the one next door. It’s an amicable arrangement and, as Nadine’s parents and grandmother also live in the village, the children enjoy an extended family in the geographical as well as social sense.

Now, still waiting for my passport, we’re again experiencing this family life seven years on. With typical generosity, Debby, Jean-Paul and Anabelle have offered us their house while they holiday in France. We enjoy a delicious evening meal en famille and then next morning, while the sparrows are still shaking themselves awake, they’re off. But we’re not alone for long. Eight year old Elise is the first to call from next door and she challenges us to a game of ‘Racing Demons’. 

Many of you will remember this card game from childhood, no doubt, but if like me, you’ve never met it before, I can only describe it as a fiendish mixture of solitaire and snap played at the speed of computer calculations and with multiple packs of cards. At any one point, there can be twelve or more suits growing ace-up from the table, the top card constantly changing as more are slapped down. Louis, twelve, and Amelie, sixteen soon join us; five packs of cards are shuffled and the game is on.

All three of these children are musically talented, above averagely intelligent and have the lightening reflexes of the young. I don’t stand a chance. A typical score at the end of a round is in the forties and fifties. I score ONE. ‘That’s better than me,’ Elise consoles me, ‘the first time I played I had a negative score.’ The first time she played, she was barely out of nappies. While we play, these lovely thoughtful children keep an eye on our hands as well as their own, giving quick staccato prompts whenever we fail to play a card. This is a feat of focus and attention that currently defies my comprehension but then I can’t play multiple musical instruments either.

A second heat wave is now upon us and, although the little river that skirts the garden is barely knee deep, we’re immensely glad of it when we come back from an early evening run. As I attempt to immerse my entire body horizontally, a children’s song that Kate and Alex used to listen to springs unprompted into my brain: ‘Mud, mud, glorious mud; there’s nothing quite like it for cooling the blood,’ sung in waltz time. 

Our blood is indeed much cooler when we emerge and we climb out of the water and wander into the house for snack, a routine that Elise discovers on day one and immediately incorporates into her own. ‘Toast time’ before bed becomes an instant fixture. 

On Friday evening, Amelie and Louis join us for a chat in the kitchen while Elise carefully spreads marmite on her toast. We have the sort of easy mature conversation about music, well known quotations, food preferences that seems to defy many full grown adults. Then it’s time for good-night hugs and temporary good-byes. The following morning, they drive off with their parents to meet Debby, Anabelle and Jean-Paul in Normandy. 

As a result, Saturday seems very quiet, but then my phone rings and – I can hardly believe what I’m hearing – a young woman, called Aishah tells me that I can collect my passports on Tuesday. Is this a hoax? Apparently not. We have to drive to Peterborough to get them, but by now I think we’d drive to John O’Groats. I want to cry ‘why, why, why?’ about all the contradictory and largely untrue things I’ve been told during my many weeks of phone calls, but decide it doesn’t matter anymore. Our travel can go ahead as planned. Hoorah! It’s a great relief.