Page 25 of The Golden Girls’ Road Trip

Leo, I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you on Saturday. I should have given you time to explain how you feel. I realise that we both need time to think about what it is that we really want. I’ve met up with an old friend and I’m going away for a few days with her. If you still want to talk to me when I get back then I would love to meet up with you. Connie x

I shower and dress, then make my way downstairs. The team of people have stripped the exhibition from the house and carefully wrapped all of the paintings, which are now labelled and stacked in the main entrance hall.

I find Alex eating toast and drinking coffee at the kitchen table. It’s another vast room, but distinctly more modern than the oak panelling of the rest of the house. The white granite worktops are startling in the morning sun, flooding through the arched window above the sink. Banks of handleless cupboard doors in a soft elephant grey stretch around the space, but it isn’t as stark as you’d expect. Alex’s artwork warms the walls and her collections of sculptures and objets d’art bring character to her shelves and spaces. This is her domain – not the dark and austere library or the cold and soulless living room, but here in the warmth and light.

I help myself from the coffee pot and pick at a croissant Alex offers me. We hadn’t spent the evening together. I said I had some things to sort in the van and when I’d come in, Alex had been dozing in front of the television, a half-finished glass of whisky on the table beside her. I had turned the television off and covered her in the blanket that was folded over the back of the armchair.

‘Are you sure your van is up to this trip?’ she asks me now.

‘I’ll need to refuel and check the water before we leave, but yes, she’s more than capable.’ I cross my fingers under the table and hope I’m right.

‘She?’ Alex smirks. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Ruby.’ I bristle.

‘Apt,’ she replies, brushing toast crumbs from her top. ‘We’ll need to stay overnight en route. I’ll book a hotel for York and then we’ll see how we go from there.’

I’m not sure if she means to book for us both, but don’t like to ask. I can easily sleep in the van anyway.

‘So, the local deliveries can wait. I think it’s best if we get on the road for York today. Does that work for you? I reckon if we leave soonish, we can be there by five, six, with breaks of course.’ Alex is animated now, almost excited, and I swallow down the last of my coffee. To know I have hours ahead of me, side by side with her is something a couple of days ago I would have only dreamed about, but now it’s actually happening, I’m beginning to lose my nerve. Will we be making stilted small talk the whole way? Will Alex continue to be this cheerful or slip back to the unimpressed grudge-bearer of only yesterday? It’s a lot for me to get my head around, and a lot of miles for me to cover.

‘That sounds fine,’ I say brightly, shoving the last of the croissant into my mouth and swallowing down some coffee. ‘Exactly how many paintings are we taking? I can’t possibly fit them all in. What’s the plan?’ There must be ten times the number I can take stacked in the front hallway.

‘It’s not all of them; there are eight that I need to deliver. Those ones are particularly special and need my personal touch, but the rest can, well, it doesn’t matter about them. They can wait until I get back.’

She turns away to rinse her mug in the sink and seems twitchy all of a sudden.

‘It’s fine, Alex,’ I say, keen to reassure her. ‘It will all be fine.’

She turns back to me with a look that could be gratitude – it’s hard to tell – but there’s a vulnerability about her too. We both watch as the kitchen suddenly darkens and the worktops lose their glare as a dark bank of cloud works its way across the face of the sun.

*

Alex stands on the driveway and watches me load the paintings into the back of the van. Actually, watching would be preferable. In reality, what she’s doing is dictating and directing. I do my best to stack them carefully – there’s limited space – but she just keeps barking orders.

‘Not like that! You’ll damage the frame! No, Connie, you can’t lay it flat! Does it look as if that’s the best place for it!’

It’s a testament to my inner strength and also to my desperation to please her that I don’t lose my temper.

When I’m done and about to climb into the driver’s seat ready to go, Alex drags out a huge suitcase onto the doorstep.

‘Oh, and there’s this,’ she says, ‘my case.’

I’d assumed that the holdall and the tote bag she had on the passenger seat was her luggage, but it seems I was wrong. She’s packed enough for weeks away it appears. She locks up the front door and I notice her shove the keys back through the letter-box. Then she turns and looks at me expectantly. I know she can’t manage the suitcase across the driveway, so I go to help, and between us and a large groove through the gravel we get it to the van. I pull it up inside and wedge it between a storage cupboard and the back seat. The paintings I’ve secured with bungee cords and everything now seems ready to go.

Alex puts two fingers into her mouth and lets out an almighty whistle. I’m surprised for a moment, until a golden-coloured dog comes running around from the back of the house in a flurry of fur and flapping ears. It jumps up into the passenger footwell and Alex climbs in beside it, then closes her door.

‘Who is this?’ I ask, wondering where its lead is and if it’s friendly. I’m not going to ask Alex. I imagine it’s a case of, love me, love my dog. To be fair, two sweet brown eyes look at me intently while a tail swishes back and forth across the carpet.

‘Bardo,’ she says, ‘my dog.’

‘You didn’t say anything about a dog. I didn’t even know you had one, to be honest. Where have you been hiding it?’

‘He was with a friend while the exhibition was going on. He’s back now. Is that a problem?’

‘As long as he’s a good traveller then, no, not at all.’

‘He’s loyal, dependable, trustworthy and has never run away from me, not ever.’