Page 30 of The Golden Girls’ Road Trip

‘Yes, madam, it’s orange juice and champagne, but we add a splash of Grand Marnier.’

‘Just the orange juice, thanks,’ I say, but am not remotely surprised when Alex orders the cocktail. I imagine she’ll be asleep as soon we set off again. When the food comes, it arrives like an afternoon tea. My eyes are wide as I take it all in. A plate is put in front of me with a rösti and poached egg and avocado. This would be sufficient, but then a three-tier plate stack is placed down in the middle of the table.

‘Miniature Bircher muesli,’ he says pointing to two glasses on the top. ‘Spiced fruit loaf with cinnamon sugar, served with crème fraîche and berries,’ he continues, pointing at the middle layer. ‘And pain au chocolat,’ he finishes with a flurry.

‘Thank goodness,’ I say. ‘We may well have faded away from hunger without those pains au chocolat.’

He dutifully laughs as if he’s never heard that before, and then he leaves us with our breakfast – a breakfast that could easily feed several people. Alex tucks straight into her cocktail.

‘How are we going to eat all of this?’ I say to her as she puts her drink down.

‘Eat what you can and then they’ll box the rest up and we can eat it on the way or give it to the dog. Looks great doesn’t it?’ she says, pushing a forkful of egg into her mouth.

Alex may well have rounded her edges a little now she’s older, but she’s still very much a slim woman. I have no idea where she puts all the food she eats. I think about her mystery illness again and then try and push that thought away.

‘I’ve eaten little over the last few months, getting my exhibition together. I can finally relax and enjoy myself,’ she says, but as she takes another sip of her drink, I see a trepidation in her eyes. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘I certainly don’t have to worry about the paintings now, that’s for sure.’

‘You can admit to enjoying yourself in my company then?’ I ask her and watch as she tries very hard to suppress a smile.

‘Tolerate, perhaps.’

I decide not to push her any further and tuck into my breakfast, but I can’t suppress my own smile. I might be winning her over.

*

We leave Bettys with a fair amount of our breakfast tucked into little boxes. I pick up our umbrellas on the way out and have a feeling that if I hadn’t, then Alex would never have remembered. It probably wouldn’t have bothered her that my favourite umbrella would be left languishing in a York tea room. I turn to head back to the apartment, but Alex stops me.

‘Don’t you want to get some wool?’ she asks.

‘Oh, yes, I do if that’s all right.’

She doesn’t reply, but begins to tap on her phone and directs us away from the tea rooms. We walk past a row of high street shops until we arrive outside Duttons for Buttons. The little shop is stacked top to bottom with boxes of buttons. They make for a lovely display and even Alex can’t help herself but look. I find some wool tucked away at the back of the shop and choose an apricot colour that reminds me of the glow last night coming from York Minster’s floodlights. I pay and then we head back to the apartment.

15

We’re back on the road and leaving the city centre. I am stuffed and almost had to roll myself back to the van. Alex is navigating, which at least will keep her awake. She’s good at navigating, giving me plenty of warning for turnings and exits off roundabouts. She also keeps up a running commentary on what she can see and what she knows about where we are, which she reads from the screen of her phone, but makes it sound as if the information is plucked straight from her head. She’s a born storyteller, I remind myself.

The windows are down and the breeze is warm but pleasant enough, now that the air con has died. The drizzle has stopped, but there’s still a summer mugginess about the air. Bardo is in the back, curled up in his bed after another run around the minster. I feel that Alex is not the strictest of dog owners, even though it’s clear she loves him. In fact everyone loved him as he ran among the tourists. I’m not used to animals, having never been around long enough to sensibly own one. I wisely decide to keep my mouth shut about it. Bardo is clearly a smart dog.

We are comfortable with each other for now, and I don’t want to say or do anything to change that. If someone had told me last week I’d be on the road with Alex today, I’d never have believed them, and I feel a little joyous.

‘So where is this place we’re going to?’ I ask. I know it’s not a long drive from York, but Alex never said exactly where it was. Now we pull into a village called Bishopthorpe, which I’ve never heard of, and I ease off the accelerator.

‘It’s just around the next corner on the left, so go slow and, oh, we’re here. Just in here, Connie.’

I indicate and pull into an expansive driveway. There’s a stone archway with a clock tower in front of us and perfectly green lawns either side with precision stripes.

‘Don’t go through the arch,’ she says. ‘Can you pull into this little car park on the left?’

I do as she tells me and find a space next to some rather austere-looking white portcullis-style doors.

‘Not sure how long I’ll be. Will you be okay here waiting for me, with the dog?’

‘Sure,’ I say, although I’d rather go with her for a nose around. I did see the sign that read Bishopthorpe Palace and now my mind is whirring with who she’s delivering the painting to. She moves round into the back of the van and selects the right painting – one of the smaller pieces that she can easily carry herself. I get out to help her though, because she is still a bit wobbly.

She takes the painting and I watch her as she disappears through the archway, her gait just slightly off. Once she’s gone I make a cup of tea from the gas stove and drag out a folding chair to sit on the grass while I wait. I take my crochet with me and whistle for Bardo, who ignores me. I can’t make anything like the sound that Alex can. I pop my head around the door.

‘Are you coming out?’ I ask him, and he lifts his head and sniffs the air. Something makes his mind up and he jumps down onto the ground and sets off for a snuffle in the hedges. I settle with my blanket and catch up on a few rows with the Edinburgh wool before switching to the apricot colour from York.