Page 26 of The Golden Girls’ Road Trip

I ignore the jibe and start the engine.

‘Well, looks like it’s going to be the three of us then,’ I say and pull off of her driveway, wondering what the hell I’ve got myself into.

*

We’re on the A9 heading south when the first drops of rain hit the windscreen and the inadequate wipers do their best to clear them. The noise of the squeak and scrape as they edge their way across the glass is irritating at the best of times, but with Alex beside me, I begin to feel tense. Her dog is actually very sweet, though, and curled up in the footwell no trouble at all.

There’s been little conversation so far. I have occasionally punctuated the silence with inane comments about the scenery, but I’m not getting much back. We need something to break the ice. Alex has brought a sketchbook with her. She has it open on her lap and her pencil is moving quickly across the paper. She spends most of her time looking out of the window and only occasionally glances down at what she’s doing. What she’s producing though, is a beautifully detailed little study of what she can see outside: the heather and gorse on the verges that flank this stretch of road, the peeling bark of the birches and the parched grasses.

I’m as humbled by her talent now as I ever was, and I’m transported to a time when I would sit and watch her paint in the old shed in her parents’ garden. They were keen for her to keep all that mess out of their way. We balanced her brother’s record player out there on an upturned flowerpot and would listen to Aretha Franklin’s new album, This Girl’s in Love with You, time after time, after time. I’d sit cross-legged on the garden-chair cushions that no one had bothered to put outside and watch her work. That heady mix of a hot summer, a confined space and my budding infatuation with her and her talent, and it was never going to be long before something boiled over.

When Alex notices me glancing at her work, she closes her sketchbook and drops it into her bag. She takes in her surroundings for the first time, touching the dashboard, unwinding the window a little, looking over her shoulder into the back.

‘It’s actually quite sweet,’ she says.

I’m warmed by her words; anyone who likes Ruby is okay by me.

‘I mean, it’s a wee bit twee, all matchy-matchy, but sort of sweet too.’

I suppress a sigh and decide to accept her backhanded compliment.

‘Tell me about your son,’ Alex says. ‘Simon, is it?’

Alex always did have the most impressive memory. I have my eyes on the road, but can feel hers on me.

‘Yes – Simon. He’s married for the third time and has a baby on the way with his wife, Diana, who’s fifteen years younger than him and hates me.’

‘Really, do you like her?’

‘I want to, I absolutely do, but she’s so cold.’

‘Well, perhaps you did something to piss her off. It happens you know.’

I ignore the barbed comment. ‘I think, what I did and still do that pisses her off is have a good relationship with my son.’

‘Oh, she’s pure jealous then.’

‘I don’t think it’s that, but she does seem insecure.’

‘Does she have a good relationship with her own parents?’

‘No, not that I can see. Her mother openly calls her a mistake.’

‘She’s jealous all right, then. But it’s an easy fix. Just make her feel like she’s the daughter you never had.’

I glance round at Alex, surprised at her words. A woman not only with no children, but never with a desire to have them either.

‘But she says such horrible things. Do you think it’s that easy?’ I ask.

‘Aye, I do, and before you say it, I’ve got loads of nieces and nephews; I know how people tick. You’re the grown-up; it’s up to you to reach out. And don’t take no for an answer.’

I contemplate this and how obvious it seems. All the times I’ve kept out of Diana’s way, or bitten my tongue to avoid an atmosphere. Should I have ploughed on regardless? Should I have been the grown-up despite her age?

‘I am crocheting her a baby blanket. That could be a peace offering,’ I say, but Alex doesn’t respond. It reminds me that I meant to pick up some wool in Inverness. Too late to turn back now.

I have an overwhelming and sudden desire to contact Diana, let her know that I want us to be friends. I don’t think I’ve ever done that. I mostly try and keep out of her way. Perhaps I could send her a message, tell her about the blanket. It could be a present as much for her as her baby. We could begin to build some bridges.

I glance at Alex, sitting cross-armed in the seat beside me, her face relaxed but not quite smiling. Perhaps we have broken the ice here. We’re having a normal conversation, not about the weather, but about real family issues. While Alex hasn’t exactly thawed she is at least talking.