Page 51 of Road Trip to the Riviera
He grins. ‘You could date down too.’
‘Doesn’t work in the same way though, does it?’
‘Maybe not. But would you want that anyway?’
‘What?’ I joke, ‘A hot younger lover? I think I could probably cope with that.’
He grins. ‘I was going to say, another baby. I mean, would you want to go through all that again?’
It’s not something I’ve given much thought to. But as he says it, I realise that I’m full of longing. ‘Sometimes I think I do,’ I say. ‘But it would be different, obviously, this time.’
‘You’d do it better?’
I shrug. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think recently. You know, in the hospital. I don’t think I’ve had that much headspace for a long time. And I’ve realised something: I’m not crap and neither are you.’
‘That’s a bold claim.’
‘Seriously. Hear me out. The only reason we feel crap is because we want to do our best so much. But nobody’s perfect. Our boy is loved. He’s in love. He’s building his own family. You know what, I think we did OK.’
Hal grins and sips his coffee. And although he doesn’t say anything, it’s clear he feels the same way.
24
HAL
We’re an hour from Vivian’s when Betty starts to cough. She’s not a new vehicle by any means, so it’s not the only weird noise she’s made on the trip. But there’s something deeper, more terminal in the sound.
Sarah glances at me. ‘What the fuck was that?’
‘Nothing,’ I say, changing gears and praying to the car gods that Betty’s able to keep going just another seventy kilometres.
Betty makes a grinding noise. In the rear-view mirror, there’s a cloud of black smoke.
Anyone who drives a vintage vehicle will know that these things happen. And sometimes I’ve found if I just ignore them, the symptoms go away and Betty lives to fight another day without intervention. But there’s a cold, panic feeling spreading over me, nonetheless. I’ve owned this camper for two decades, surely she can’t be about to let me down now?
A mile later, I discover that actually, yes, she is.
I pull into a lay-by just in time before something in the pedal gives and I have no accelerative power at all. Betty hisses and smokes and Sarah looks at me, her eyes wide with panic. ‘Oh shit, Hal,’ she says.
‘It’ll be fine!’ I try to act nonchalant as if I know what I’m doing. I go around to Betty’s engine and, using my shirt to protect my hands from the worst of the heat, open her up. I’m treated to a puff of smoke that blackens my hands, my shirt, and no doubt my face and hair as well.
Drooping with defeat, I plod back to the front and look up at Sarah, who’s regarding me from her seat.
‘Oh, Hal,’ she says and for a moment I think she’s going to launch into a tirade about my crap taste in motors, about my penchant for elderly vehicles. But instead, a delighted grin spreads across her face. She takes in my blackened skin, the hair that’s been forced upwards by smoke and steam. My overall dishevelled appearance. And she begins to laugh.
At first, I feel a flicker of annoyance, but then I realise she’s not being cruel. And that the situation is about as ridiculous as situations get. And something inside me catches. Suddenly we’re laughing together at the ridiculousness of our predicament.
‘Well, that confirms it,’ she says when we finally regain our composure.
‘Confirms what?’
‘We’re both losers. We’ve got three working legs between us, one clean set of clothes and a broken-down VW.’
‘Living the dream?’ I suggest.
‘Right in the middle of the goddamn dream,’ she confirms.
I rummage in the glove compartment for my breakdown details and make a call. It takes ten minutes to get through the automated service, for which I have to confirm multiple times that I’ve broken down and need assistance. Despite our earlier hilarity, I’m starting to lose my cool.
