occasionally glancing suspiciously in the direction of Steven.
‘Have good day, Mees Nicola.’ He waved.
‘I will,’ I yelled back at him, in case Steven’s window was open and he was listening. I got back into the car. ‘Got it,’ I said, patting my handbag where one of the bikini straps could be seen poking out of the top.
‘Okay then, let’s go!’ He veered wildly off the pavement once more and this time I was thrust backwards into my seat as he simultaneously drove and switched on The Beach Boys: Greatest Hits . Christ. ‘Round, round get around I get around …’
At around Weston-Super-Mare I had psyched myself up enough to get chatting.
‘So, go on, what are we doing today, then?’ I asked in what I hoped was a casual way. My knuckles turned white as I gripped my legs. I was a little tense about what lay in store. Steven’s manic driving didn’t exactly help matters.
‘Oh, well, of course we’re taking this baby out, aren’t we?’ He nodded his head in the direction of the roof.
I was under no illusions as to what this baby was. Oh dear. I gave him a strained smile and he added, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got all the kit you’ll need. You won’t even be aware it’s winter.’
That made me feel marginally better. Up to that point I’d thought he might be under the illusion it was in fact summer. I mean he was wearing shorts, we were listening to the Beach Boys, and we were headed to the West Country. It was basically Bank Holiday. I settled back into my seat and decided to make more effort on the small talk. The CD had moved on to ‘In my Room’, which made for a slightly calmer atmosphere, at least.
‘So, are you quite into The Great Outdoors?’ I asked, gesturing to the patches of passing fields as we whizzed along.
‘I guess you could say that,’ he said with a vague chuckle. The chuckle made me edgy again. I looked back out of the window.
Focus on the horizon, Nicola, we can do this.
‘What about you, Nicola, what kind of hobbies are you into?’ he gave me a quick sideways glance.
‘Oh, I like …’ Hmm. This was a tricky question. All my ‘hobbies’ seemed so dull. Reading, watching films, having a glass of wine, cleaning the house, making photograph collages … ‘Photography,’ I announced suddenly.
‘Interesting,’ he nodded. ‘Did you get to see the Matthew Brady exhibit when it was on at the City Museum?’
Bugger.
‘Oh, er, no. I was … away.’
‘Abroad?’
‘Yep,’ I said quickly, pleased to have avoided the photography faux pas.
‘Where?’
‘Hmm …’ I turned to him. He’d taken his eyes off the road and was looking at me expectantly.
‘Where did you go?’ he repeated.
Oh bollocks.
‘Madrid!’ I said suddenly, my eyes wide. The lies were flowing freely now. The truth was that I hadn’t left the country in five years. And even that had just been Brittany, which really didn’t count as it cost a pound to get there on the ferry and we’d only stayed a few hours before my brother managed to hospitalise himself by clambering onto a statue of Arthur III, losing his grip on his sword and plunging to the ground with a broken ankle.
‘It’s a great city, Madrid,’ Steven said enthusiastically. ‘I spent a year out there with work.’
Curses.
‘That’s great,’ I shouted, hoping to match his enthusiasm. ‘Oh look …’ I pointed out of the window as we sailed past a sign on the M5. ‘Taunton.’
‘Er, indeed,’ Steven said. ‘So, where did you stay in Madrid?’ he asked.
I cringed. ‘Um, just near the centre,’ I said, waving my hand dismissively.
‘Centro or more towards the Arganzuela district?’
Bloody hell, what was up with this guy? Did he write for Lonely Planet or something?
‘Um, more Centro,’ I said, trying to mimic his pronunciation. He’d done something funny with an ‘O’. I spat on his dashboard.
‘It’s very lively, isn’t it?’ he grinned, not seeming to notice my spittle. ‘I went out
‘Have good day, Mees Nicola.’ He waved.
‘I will,’ I yelled back at him, in case Steven’s window was open and he was listening. I got back into the car. ‘Got it,’ I said, patting my handbag where one of the bikini straps could be seen poking out of the top.
‘Okay then, let’s go!’ He veered wildly off the pavement once more and this time I was thrust backwards into my seat as he simultaneously drove and switched on The Beach Boys: Greatest Hits . Christ. ‘Round, round get around I get around …’
At around Weston-Super-Mare I had psyched myself up enough to get chatting.
‘So, go on, what are we doing today, then?’ I asked in what I hoped was a casual way. My knuckles turned white as I gripped my legs. I was a little tense about what lay in store. Steven’s manic driving didn’t exactly help matters.
‘Oh, well, of course we’re taking this baby out, aren’t we?’ He nodded his head in the direction of the roof.
I was under no illusions as to what this baby was. Oh dear. I gave him a strained smile and he added, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got all the kit you’ll need. You won’t even be aware it’s winter.’
That made me feel marginally better. Up to that point I’d thought he might be under the illusion it was in fact summer. I mean he was wearing shorts, we were listening to the Beach Boys, and we were headed to the West Country. It was basically Bank Holiday. I settled back into my seat and decided to make more effort on the small talk. The CD had moved on to ‘In my Room’, which made for a slightly calmer atmosphere, at least.
‘So, are you quite into The Great Outdoors?’ I asked, gesturing to the patches of passing fields as we whizzed along.
‘I guess you could say that,’ he said with a vague chuckle. The chuckle made me edgy again. I looked back out of the window.
Focus on the horizon, Nicola, we can do this.
‘What about you, Nicola, what kind of hobbies are you into?’ he gave me a quick sideways glance.
‘Oh, I like …’ Hmm. This was a tricky question. All my ‘hobbies’ seemed so dull. Reading, watching films, having a glass of wine, cleaning the house, making photograph collages … ‘Photography,’ I announced suddenly.
‘Interesting,’ he nodded. ‘Did you get to see the Matthew Brady exhibit when it was on at the City Museum?’
Bugger.
‘Oh, er, no. I was … away.’
‘Abroad?’
‘Yep,’ I said quickly, pleased to have avoided the photography faux pas.
‘Where?’
‘Hmm …’ I turned to him. He’d taken his eyes off the road and was looking at me expectantly.
‘Where did you go?’ he repeated.
Oh bollocks.
‘Madrid!’ I said suddenly, my eyes wide. The lies were flowing freely now. The truth was that I hadn’t left the country in five years. And even that had just been Brittany, which really didn’t count as it cost a pound to get there on the ferry and we’d only stayed a few hours before my brother managed to hospitalise himself by clambering onto a statue of Arthur III, losing his grip on his sword and plunging to the ground with a broken ankle.
‘It’s a great city, Madrid,’ Steven said enthusiastically. ‘I spent a year out there with work.’
Curses.
‘That’s great,’ I shouted, hoping to match his enthusiasm. ‘Oh look …’ I pointed out of the window as we sailed past a sign on the M5. ‘Taunton.’
‘Er, indeed,’ Steven said. ‘So, where did you stay in Madrid?’ he asked.
I cringed. ‘Um, just near the centre,’ I said, waving my hand dismissively.
‘Centro or more towards the Arganzuela district?’
Bloody hell, what was up with this guy? Did he write for Lonely Planet or something?
‘Um, more Centro,’ I said, trying to mimic his pronunciation. He’d done something funny with an ‘O’. I spat on his dashboard.
‘It’s very lively, isn’t it?’ he grinned, not seeming to notice my spittle. ‘I went out
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