Page 17 of Third Time’s a Charm

Jasper

“You might want to get into the right-hand lane here. It can get tricky if you leave it too late.” Louise interrupts my guilt stew.

“Right-hand lane? But we’re turning left.” I point to the GPS, which is going to take us over the iconic Sydney Harbour Bridge.

“No. No, no, no. You don’t want to go through the city. You want to turn right and head up the M2, which turns into the M7. Then you swing onto the M4 and you’re practically there.”

“But the GPS says—”

“Yeah, nah.” Louise cuts across me, and I’d swear it wasn’t even ironic. “That way might be shorter in terms of k’s, but—” She flaps a hand towards me.—“Quick, there’s a gap, hop over to the right—but it’ll be slower.”

Before I’ve even processed her words, I find myself following instructions and switching into the right-hand lane, heading down an on-ramp for an expressway that must be a dozen lanes wide. Holy fuck, the roads in this town are next-level confusing.

I reach out and hit cancel on the navigation app. This is Louise’s town, and Louise’s trip. I trust she knows exactly where she’s going.

“Well, I’m in your hands now.” Even to my ears, my tone is harsh. But Louise appears impervious.

“So I get to choose the music.” She pulls her phone out of her bag.

“I don’t think so. Music is always driver’s choice.” I don’t know what Louise might choose, but I’m pretty confident I won’t like it.

“Not in Australia,” she scoffs. “Here, it’s the opposite. Navigator’s choice.”

I don’t believe her for a second. But she looks so gleeful, I can’t bring myself to object. Which I will no doubt regret.

“Fine.” I shrug. “When in Rome, I suppose.”

Within seconds, her phone is synced to the sound system.

“This is my road trip playlist. You’re gonna love it.” Somehow her tone manages to convey that she’s well aware I won’t love it, and she’s going to get a perverse pleasure from that, while at the same time loving the music herself.

Bright, perky pop music that even I recognise is not current, blasts from the speakers.

“What was it about me that gave you the impression I’d like pop music?”

“Everyone loves old-school pop. The music of the seventies and eighties is irresistible.”

I make a mental note to put my noise-cancelling earbuds—which are currently in the pocket of my suitcase—in the console, ready for the drive tomorrow.

But within twenty minutes I’m fighting the urge to tap my thumb on the steering wheel in time with Katrina and the Waves. Louise is busy shimmying in her seat, alternately humming and muttering the words of the song in a voice that wouldn’t make it past the first round of a talent contest. But her grin is ear to ear.

We’ve barely been on the road an hour when Louise dives into the carry bag at her feet and pulls out a brightly coloured packet.

“Milko, Sherbie or Red Ripper?” she asks, tilting the open packet of sweets towards me.

“It’s seven in the morning.”

“And your point would be? We’re on a road trip. Lollies are mandatory. If you’re unsure, maybe start with a Milko.”

I resist the impulse to snort-laugh. “Because it’s akin to drinking a glass of milk?”

“Exactly!” She plucks a sweet out of the bag and holds it out towards me. “You never start with a Sherbie because they’re dessert lollies.”

“Dessert lollies? Aren’t all lollies dessert?”

“Umm, no. Milkos are for starting the day. Red Rippers are more substantial. Your lunch or dinner kind of lolly, you could say. And Sherbies are for afternoon tea. Or dessert.”

“You’ve given this some serious thought.” I can’t remember the last time I wanted to laugh so hard. But I resist.