One Plus One

by Jojo Moyes

  "I don't have any."

  They both turned toward her.

  "The car isn't insured. I'm not insured."

  She could see Mr. Nicholls staring. What the hell? The moment they entered the details they would see it anyway. "We've had a bit of trouble. It was the only way I could see to get the kids from A to B."

  "You are aware that driving your car without tax and insurance is a crime. And carries a possible jail sentence."

  "And it's not my car." Jess kicked at a stone on the grass. "That's the next thing you're going to see when you do your whole database thing."

  "Did you steal the vehicle, madam?"

  "No, I did not steal the vehicle. It's been sitting in my garage for two years."

  "That's not an answer to my question."

  "It's my ex-husband's car."

  "Does he know you've taken it?"

  "He wouldn't know if I had a sex change and called myself Sid. He's been in north Yorkshire for the past--"

  "You know, you really might want to stop talking now." Mr. Nicholls ran a hand over the top of his head.

  "Who are you, her lawyer?"

  "Does she need one?"

  "Driving without tax and insurance is an offense under Section Thirty-three--"

  "Yeah. You said. Well, I think you might want to get some advice before you say any more--"

  "Jess," she said.

  "Jess." Ed looked at the policemen. "Officers, does this woman actually need to go to the station? Because she's obviously really, really sorry. And given the hour, I think the kids need to go home."

  "She'll be charged with driving without tax and insurance. Your name and address, madam?"

  Jess gave it to Policeman Number One.

  "The car is registered to that address, yes. But it's registered under a SORN, which means--"

  "That it shouldn't be driven on a public road. I know."

  "Shame you didn't think about that before you came out, then, isn't it?" He gave her the kind of look that teachers reserve for making eight-year-olds feel small. And something in that look pushed Jess over the edge.

  "You know what?" she said. "You honestly think I would have driven my kids anywhere at eleven o'clock at night if it hadn't been absolutely necessary? You really think I just sat there this evening in my little house and thought, I know, I'll take my kids and my bloody dog and just go and get us all into a whole heap of trouble and--"

  "It's not my business what you were thinking, madam. My issue is you bringing an uninsured, possibly unsafe vehicle onto a public road."

  "I was desperate, okay? And you won't find me on your damned database because I've never done anything wrong--"

  "Or you just never got caught."

  The two policemen gazed at her steadily. On the verge, Norman flopped down with a great sigh. Tanzie watched it all in silence, her eyes great hollows. Oh, God, Jess thought. She mumbled an apology.

  "You will be charged with driving without the appropriate documents, Mrs. Thomas," Policeman Number One said, handing her a slip of paper. "I have to warn you that you will receive a court summons, and that you face a possible fine of up to five thousand pounds."

  "Five grand?" Jess started to laugh.

  "And you'll need to pay to get this"--the officer couldn't bring himself to say "car"--"out of the police pound. I have to tell you there is a fifteen-pound charge for every day that it remains there."

  "Perfect. And how am I supposed to get it out of the pound if I'm not allowed to drive it?"

  "I'd advise you to remove all your belongings before the tow truck arrives. Once it leaves here we cannot be held responsible for the vehicle's contents."

  "Of course. Because obviously it would be way too much to hope for a car to be safe in a police pound," she muttered.

  "But, Mum, how are we going to get home?"

  There was a brief silence. The policemen turned away.

  "I'll give you a lift," Mr. Nicholls said.

  Jess stepped away from him. "Oh. No. No, thank you. We're fine. We'll walk. It's not far."

  Tanzie squinted at her, as if trying to assess whether she was serious, then clambered wearily to her feet. Jess remembered that under her coat Tanzie was in her pajamas. Mr. Nicholls glanced at the children. "I'm headed back that way." He nodded toward the town. "You know where I live."

  Tanzie and Nicky didn't speak, but Jess watched Nicky limp toward the car and start to haul out the bags. She couldn't make him carry all that stuff home. It was at least two miles.

  "Thank you," she said stiffly. "That's very kind of you." She couldn't look him in the eye.

  "What happened to your boy?" Policeman Number Two said.

  "Look it up on your database," she snapped, and walked over to the pile of bags.

