Page 6 of Road Trip to the Riviera
‘You’re smiling. Don’t tell me, you’re so in love with the car it’s a joy to drive,’ I say teasingly.
He glances at me as if to ascertain my mood. ‘Something like that.’
‘Really?’
‘No. Not really.’ He looks at my face again, his eyes skirting across it. ‘If you must know, it was you.’
‘Me?’ If he comes out and says something like travelling with me is such a pleasure, then I’ll seriously consider leaping from this thing. Because I know I am far from great company right now.
‘Yeah. Fidgeting. It made me remember. You know.’
‘No, I don’t know.’
‘Just, back in the day. You were like that. Always on the move. Couldn’t relax.’
He doesn’t mean it this way, but his words sting a little. ‘Well, at least I didn’t spend most of my weekend bed-rotting.’
‘Bed-rotting?’
‘Yeah, you know. Festering under your duvet.’
Despite my slightly aggressive tone, he barks out a laugh. ‘Yeah, you’re not wrong there.’
He takes the dig easily, absorbs it with his good nature. I’d be obsessing over a comment like that for days. I try to take a similar attitude with the fidgeting thing. But no. I can’t. I have to say something.
‘Actually, I’m fidgeting because of my leg.’
He turns to me briefly, brow furrowed, before returning his eyes to the road. ‘Hurting?’
‘No. Well, not much. Itching.’
Hal sucks air between his teeth. The corners of his eyes crease. ‘That sucks.’
‘Yep!’ I say then. ‘So you’re wrong. I’m not a fidgeter, as you put it. In fact, it may not have occurred to you but I’m not the same person you knew twenty-two years ago. Some of us have evolved.’
He laughs again, a little uncertainly. ‘Yeah, I’m sure. Look, I didn’t mean it as an insult. You’re right. I am a bit on the lazy side. I’ve always admired your drive.’
Now it’s my turn to snort.
‘What?’
But I don’t know how to explain it, even to him. People are always accusing me of being ‘driven’. And I know that’s what it looks like from the outside. Thirty-nine and a partner in my own law firm, attending meetings, going to the gym after work, meals with clients. Never a moment to myself. I probably come across as driven. Only I don’t feel driven. I feel… a lot of the time, I’m not exactly sure how I feel.
‘Oh, nothing.’ I turn my gaze to the window and watch the countryside slip past: green and brown grazing land, a crop of butter-coloured wheat, then maize, a riot of almost luminousyellow. I’ve always loved living in Cambridge because, while it’s a city, it’s nestled in some amazing countryside. Only these days I don’t often venture into it. My world is all hard surfaces – concrete and brick, glass and wood. Marbled worktops and plastic screens. Something in me relaxes as I watch the undulating fields with their patchwork of colour. It amazes me that it’s someone’s job to tame the rich brown earth each year, plant seed. Bring order to the natural world.
‘Enjoying the view?’ Hal pipes up, and I instantly stiffen.
‘It’s OK,’ I say nonchalantly. ‘Not too late to take the M25 though – we could be there in an hour from here.’
He shakes his head; it’s almost a pitying movement. ‘Have you ever thought about what it was like to travel before we had all of this?’ he asks.
‘All of what?’
‘Modern transport.’
‘What? Betty? Modern?’
‘Hey!’ he looks at me, but although Betty is his pride and joy, he’s smiling. ‘She’s a vintage classic.’
