“Sure,” I said. I hadn’t done any sort of manual labour in my life, but I was surprised how keen I was to try. It took me a few tries to balance it right, but I eventually got a sapling on my shoulder. The next time was easier. We wordlessly traipsed back and forth, carrying our trees out into the sunshine.
Once we were done, Rowan gently tossed the truck keys to me, underarm. I caught them with uncharacteristic ease.
“Really?” I asked.
“Like I said, it’s not too far up the hill. I can give you directions.”
I hopped up into the driver’s seat. I’d never driven a vehicle this size, but I wasn’t about to admit that to Rowan. His easy trust in me inspired a little in myself, and I didn’t want to break whatever spell he was casting.
I got the engine started and smoothly pulled away from the garage. Rowan closed it up and hopped in the passenger seat. He smiled, not a cloud of concern blemishing his sunny expression.
“Okay, let’s go,” I said.
Driving the hardware and supplies truck, I felt more at home than I had in a long time. Walkers stepped back from the road to make way for me. A passing lorry driver flashed his lights to let me through and offered a friendly wave, which I returned in kind. I briefly thought about what it would take to retrain as a lorry driver. Those long, lonely hours would probably suit me. And it was an important job. I wondered why I had never tried driving a large vehicle before. I supposed it had always felt wrong in Edinburgh to take up so much space. And the petrol use! It couldn’t be forgiven. But here it fit somehow. This was a working truck. And I was a working driver. I needed the space, so I got it. What a feeling! To just get space you need. No questions asked. Maybe I needed a vehicle like this if I was going to live in the country. Perhaps I would get my own. Perhaps I would offer to drive Rowan more often.
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He sat relaxed on the passenger side, arm resting out the window, enjoying the air as we shuttled along. I cleared my throat.
“Hey, so, uh, do you mind me asking why you’re only just learning to drive now?” I indicated and checked the corner, getting the hang of the tight country turns. “Seems to me that not having a license is a bit of a handicap out here.”
Rowan was quiet for a moment. Long enough for me to realise I’d stepped into sensitive territory.
“I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Not like I know anything about living in the country,” I quickly added.
“No, it’s okay,” he said. He took a big breath through his nose, as if he were gearing up to a big jump or to lift a heavy weight. “I lost my license a few years back.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. It was my fault. Road rage.”
I did a double-take, then forced my eyes back on the road.
“You? Road rage?”
“Yeah, me.” He nodded. “Road rage.”
I hesitated to ask.
“Like?”
“Like…” He bit his lip, clearly weighing up whether to tell me or not. “Excessive use of the horn. Threatening other drivers. Driving irresponsibly.” He paused. “That’s what it said on the report. What that means in practice is,” he sighed, “driving at speed after another car, forcing them to pull over and then banging on the driver-side window until it cracked.”
“Christ.” I adjusted myself in my seat, suddenly very aware of the space between us. “What had the other guy done?”
“She hadn’t done anything,” he said. “I was late for work, and I thought she’d cut me off. The traffic police ran the footage back for me after I’d been taken in. Turned out she’d had right of way. I’d been wrong. Boom. Done. Lost my license.”
“How long were you banned for?”
“Six months.”
“Six months? How come it’s taken you so long to retake the tests?”
Rowan paused again.
“Eh, you don’t want to know.”
I gripped the steering wheel.
“You don’t want to tell me?”