  --

  They drove away from the police in silence. Jess sat in the passenger seat of Mr. Nicholls's immaculate car, staring straight ahead at the road. She wasn't sure she had ever felt more uncomfortable. She could feel, even if she couldn't see, the children's stunned silence at the evening's turn of events. She had let them down. She watched the hedgerows turn to fencing and brick walls, the black lanes turn to streetlights. She couldn't believe they had only been gone an hour and a half. It felt like a lifetime. A five-thousand-pound fine. An almost-certain driving ban. And a court appearance. Marty would go mental. And she had just blown Tanzie's last chance of going to St. Anne's.

  Jess felt a lump rise in her throat.

  "You okay?"

  "Fine." She kept her face turned away from Mr. Nicholls. He didn't know. Of course he didn't know. For a brief, terrifying moment after she had agreed to get into his car, she had wondered if this was a trick. He would wait until the police had gone, then do something dreadful to get her back.

  But it was worse. He was just trying to be helpful.

  "Um, can you turn left here? We're down there. Go to the end, turn left, then the second turning on the right."

  The picturesque part of town had fallen away half a mile back. Here on Danehall, the trees were skeletal even in summer, and burned-out cars stood on piles of bricks like civic sculptures on little pedestals. The houses came in three vintages, depending on your street: terraced, pebble-dashed, or tiny and built-in maroon brick with UPVC windows. He swung the car round to the left and onto Seacole Avenue, slowing as she pointed to her house. She looked round at the backseat and saw that during the short drive Tanzie had nodded off, her mouth hanging slightly open, her head resting against Norman, who leaned half his bulk against Nicky's body. Nicky looked out of the window impassively.

  "So where were you trying to get to?"

  "Scotland." She rubbed her nose. "It's a long story."

  He waited.

  Her leg had started to jiggle involuntarily. "I need to get my daughter to a Maths Olympiad. The fares were expensive. Although not as expensive as getting pulled over by the Old Bill, it turns out."

  "A Maths Olympiad."

  "I know. I'd never heard of one either until a week ago. Like I said, it's a long story."

  "So what are you going to do?"

  Jess looked into the backseat, at Tanzie, who snored gently. She shrugged. She couldn't say the words.

  Mr. Nicholls suddenly caught sight of Nicky's face. He stared, as if seeing it for the first time.

  "Yeah. That's another story."

  "You have a lot of stories."

  Jess couldn't work out if he was deep in thought or if he was just waiting for her to get out of the car. "Thanks. For the lift. It was kind of you."

  "Well, I owe you one. I'm pretty sure it was you who got me home from the pub the other night. I woke up on my sofa with my car safely in the pub car park and the world's most malevolent hangover." He paused. "I also have a vague memory of being an arsehole. Possibly for the second time."

  "It's fine," she said, as blood rushed to her ears. "Really."

  Nicky had opened the car door, making Tanzie stir. She rubbed her eyes and blinked at Jess. Then
she gazed slowly around her at the car, the night's events reregistering on her face. "Does this mean we're not going?"

  Jess gathered up the bags at her feet. This was not a conversation to have in front of an audience. "Let's go inside, Tanze. It's late."

  "Does this mean we're not going to Scotland?"

  Jess smiled awkwardly at Mr. Nicholls. "Thanks again." She hauled her bags out onto the pavement. The air was surprisingly chill. Nicky stood outside the gate, waiting.

  Tanzie's voice cracked. "Does this mean I don't get to go to St. Anne's?"

  Jess tried to smile. "Let's not talk about it now, sweetie."

  "But what are we going to do?" said Nicky.

  "Not now, Nicky. Let's just get indoors."

  "You now owe the police five grand. How are we going to get to Scotland?"

  "Kids? Please? Can we just go indoors?"

  With a groan, Norman heaved himself off the backseat and ambled out of the car.

  "You didn't say we'll sort something out." Tanzie's voice was panicky. "You always say we'll sort something out."

  "We'll sort something out," Jess said, dragging the duvets out of the boot.

  "That's not the voice you use when we're really going to sort something out." Tanzie began to cry.

