Page 16 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

The cars ahead of us began to creep along again. I was able to pick up a little more speed. I didn’t want Evan in my car anymore. Damn this bloody airport tech outage!

‘I’m not in the habit of breaking promises, Daisy.’

‘And I’m not in the habit of begging for cash. I can manage fine, thanks.’

Evan’s back stiffened. ‘Jesus! Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?’

I didn’t answer. I just raised my chin and kept driving.

There was another awkward silence for a few moments before Evan let out a pained sigh. ‘Look. You’re right. I think that Fox individual could’ve been a bit more careful with his choice of words.’

‘A bit more careful?’ I repeated, incredulous. More fields flew past the car. ‘There must’ve been poison dripping from his keyboard when he wrote that. In fact, whenever he writes most of his reviews!’

I shook my ponytail and eyed the white Lexus in front of us. ‘Why does he have to be so cruel? I’m all for constructive criticism, but what he said was well out of order.’ More dark thoughts about Fox crept back in. ‘I bet he’s a talentless, sour individual without a creative bone in his body.’

Evan eyed me from the passenger side. ‘That’s often said about critics. They can be a bit harsh, and yes, he was acting like an arse just now.’

‘A bit?’ I clutched the steering wheel more firmly again. Around us, other frustrated drivers and passengers edged forward in their vehicles along the M1. ‘I got the distinct impression from the way he acted towards me that he would be an arse most of the time.’

Evan forced a hand through his floppy, thick hair. ‘Look, I’m getting the vibe you’d rather me not be here and you’d much prefer to do the rest of the journey on your own.’

I didn’t say anything and stared ahead through the windscreen.

Evan spoke again. ‘Not all journalists are like him, I can assure you. To be honest, I wouldn’t describe him as a proper journalist anyway. But if you still want to drop me off…’

Oh bugger. My conscience nibbled at me. It would take him forever to get from here by coach back up to Forrest Bank, and that’s if he could even get a seat on one. Because of the mess at the airports, the coaches would no doubt be swamped with additional bookings, as well as the trains. I wasn’t that heartless, even if he was irritating me.

‘I’m not dropping you off by a major motorway. I like to think I’ve got a moral code, unlike some people I can mention.’

I puffed out my cheeks. ‘Just stay put. You might as well, now we’re on our way.’

* * *

It was a relief to get out of the car prior to hitting the M6 to catch some fresh air and indulge in a cup of tea and an Emmental toastie.

Evan bought himself a coffee and a club sandwich.

We sat opposite one another at the motorway services, which seemed to be occupied by frazzled families heading home after a day out in the May sunshine.

Evan persisted in offering me brief, indecipherable glances whenever he looked up from his phone.

If anyone was looking at us, they’d probably assume we were a couple who’d just had an exchange of words.

I drained my tea, stood up and popped the recyclable cup in the nearby bin. ‘I think we should head off again.’

Evan’s lashes jutted up at me. ‘So, you’re not intending on abandoning me here?’

‘Not if you behave yourself.’

‘That sounds boring.’ His eyes locked with mine.

I gripped the strap of my bag tighter. He was doing it again. Somehow, he was managing to make me feel discomfited. I spun away him. ‘Come on then. Let’s hit the road.’

* * *

Coventry, Birmingham, Walsall, Stafford, Stoke-on-Trent, Preston, Lancaster; we pushed on past them all, Marlene like a bright yellow daffodil negotiating the roads.

The evening sky was bleeding into a delicious raspberry ripple shade. I’d checked Google Maps on my phone, and Ambleside was now only about half an hour’s drive away.