This is THE PLACE
Are you sure this is the place?’ I say doubtfully, as I step off the train behind Courtney.
The two of us stand on the tiny platform with our weekend bags, trying to hold our hair back against the gusty sea breeze.
What I really mean to say is, this definitely isn’t the place.
But Courtney is convinced. She has been ever since she saw the leaflet in the tourist information section of her local supermarket, with the photo on the front of two kids eating ice cream against the backdrop of the Big Wheel on the pier.
She’d emailed me a photo in excitement, with the subject line: ‘I found it!’
Look, I want to tell her, I’m the eldest! You were only 11 when Mum and Dad took us on that holiday – don’t you think my memory is a little more reliable than yours?
But I don’t because she’s so delighted to be here. And thrilled by her own brilliance in organising it.
The whole journey down on the train she chatted
