Page 27 of The Golden Girls’ Road Trip

‘There’s a service station just up ahead. I need a pee and Bardo does too. This will be a recurring theme throughout this trip,’ she says with a grim smile.

I think about that and what it may mean for her mystery illness. Bladder problems – could be cancer? Then again, I need a wee too. So, possibly just our age. I pull the van off the main road and into a parking space.

‘And, about your daughter-in-law,’ Alex says, turning in her seat to face me. ‘There’s every possibility you may be a terrible mother-in-law and Diana has every reason to dislike you. Don’t forget, Connie, you chose to have a family; the very least you can do is to care for them.’

Alex hasn’t thawed at all.

*

We’re on the outskirts of Edinburgh by two and I suggest we stop for lunch. Alex directs me into the city.

‘There’s an NCP car park behind the castle,’ she says. ‘We can walk up from there.’

‘Do you have somewhere in mind to eat then?’ I ask.

‘Yes, The Witchery, by the castle; it was a favourite of mine and Sebastian’s.’

It’s the first time she has mentioned her husband, and I want to capitalise on it and dig in a bit deeper, but navigating the busy Edinburgh streets is tricky, so I keep my mouth shut for now and my eyes on the road. We pull into the car park and I get a ticket for a couple of hours, gulping at the cost: nearly ten pounds!

‘How far is the restaurant? Are you going to be okay to walk it?’ I ask, but Alex is swallowing some tablets from her handbag.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she says, with that same look of grim determination. We leave the car park and walk up the steps bedside it until we’re onto the road at the foot of the castle, built high on volcanic rocks. I don’t tell Alex that I’ve been here before. It’s clear she wants to be the guide, as she begins to give me some of the history, and I’m happy to let her.

We walk slowly up the hill, past the coaches parked up waiting for their tourists. Bardo is happy trotting along between us and it gives me such hope seeing Alex with a dog. It does take the edge off her, watching her with her floppy-eared spaniel. She’s wearing black jeans today and there are a few of Bardo’s hairs stuck to them. For all her make-up and blingy jewellery, her severe expression and stiff posture, those few stray dog hairs make her very human.

We pass a restricted parking bay and Alex stops to take a breath. I wish for a moment I could have got my hands on a permit, but she rallies and we turn onto The Royal Mile along with so many others.

‘I forget what a beautiful city this is,’ I say, staring up at the Gothic spire towering above us.

‘It’s the tallest point in central Edinburgh,’ Alex says. ‘And every August the building becomes the central hub for the Edinburgh Festival.’

Alex is trying to sound as if she knows this, but I catch her glancing at her phone, no doubt on Wikipedia.

‘They’re serving fish and chips. We could just grab some here, save walking any further,’ I say, pointing at the blue van parked up out the front. In answer, Alex keeps walking and I trail on behind her.

Not far up the cobbles we arrive at the restaurant. It looks expensive, and I wonder who’s paying and whether dogs are allowed.

‘Should we have booked? It’s so busy today,’ I say, just as someone pushes past me, knocking my handbag off my shoulder. I pull it back up and over my head for extra security, check the zip is pulled tight and is on the front of the bag. It’s one of the many things I’ve caught myself doing as I get older. Would I have worried about securing my bag when I was younger? No, I’d have shoved my stuff into pockets and not given them further thought. ‘What about the dog; surely we can’t take him in.’ I glance down and see him sitting and looking from one of us to the other, patiently waiting for us to make a move. I bend down and stroke his soft head.

‘I know the owner,’ Alex says. ‘It won’t be a problem.’

Bardo cocks his leg and relieves himself noisily on the iron railings to the left of the door and then follows Alex inside. I glance up at the royal-looking flag hanging above the door, smooth the top of my hair with my hands and then tag along behind them.

We’re offered a table even though the owner isn’t there. Alex’s name seems to carry some weight. The seats are high-backed red leather, candles sit tall in sliver holders and the napkins are tied with red velvet ribbon. I have my chair pulled out for me and as I sit down I take in the scent of the pretty floral arrangement on the table: roses, heather and tiny fern fronds.

‘Lunch is on me,’ Alex says, picking up a menu and ordering a large glass of wine. Despite the beauty of the place, my heart sinks a little at the thought of the cost.

‘I’ll just have a sparkling water, please,’ I say to the waiter. ‘We’ve got four and a half hours of driving ahead of us.’

I order lemon sole and Alex orders a seafood platter. When it comes it’s a tangle of Scottish langoustines, oysters, mussels, clams and crab with half a lobster sitting on a bed of ice staring at me. I glance at my watch and contemplate the possibility of not reaching York before bedtime.

Alex tucks in happily, only stopping to wipe her mouth and offer titbits to Bardo, who sits under the table, quietly waiting. She’s enjoying her second glass of wine. I see she is a woman keen to embrace everything life has to offer while she still can. I’m about to be brave and ask her about her health when she speaks.

‘There’s a lot of history here,’ she says, waving an oyster shell in the air. I know she means the building, but it could so easily be a statement about ourselves and I suppress a smile.

‘It looks just like the inside of your home,’ I say, and Alex laughs.

‘My home,’ she says, wryly. ‘Yes, I suppose it does a bit.’