Page 24 of The Golden Girls’ Road Trip

And there it is: the other reason for everything. I sit back in my chair, winded.

‘Goat’s cheese salad, and a dirty burger?’ A waiter appears with our food and we begin to eat. I pick at my salad leaves while Alex pours ketchup over her chips.

‘I heard your husband died. I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘You must miss him – the lord.’

Alex raises both her eyebrows and reaches for her wine.

‘That’s quite the assumption,’ she says. ‘I sense judgement too.’

‘No, not at all. I was perhaps a little surprised that you’d married though.’

‘Connie,’ she says leaning forwards with her elbows on the table as if she’s about to impart some great wisdom. ‘You knew me for, what, six weeks, over fifty years ago? And let’s be honest, you barely knew me then,’ she says, picking up her burger and taking a huge bite. I watch as a dribble of fat slips down her chin. Even though I know that she’s lying it still hurts.

*

The drive back to her house is over too quickly. I haven’t said the right things and now I’m running out of time. I know now that Alex only agreed to lunch for the opportunity to dig at me, remind me that she’s still hurt by the manner of our parting all those years ago, make me feel as if I mean nothing to her. If this is her dying wish, then I have come a long way to have my backside kicked. Alex has spent the journey on her phone, sending messages and ignoring me, and now we’re back on her driveway.

There’s a large white van parked outside the front of the house; her door is open and there’s activity going on inside.

‘It’s looks like you’re being burgled,’ I say, guessing by her reaction that she isn’t. Alex looks annoyed, inconvenienced, not scared or worried.

‘They’re taking down the exhibition, but really, it amounts to the same bloody thing,’ she says with a cold voice.

‘I gathered,’ I say.

I pull up behind the white van, but don’t switch off the engine. Alex tucks her phone back in her pocket at last and turns to me.

‘I have something to ask of you,’ she says, immediately piquing my interest. ‘I’ve got a bit of a problem because of Hank. We were supposed to be delivering some of my work over the next couple of days, but he can’t drive, and neither can I at the moment, so I’m a bit stuck.’

‘Oh, you want me to do it?’

‘I don’t trust couriers and some of my clients expect a level of personal involvement,’ she says.

‘Not sure that me rocking up in my camper van is going to be much of a personal service, but yes, I’ll do it if you’re stuck. Where do they need to go?’

Alex takes a breath. ‘Two are up here in the highlands, then one is in York, one near Preston, then a couple in Wales, Bristol, one more en route to Truro and then…’ She trails off.

I take an even bigger breath and switch off the engine. That’s not just popping a couple of paintings to their new owners, that’s a full-on road trip. I need to get back home, don’t I? Sort out my situation? Talk to Leo? Alex watches me as I weigh it up. I have to ask myself why I really came up here. Yes, to see Alex, of course – after all this time I was curious about what she was doing and had done with her life – but, didn’t I want to explain and apologise too? Don’t I owe her something? If I do this for her, then maybe it will go some way to making amends. Isn’t that what my coming here is all about? I can deliver them on my way back home. It will take a few days at least, but I can do it. I turn to Alex.

‘Okay, I’ll do it for you. Just load me up and I’ll be on my way,’ I say.

‘What – you think I’m just going to let you take off on your own with my paintings? No way, Connie, you’ve got previous!’

I look at her, surprised. Surely she can’t think I’m going to steal her work. I begin to protest, but she has her hand raised to stop me.

‘No – I’m coming with you.’

13

I spend the night in Alex’s spare room – one of her many spare rooms, but I barely sleep. I stare into the darkness, contemplating what I’m doing. It scares me how easy it was for me to leave Peterborough without speaking to Leo. A man I was planning on spending the rest of my life with became a figure in my rearview mirror at the thought of seeing Alex again. Have I made a conscious decision to break things off with Leo without actually telling him? Am I leaving that option open-ended to see what happens with Alex? The reason I don’t sleep, I realise, is because I don’t think much of myself at the moment.

In the morning I phone Simon to say I'm helping an old friend deliver some paintings, but he’s so full of news that Diana had felt the baby kick, that he brushes away my words. Of course, this is far more exciting than a conversation about artwork. He doesn’t mention Leo, so they probably haven’t been in contact since last time. Even though I’ve finally been honest with my son about where I am and what I’m doing, I still manage to feel dreadful when I hang up.

I bite the bullet and compose a message to Leo. It isn’t fair to leave him waiting for me to be in contact. And, now that I’ve committed to a few days delivering Alex’s paintings, it could be a while before I see him. I stare at the screen for ages contemplating what to write. I know he deserves more than a text message. Once I start typing it all comes flooding out.

I tell him how sad I am for him and his grief about Brenda. I say that I’m hurt he wasn’t able to tell Fiona about me, but projecting his own deep-seated grief onto his daughter isn’t healthy. Fiona is a lovely woman, I type, and is living a happy and fulfilling life. No one can ever be Brenda, I continue, and if he ever wishes to have a meaningful relationship with someone else he would need to love them for who they are and not as a replacement. I tell him that it isn’t all on him, though, and that I have unresolved issues to deal with too. Then I run out of steam and decide that I’m rambling.

I read it back and then begin to delete the words. Finally when the screen is blank I begin again.