  It was so unexpected that at first Jess could do nothing but stand there in shock. "Take these." She thrust the duvets at Nicky, and leaned her upper half into the car, trying to maneuver Tanzie out. "Tanzie . . . sweetheart. Come out. It's late. We'll talk about this."

  "Talk about me not going to St. Anne's?"

  Mr. Nicholls was staring at his steering wheel. Jess suspected this was now all too much for him, and began apologizing under her breath. "She's tired," she said, trying to put her arm around her daughter. Tanzie shifted away. "I'm so sorry."

  It was at that point Mr. Nicholls's phone rang.

  "Gemma," he said wearily. Jess heard an angry buzzing, as if a wasp had been trapped in the receiver.

  "I know," he said quietly.

  "I just want to go to St. Anne's," Tanzie cried. Her glasses had fallen off--Jess hadn't had time to take her to the optician to tighten them--and she covered her eyes with her hands. "Please let me go. Please, Mum. I'll be really good. Just let me go there."

  "Shhh." A lump rose in Jess's throat. Tanzie never begged for anything. "Tanzie . . ." On the pavement, Nicky turned away.

  Mr. Nicholls said something into his phone that she couldn't make out. Tanzie had begun to sob. She was a deadweight.

  "Come on, sweetheart," Jess said, tugging at her.

  Tanzie had braced herself against the door. "Please, Mum. Please. Please."

  "Tanzie, you cannot stay in the car."

  "Please . . ."

  "Out. C'mon, baby."

  "I'll drive you," Mr. Nicholls said.

  Jess's head bumped against the door frame. "What?"

  "I'll drive you to Scotland." He had put down his phone and was still looking at his steering wheel. "Turns out I've got to go to Northumberland. Scotland's not that much farther. I'll drop you there."

  Everyone fell silent. At the end of the street there was a burst of laughter and a car door slammed. Jess straightened her ponytail, which had gone askew. "Look, it's really nice of you to offer, but we can't accept a lift from you."

  "Yeah," said Nicky, leaning forward. "Yeah, we can, Jess." He glanced at Tanzie. "Really. We can."

  "But we don't even know you. I can't ask you to--"

  Mr. Nicholls didn't look at her. "It's just a lift. It's really not a big deal."

  Tanzie sniffed and rubbed at her nose. "Please? Mum?"

  Jess looked at her, and at Nicky's bruised face, then back at Mr. Nicholls. She had never wanted to sprint from a car so badly. "I can't offer you anything," she said, and her voice broke slightly. "Anything at all."

  He raised one eyebrow, swiveled his head toward the dog. "Not even to vacuum my backseats afterward?"

  The breath that left her chest probably sounded slightly more relieved than was diplomatic. "Well . . . okay, that I can do."

  "Right," he said. "Then I suggest we all get a few hours' sleep and I'll pick you up first thing tomorrow."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ed

  It took Edward Nicholls about fifteen minutes after he had left Danehall estate to question what the bloody hell he had just done. He had just agreed to transport his stroppy cleaner, her two weird kids, and an enormous reeking dog all the way to Scotland. What the hell had he been thinking? He could hear Gemma's voice, the skepticism with which she had repeated her statement: "You're taking a little girl you don't know and her family to the other end of the country, and it's an 'emergency.' Right." He could hear the quotation marks. A pause. "Pretty, is she?"

  "What?"

  "The mother. Big tits? Long eyelashes? Damsel in distress?"

  "That's not it. Er . . ." He hadn't been able to say anything with them in the car.

  "I'll take both those as a yes, then." She sighed deeply. "For Christ's sake, Ed."

  Tomorrow morning he would pop by, apologize, and explain that something had come up. She'd understand. She probably felt weird about sharing a car with a near stranger, too. She hadn't exactly jumped at the offer.

  He would donate something toward the kid's train fare. It wasn't his fault the woman--Jess?--had decided to drive an untaxed, uninsured car, after all. If you looked at it on paper--the cops, the weird kids, the nighttime joyriding--she was trouble. And Ed Nicholls did not need any more trouble in his life.

  With these thoughts in his head, he washed, brushed his teeth, and fell into the first decent sleep he'd had in weeks.

