‘You still with us?’ I ask. His face isn’t even a colour anymore; it’s practically transparent.
He shakes his head. ‘I’m expected to walk after this, yeah?’
He wobbles off and we exit, where Sarah and Alfie stand waiting, ready for post-match analysis.
‘That was soooo fast!’ Alfie declares. ‘Was it scary?’
Matt nods sheepishly. ‘Well—’
‘He didn’t even scream! I don’t know how anyone can be that brave, but he was. I was terrified!’
‘Wow!’ Sarah declares. ‘Impressive! I’d need a general anaesthetic to get me on that ride. What a champion!’
Alfie beams at Matt like he’s just saved the planet. It’s the least I can do; after facing his coaster fears for my benefit, Matt’s practically a hero anyway.
‘Matt. . . can you come on the little roller-coaster with me? That looks a bit scary too.’
‘Sure, buddy,’ he says, taking Alfie’s hand. ‘Love to.’
As we walk past the merchandise stall, Sarah laughs and stops me, gesturing towards the screens on the wall.
‘He didn’t even scream, you say?’
It takes me a second to find it, but there, in glorious HD, is a petrified, open-mouthed, shrieking Matt.
‘Woman, keep walking,’ I say, moving along. ‘He’ll freak if he sees that.’
‘What, like this?’
Sarah tries to replicate his photo face and I howl with laughter. Fortunately, Alfie has managed to drag Matt far enough away that he doesn’t see me clutching my sides.
‘He’s having a ball,’ Sarah informs me as we watch Alfie skip alongside Matt. ‘Thanks for inviting us, birthday boy.’
‘You’re welcome,’ I reply. ‘You’ve made an old man very happy. Probably not what most adults would choose for their thirty-first, but I’m having the best time.’
‘Pfft, I painted my kitchen for my thirty-first,’ Sarah retorts. ‘This is the kind of adulting I’d rather be doing. Though I had a baby at home. You just have a Matt.’
‘What? I thought you were younger than me, like late twenties?’
She laughs. ‘God bless you and your terrible eyesight. I’ll be thirty-four soon.’
‘So, Matt’s your toy boy?’ I say, grinning. ‘Lucky him.’
‘Piss off!’ she replies, chuckling. ‘Three years is nothing! I’m not some coffee-serving cougar.’
As Matt takes Alfie on to the Flying Fish ride, Sarah points to a nearby attraction which looks relatively tame compared to the coaster I’ve just been on.
‘We’re going on this,’ she insists. ‘I feel the need to sway wildly.’
I look up at the current passengers, most of whom are screaming their heads off, which seems excessive for a ride which only swings back and forth.
We take our seats on the back row, next to a couple of young teens who are already whooping excitedly. She giggles as the ride begins to rock throwing her head back as it peeds up. It’s a joy to watch.
‘Hands up, bitches,’ someone yells, and everyone follows suit, including Sarah and me, now both laughing like drains as our stomachs exit the carriage.
After a quick juice break, Alfie decides we should all go on the dodgems, which happens to be my least favourite ride in the park.
‘Um, maybe I’ll just watch. . . take pictures?’ I suggest, but Alfie’s having none of it, insisting I ride with him. Trying to explain to a four-year-old the concept of whiplash is pointless.
