To be fair, not a lot actually happened on the bus. It was more a case of sniggers when I got on, comments whispered among more popular girls that I assumed were about me. I could never be sure, but had a tendency to imagine the worst back then.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think Hal is going to bully me, or make fun of my hair – certainly not in a mean way. The feeling is more to do with the anticipation of something I’m not going to like. Hal and I have made peace with each other over the years, but almost two weeks in his company 24/7 could well be a precursor to murder. For either of us. There’s a reason we broke up back when we were seventeen, despite the news I was pregnant with Louis, which bound us together for life. We don’t hate each other, but we’re not a great fit either.
But I’m doing this for Louis and Summer, I remind myself. Plus, it’s kind of Hal to let me ride along. I have to be the bigger person here.
‘Off on a luxury holiday?’ comes a voice. I realise that I’ve been staring at the boot and haven’t even noticed the rusty heap of a camper pull up. Hal is leaning out of the window, a great grin on his face.
‘Oh yeah. With all the trimmings!’ I say back, sarcastically.
‘Twosuitcases?’ he nods towards the neatly zipped luggage at my feet. ‘You do realise we’re camping, right?’
I shoot him a look and he kind of closes up. It’s nice to know that what works on difficult clients works on Hal too. Peter calls it my ‘don’t fuck with me’ face. He says I’m wasted in law – should have been a teacher.
Hal heaves my cases into the back then opens the door for me and I hobble around. I can see him watching me, head tilted at a sympathetic angle. ‘Looks painful,’ he says.
‘It’s OK.’ I manage to clamber into the seat, and he checks I’m in properly before shutting the door. Inside, Betty smells of leather and oil and a kind of old smell, like an ancient house that’s been locked up for months. There’s another scent there too – a kind of chemical scent, like some kind of cleaner – and I notice that Hal’s hung one of those pine-tree scented cardboard air fresheners over the wing mirror. I wonder if it’s in my honour.
Then Hal is at my side, his smell taking over Betty’s. A kind of wholesome scent of laundry detergent and soap and… I know this sounds crazy but – optimism, somehow? He turns to me and grins, and I can see that he’s genuinely excited about this trip. I feel a little guilty that I’m probably going to disappoint him by being my usual, crabby self. I try to smile. ‘Thanks again for this,’ I tell him.
‘No problem!’ He starts the engine and pumps his foot on the accelerator a few times, as if he’s checking the thing still runs. So far, so good. Only, God, a thousand miles or so to go.
‘Sure the camper’s going to make it?’ I ask. It’s a genuine worry, but I cringe as soon as I say the words. It sounds so much like a dig.
‘She,’ he says.
‘What?’
‘Betty is a she!’ But he’s grinning good-naturedly, so I don’t think he actually cares that much.
‘God I’m sorry, did I misgender your car?’
‘She’s very sensitive!’ Hal pats the dashboard before hitting the indicator and pulling out onto the road. ‘You have to believe in her or she’ll let us down.’
‘Wait, are you telling me that this car is powered by optimism? Because I have to warn you…’ I look down at my leg and make a face at Hal. His features crease into a wide grin, and for some reason it feels quite good to have earned that reaction from him.
We drive in silence for a few miles. Hal’s left the windows open and despite the fact it’s just after 8a.m. and the temperature hasn’t kicked in properly yet, it’s pleasantly fresh outside. We’re soon off the beaten track, trundling down a route he’s chosen that avoids the worst of the motorways and gives us the chance to see the countryside or whatnot. Basically, the exact opposite of any route I would have planned. I’m more of a ‘get there in the fastest possible time’ girl.
‘How long to Dover?’ I ask innocently.
‘About four hours, give or take.’
I bite back a comment. I know that if you go there directly, it should only take a couple of hours from Cambridge. Four hours just to get to the ferry? I let out a slow, calming breath and when I glance back at Hal, he seems amused.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Your face,’ he says, shaking his head.
This does not put me in a good mood. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing.’
He turns back towards the road and I flick through emails on my mobile phone – there are a few in today, but I can see that my assistant Claudia has picked up most of them. I shuffle slightly in my seat – the VW has no air-con and even though the windows are open, it’s built up a kind of sticky humidity. My leg itches and I long to open the boot and scratch – but I’m not doing that here in front of him.
Watching Hal as he drives, I notice he’s smiling – just slightly, his mouth turned up at the corners.
‘What?’ I ask him.
He visibly jumps and I suppose it’s true we haven’t spoken for a while. ‘What?’ he repeats.