Page 48 of The Golden Girls’ Road Trip

I lie there, barely breathing, the smell of her perfume invading my senses. I suddenly feel emotional and have to take very quiet, shallow breaths to stop the tears from coming. This is what I’ve dreamed about. This is what I thought my future would be like fifty-two years ago. And here we are, now, together. A montage of images flickers through my mind like a silent movie. Us together as girls in Scotland, and then imagined pictures of us as middle-aged women and older. The stuff we would have done, the places we would have visited, the things we would have seen. I could weep for the loss of those years together, but instead, I’m going to have to be incredibly grateful for what we will have now.

Eventually I fall into the most satisfying and contented sleep of my life.

23

I wake before Alex and lie staring at the ceiling of the van, digesting our conversation from last night and feeling a wonderful lightness that I haven’t experienced in many years. She’s lying next to me on the narrow bed, cocooned in her sleeping bag, but still her body is curled into mine. I know now that there can never be a reconciliation with Leo; there will be no wedding. I’ve probably known it for longer than I’ve accepted it. No matter what happens with Alex, I can’t continue to live this half-life I’ve been attempting to do for so long, pleasing others, not really looking at what it is that makes me truly happy. That weight has been lifted from my shoulders and also from my heart. I am not the same person I was yesterday and it’s an odd but enlightening feeling.

My bladder ruins the mood, of course, and I unzip my sleeping bag and try hard to get up without waking Alex. She stirs, turns over and curls back up again. I grab our handy bag with tissues and hand sanitiser and climb out of the van to find a sheltered spot in the trees. I let Bardo out too and he runs down the lane to find his own sheltered spot. I whistle for him as I walk back to the van, but he doesn’t come. Instead I hear a volley of barks in the distance. It doesn’t sound aggressive, more playful, and I wonder if he’s found a rabbit.

‘Not now, Bardo,’ I mutter. ‘I need to make some coffee.’ I begin to walk in the direction that he headed, but don’t get far before I see him racing around with a black Labrador. Then I notice the owner – a tall man in a wax jacket and wellies making his way down the lane towards me.

‘Morning there,’ he calls and waves a hand. His Labrador bounds over to me and happily accepts my fingers stroking his head. He’s been in the wet bushes, I realise a little late, as I pull my sodden hand away. Bardo has too – his coat is soaking.

‘Can you help us at all, please? My friend and I managed to get lost and then the van got stuck in the mud here last night. I’ve no signal on my phone, so can’t call for help.’

‘You spent the night here? Goodness, well then yes of course,’ he says. ‘My neighbour is a farmer and has a tractor. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind pulling you out.’

He assures me he’ll head straight back and send his neighbour out to help us, then he disappears.

Alex is whistling and attempting to get the kettle going when I open the door of the van. I watch her for a second as she fiddles, unsuccessfully, with the gas ring. She turns when she sees me and breaks into a grin that makes me so happy.

‘How do you work this wretched thing?’ she asks, flapping the kettle at me. I take it from her and get it going.

‘We’re getting pulled out. Bardo found a dog walker who’s going to help us. We’d better be quick with this and make sure we’re ready.’

Half an hour later we hear the distinct sounds of a tractor chugging down the lane. Gavin, the farmer, is an amiable chap and soon has the van hooked up to a rope attached to his tractor. He has his son with him, who gets into the van, even though I’ve told them I’ve driven from Inverness and am more than capable. They both look at the bank of sprayed mud and suggest we get out of their way. To be fair, I’m more than grateful to them both, and Alex and I climb in beside the farmer as he pulls the van out of the mud and reattaches the rope to the front to pull us up the lane.

His farmhouse is warm and inviting. He has a teenage daughter called Maddy and she offers us tea and toast and use of their bathroom while Gavin takes a look at the van.

‘You’ve run out of fuel, love,’ he tells me when I go outside to join him. Bardo and the Lab are tearing around the yard together, which means he’ll be happily exhausted for the next leg of our journey.

‘But, I’m pretty sure we had about half a tank, last time I looked.’

‘It’s your fuel gauge that’s faulty. It does show half a tank, but I can tell you, it’s empty. A quick fix at a garage should do it. I’ve popped some fuel in to get you to the nearest petrol station.’

‘I’m so grateful to you,’ I say. ‘You’ve been so kind, thank you.’

We head back inside where Maddy insists we have a slice of her homemade lemon drizzle cake before we go. Alex has been sitting at the kitchen table with her, talking about art and showing her the sketchbook she’s spent days doodling in. Maddy is intrigued and attempting her own artwork with a piece of Alex’s charcoal. She’s actually pretty good and has a fair likeness of the view from the kitchen window. There is noticeably no Mrs Farmer around and Alex, in true form, asks her where her mother is. I cringe at her direct question, but Maddy doesn’t seem at all worried as she tells us her mother died ten years ago from cancer when Maddy was only five. There is contentment in this house though. You can feel the warmth between father and daughter, between brother and sister, even though my heart breaks a little for them.

Alex tears a page from her sketchbook and hands it to the teenager.

‘It’s just something I’ve been doodling on the journey,’ she tells her, but when I sneak a look, I see a beautiful study of the Welsh countryside. Maddy is d

elighted and we leave with the three of them waving from the doorway and promises from me that if they’re ever in Brighton then there’s a meal on me.

We pick our way back to the main road, slowly and carefully, and stop in Merthyr Tydfil to fill up with fuel. I phone ahead to a garage I know in Bristol and book the van in for a check and then we head down towards Cardiff and the M4.

The radio is on and the windows are open as the sun arrives with mid-morning. It’s been a roller coaster of weather as we’ve headed down the country, impossible to know what’s coming next. Bardo is sitting on Alex’s lap with his head resting on the top of the door, his ears flapping in the wind. There’s a comfortable air between us and we chit-chat about the news on the radio and make up silly stories about the lives of the people in the vehicles that overtake us. I’m driving slowly and carefully, being very fuel-conscious, and I feel a pang for our imagined life. This is how it would have been if we’d made it onto the road when we were eighteen. I try to shake off the nostalgia and keep in the moment, to stop fantasising about what might have been and try to enjoy what we have now. You can’t ever go back.

We cross the River Severn and arrive outside The Bristol Hotel on the riverfront at two. I drop Alex off with her bag and her dog and she insists we take the remaining two paintings inside and that the hotel keeps them locked and safe for the duration of our stay. They agree to this without any problem, and also to accommodating Bardo, which tells me exactly how much Alex is paying for the night here.

The garage isn’t far and the owner, Julie, promises to give Ruby a good all-over check and let me know if there are problems other than the fuel gauge. She’s hopeful to have it ready for the morning, but says that if not, we can use one of her cars to take into Cornwall. I’ve known Julie for years and trust her implicitly, not something I can say about every garage I’ve frequented in my time.

Julie offers to get one of the lads to drive me back to the hotel, but I thank her and decide to walk. It’s such a lovely day and my limbs could do with a stretch. I find myself at St Nicholas Market, somewhere I’ve been many times before, and I decide to get some wool from the haberdashery shop inside. I choose an icy blue shade, which is almost exactly the colour of Alex’s eyes, but I definitely won’t be telling her that. I slip the ball into my bag and begin walking back to the hotel.

Alex is in the bar and on her phone having a heated conversation when I arrive. There’s clearly nothing wrong with the device at all. I hold back and try to listen in, which I’m not particularly proud about, but there’s definitely something she’s not telling me. Unfortunately I can’t make out what she’s saying as her accent has thickened and her words are coming fast. I walk over to the bar and order a coffee.

‘Everything okay?’ I ask, when she joins me a short while later. ‘I see your phone is working again.’