“I know. That’s why I told you my flight landed at six fifteen instead of seven when it actually landed.”
“Oh.” I mean, I guess that’s fair.
“Also, I promised Maddy and Earnie you’d drop them at their hotel in central Bath.” She’s not asking a question, she’s telling me.
I glance over my shoulder at the back seat of my Subaru Impreza. I’m a big boy. At six-six, I’ve had to slide the driver’s seat all the way back to the last notch, meaning there’s a couple of inches of leg room behind me at most.
“Maddy’s only four foot eleven,” Megan says, as though reading my mind. “Her legs won’t even touch the mat.”
“Sure, why not.” I say, and Megs waves the two old people over.
Madeline and Earnest Fraser turn out to be Saskatchewanian tourists midway through their grand European odyssey. I can think of much nicer, warmer, and drier places I’d rather spend my Christmas in, but they’re keen to bask in the bleak, grey, Dickensian realness of Britain during wintertime.
I play carols through the car’s speaker system. Unpopular opinion: carols are infinitely more joyful and fun to sing than trashy pop songs about wanting to ride Santa like his sleigh or songs about buying fuck loads of landfill fodder. With, of course, the exception of Wham. “Last Christmas” is a fuckingchoon.
“How was Marseille?” I ask Megan, as we trundle down winding dark lanes on our way back to Bath.
“Good, yeah,” she replies.
“How’s your dad? Is he still dating that woman?”
“What woman?”
“You know, the one with dyed black hair and like sixteen ferrets.”
Megan laughs. “Ohh, Loretta. No, he doesn’t see her any more. Man, I miss Loretta. She was a blast.” She looks behind her at the old couple who, since the sun has risen, have taken to gazing wide-eyed out of their respective windows at the never-ending British countryside and tiny chocolate box villages.
In all fairness, the drive from the airport to Bath is very picturesque and probably exactly as they imagined England would be.
“How’ve you been?” Megan lowers her voice. “Have you been active in that thing we talked about at Nando’s?”
Luckily, I’m concentrating on pulling the car to a stop at traffic lights, otherwise I’d be swerving into the bushes.
“Uh . . .” I spare a glance in the mirror at the old folk on my back seat. Neither of them seems to be paying a jot of attention to our conversation.
“Cows, Earn,” Madeline says, pointing out the window.
“No, I haven’t,” I say.
I’ve no idea why I lie. It might be because there are two elderly strangers in the car with us. Or maybe I don’t feel like confessing all the sordid details, even though they make my tummy go squiggly with excitement. Or it could be something else. Perhaps I just don’t want Megan knowing that part of my life. And yeah, I know we agreed to be honest with each other, but it doesn’t feel right.
At least right now it doesn’t feel right.
“You haven’t?” She sounds genuinely surprised, which means my acting is on point today. “Not even when you guys played Leicester last month?”
“Nope,” I say, staring straight ahead. If I turn to look at her, I’ll surely give the game away.
“Who did you share a room with?” she asks.
“Snatch.” I keep my voice level, believable.
“Oh.” She sits back in her seat, shoulders sagging. “Okay.” She leans forward again, and turns towards me. “But, like, would you still want to do that thing we talked about if the opportunity with that person arose?”
The oldies are definitely paying attention now. They know we’re not discussing a work or family issue. I know they know.
I shrug, buying myself a little time to reset my thunderous heartbeat and calm my skittery breathing. “Not sure. Maybe I’m over it.”
Megan watches me for a while. I force myself to make eye contact so she thinks I’m being sincere.
