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I jolt back awake at the sound of an exasperated curse. “Wha?” I mumble, rubbing my eyes. We’re barely moving, and I look around, confused. “Are we there yet?”
“Not even close,” Fraser replies, clipped. We’re still stuck on the motorway in the pouring rain, and according to the app on my phone, it’s only been a couple of hours since we left Chatsworth. Traffic is at a crawl, cars blocking every lane. “There’s an accident up ahead.” I report, wincing. “The app says it’s an hour’s delay. Nothing’s moving.”
Fraser curses again. “We’re not waiting around here,” he says, and then wrenches the wheel, weaving through the slow-moving cars until we reach an exit.
“Are you sure?” I ask, as we leave the highway behind. “We’re miles from anywhere.”
“Give that to me,” he grabs my phone, and scrolls one-handed, glancing with one eye on the road. “See, it’s a shortcut. We can loop around on local roads, and rejoin in a few miles, past the jam.”
“I don’t know…” I look outside the rain-splattered car windows. It’s really coming down out there, and it’s getting dark, too; the clouds grey and ominous overhead. But Fraser ignores me, joining a narrow two-lane road that winds through the countryside, our headlights cutting through the rain and gloom. He seems to know where he’s going, so I rummage in my bag for some of the scones that we picked up.
“You’re right, thesearegood,” I remark, nibbling on one studded with currents and nuts.
“You’ll ruin your tea,” Fraser huffs.
“Well, you know the great thing about being an adult?” I counter, annoyed that he’s acting like Suit Guy all over again. Just when I’m lulled into thinking he’s the man I remember, he reminds me that he couldn’t be more different now. “I can eat whatever I like, whenever I like. Pizza for breakfast, scones for dinner, and the world keeps turning! Who’d have thought? You should try it sometime,” I add. “Mix things up, might do you good to forget about the rules sometimes.”
“Are you saying I’m uptight?” he demands.
“If the starched shirt fits…” I sing.
He scowls, slowing as we reach an intersection, with two roads branching off in opposite directions. “Which way now?”
I check my phone—and gulp. “Shit, there’s no reception.”
“What?” he demands.
“I told you we shouldn’t go wandering around the countryside.” I wave it around, trying every corner, but no success. “I don’t have any bars. I think it was left here, though.”
“Youthink?” Fraser looks back and forth… Then turns right.
“No, really,” I protest. “It’s left. We were heading North, and then we went east… Or is it west?” I pause, confused now as the dark countryside speeds past. Fraser doesn’t reply, he just glowers there behind the wheel as the miles pass us by.
And keep passing.
“Umm, Fraser?” I venture finally, after we speed past a cluster of houses and a rural pub. A sign says we’re somewhere in Lower Dickingham, but I can’t even joke about it right now. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a shortcut? As in, short?”
Silence.
“I’m just saying, we’ve been driving kind of a long time, and I don’t see the motorway anywhere nearby,” I continue. I check my phone again, but there’s still no reception. “We should turn around and go back to that crossroads.”
“We’re not turning around.”
“Of course, because god forbid you admit you went the wrong way!” I exclaim, annoyed.
“What are you yelling at me for?” Fraser scowls from behind the wheel. “This is all your fault.”
“I don’t control the cellphone towers!” I protest.
“I mean, if we hadn’t have taken your little detour to Austenland, we would have missed the traffic jam and be halfway to Glasgow by now.”
“Anything else you want to blame me for while you’re at it?” I demand. “The weather? The price of gas? Your favorite sports team losing the other week?”
“Just the fact that we’re on this harebrained quest at all!” Fraser explodes. “If you hadn’t sent him running off to Scotland in the first place, with that nonsense about soulmates and true love, then we wouldn’t be lost in the middle of nowhere right now!”
“So, you admit it,” I fold my arms smugly. “We’re lost.”
“I didn’t say that.”