  --

  He pulled up outside the gate shortly after nine. He had meant to be there earlier but couldn't remember where the house was, and given that the council estate was a sprawling mass of Identi-Kit streets, he had driven up and down blindly for almost thirty minutes until he recognized Seacole Avenue.

  It was a damp, still morning, the air heavy with moisture. The street was empty, apart from a ginger cat, which stalked its way along the pavement, its tail a question mark. Danehall seemed a little less unfriendly in daylight, but he still found himself double-checking that he'd locked the car once he'd stepped out of it.

  He gazed up at the windows. Pink and white bunting hung in one of the upstairs rooms, and two hanging baskets swung listlessly from the front porch. A car sat under a tarpaulin in the next driveway. And then he saw that dog. Jesus. The size of it. Ed pictured it lolling over his backseat the previous evening. A faint echo of its scent had remained when he climbed back in this morning.

  He opened the latch of the gate warily in case the dog went for him, but it simply turned its enormous head with mild indifference, walked to the shade of a weedy tree, and flopped down on its side, lifting a desultory front leg as if in the vague hope it might get its stomach scratched.

  "I'll pass, thanks," Ed said.

  He walked up the path and paused at the door. He had his little speech all prepared.

  Hi, I'm really sorry, but something very important has come up with work and I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to take the next couple of days off. I'd be happy, however, to contribute something to your daughter's Olympiad fund. I think it's great that she's working so hard at her studies. So here's her train fare.

  If it sounded a little less convincing this morning than it had done last night, well, it couldn't be helped. He was about to knock when he saw the ripped note, half attached to the door with a pin, flapping in the breeze: FISHER YOU LITTLE WASTE OF SKIN I HAVE TOLD THE POLICE

  As he straightened up the door opened. The little girl stood there. "We're all packed," she said, squinting, her head tilted to one side. "Mum said you wouldn't come, but I knew you would so I said I wouldn't let her unpack the suitcases until ten. And you made it with fifty-three minutes to spare. Which is actually about thirty-three minutes better than I estimated."

  He blinked.

  "Mum!"
She pushed the door open. Jess was standing in the hallway, as if she had stopped dead halfway down it. She was wearing a pair of cutoff jeans and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her hair was clipped up. She did not look like someone preparing to travel the length of the country.

  "Hi." Ed smiled awkwardly.

  "Oh. Okay." Jess shook her head. And he knew the child had been telling the truth: she really hadn't expected him to turn up. "I'd offer you a coffee, but I got rid of the last of the milk before we set off last night."

  The boy sloped past, rubbing his eyes. His face was still swollen, and now colored an impressionist palette of purples and yellows. He gazed at the pile of holdalls and bin bags in the hall and said, "Which of these are we taking?"

  "All of them," said the little girl. "And I packed Norman's blanket."

  Jess looked at Ed warily. He made to open his mouth, but nothing came out. The entire length of the hallway was lined with battered paperbacks.

  "Can you pick up this bag, Mr. Nicholls?" The little girl tugged it toward him. "I did try and lift it earlier because Nicky can't pick stuff up right now, but it's too heavy for me."

  "Sure." He found himself stooping, but stopped for a moment before he lifted it. How was he going to do this?

  "Listen. Mr. Nicholls . . ." Jess was in front of him. She looked as uncomfortable as he did. "About this trip--"

  And then the front door flew open. A woman stood in jogging bottoms and a T-shirt, a baseball bat raised in her hand.

  "Drop them!" she roared.

  He froze.

  "Put your hands up!"

  "Nat!" Jess shouted. "Don't hit him!"

  He lifted them slowly, turning to face her.

  "What the--" The woman looked past Ed at her. "Jess? Oh, my God. I thought someone was in your house."

  "Someone is in my house. Me."

  The woman dropped the bat, then looked in horror at him. "Oh, my God. It's . . . oh, God, oh, God, I'm so sorry. I saw the front door and I honestly thought you were a burglar. I thought you were . . ." She laughed nervously, then pulled an agonized face at Jess, as if he couldn't see her. "You know who."

  Ed let out a breath. The woman put the bat behind her and tried to smile. "You know how it is around here . . ."

  He took a step backward and gave a small nod. "Okay, well . . . I just need to get my phone. Left it in the car."