Page 69 of The Golden Girls’ Road Trip

‘You’re going away in a few months’ time. That will separate us.’

‘I’m not going anywhere without you, Con! This will be the golden girls’ road trip,’ she says, using her fingers to show an imaginary banner in the air. ‘I’m not doing it alone.’

She takes my face in her hands, pulls me forward and rests her forehead against mine.

‘Now,’ she says. ‘Get the felt-tip pen and pinpoint everywhere you want to stop.’

Epilogue

Six months later

I stretch the map out on my lap and move my eyes down the length of the historic Route 1 – 2369 miles, stretching from Fort Kent near the Canadian border, down the East Coast of the States through Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, Washington DC, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, through Florida and hopefully, if we’re still alive at that point, ending in Key West.

Alex sighs beside me from the driver’s seat. A couple of injections in her hip and she’s renewed her driving license.

‘I don’t know why you bother with that paper map, it was only meant to be a nostalgic present. You’ve got tech that’s far more likely to keep us on track.’

‘I just like the feel of a map, that’s all.’

‘Do you want to swap and drive for a bit?’ she asks.

‘Why, are you feeling tired?’

We only left the beautiful town of Ogunquit half an hour ago, but then Alex had stuffed her face with a load of chocolate and vanilla ice cream at the Dairy King on the beach, so maybe she’s feeling a bit off, if not tired.

‘I’m not tired, Connie, I’d just quite like to navigate, that’s all.’

‘No,’ I say, sternly. ‘It’s my turn.’

She sighs again.

‘I’m better at navigating than you.’

‘No, you’re not. You just keep trying to get us onto interstate 95.’

‘It’s wider, smoother and going the same bloody way.’

‘Route 1 is historic and I think it’s important to be true to our journey,’ I say. ‘Think of all those places you’ve loved driving through so far. You’d have missed them all.’

She nods her assent. It’s been so hard not to stop in every place we pass. The picturesque villages with pastel-painted houses and shops, sandy beaches and tucked-in rocky inlets. Alex has said on more than one occasion, Okay, we live in Maine now. I’ve felt the same myself, but the tug of where we’re going next is huge and our red felt-tip pen markers along the length of the country on the paper map are calling to us.

We flew into Maine a few days ago and have covered a fair amount of road in that time. But we’re not in a rush; we have no deadlines, no pressures. We have our comfortable rented RV and we have each other.

Simon drove us to the airport, with Diana insisting she come too, gorgeous baby Grace in her carry car seat between us in the back and Bardo in the boot. Simon has been trying to talk Diana into getting a dog for ages and jumped at the opportunity to look after Alex’s dog while we’re away. A, try before you buy, scenario, he’d said. Diana looked like she was softening to the idea when Bardo sat sentry to Grace’s car seat.

‘We’ll FaceTime loads,’ she’d said to me when I got a bit teary at the airport. ‘You can show us where you are. I’m so excited for you both.’

When we hugged goodbye it was how it always is now: warm, tight and genuine. I can’t believe it, but Diana and I have become friends. Alex babysits with me, when they need a break. We take Grace out in her pram and Alex loves being the one to push. It makes me smile to see her so enamoured with the baby, but it breaks my heart a little too, for all that time we lost.

The paintings are all gone now. That heaviness hanging over Alex has been lifted and her new work is all her own. We have Sitter One of course and Sunrise and Sunset over Loch Ness – Gold Was the Day. Gold was the day, indeed. They hang in my tiny living room and I think they look so grand and possibly out of place, but it’s also lovely to see them hanging together again at last. I couldn’t let Alex sell them to fund this trip. My inheritance has left me very comfortable and when we get back we’re going to look at where we want to live and get a place together. For now, though, we’re based in my Brighton flat. I’ve cleared out my mess of a spare room for a studio, but really, Alex paints best on the road, en plein air, when we take Ruby out and about. Life is wonderful and new and free.

‘Right, look we’re just crossing the Piscataqua River, and… wait for it…’

Alex steers us across the bridge spanning the gap between Maine and New Hampshire and I look out across the expanse of water, tracking the progress of speedboats and yachts down below. My window is down, the warmth from the May sunshine penetrating the skin on my arm resting on the edge, the breeze blowing strands of my hair around my face.

‘Here, we go,’ I continue. ‘There, we’ve just crossed the state line. We’re in New Hampshire now.’

I turn to see Alex’s reaction and watch as her face breaks into a grin.