Self-isolation, ten days of calm, but it couldn’t last as Eldest Child is released from his quarantine.
Day 11, and a picture pings into my Family whatsapp group.
“Hello from here,” with a picture of an icy loch backed by snowy mountains. Snowy roads. Lots of snow. Gulp.
‘Beautiful,’ I manage before ‘Where are you?’ Texting is good because I can hide the frantic. Looks like The Highlands.
“Loch Lomond. On the way to Oban.”
It’s OK, he’s an adult, he’ll be fine. And Loch Lomond’s do-able if I have to.
But a minute later another picture pings. It’s a car engine, beneath the bonnet.
And a text: “Orange light came on. Which one do I check for oil?” he says, having circled a bit of the engine.
“The little yellow thing. Pull it out, check it, go to a garage, put in oil.”
Other Parent comes online, starts sending him extracts from the handbook.
Ping, ping, ping.
“The entire handbook, lol,” says Youngest, unconcerned.
It goes quiet. I leave it a while but crack and phone Eldest.
Me: “Go to a garage immediately.”
Eldest: It’s OK. I’ll do it later,” he says, sounding relaxed, despite the whistling of an icy gale.
Me: “Where are you?”
Eldest “Up a hill. Lots of snow.”
Because that’s what you do when your car runs out of oil. Go and climb a hill.
“Above Inveraray. Great views. Loads of snow.” I wish he’d stop saying that.
Me: “Oh yes, the hill with the folly, awesome. There’s a garage in the village and nice warm pubs with fires…” but he’s already gone.
He’ll be fine, he’s an adult. I leave it a couple of hours then crack and phone him again.
“Oh hello,” he says. “Found a great pub. With a fire and a telly. We’re watching the football. The car’s fine by the way. Plenty of oil but due a service.”
So glad I didn’t panic, ahem. I really must stop catastrophising. He’ll be home soon anyway.
Except, next day, more pics ping. Snowy mountains. Icy roads.
“Hello from Glencoe. Loads of snow!”