by Jane Linfoot
‘You’re off to Lanhydrock?’ Aunty Jo raises her eyebrows.
‘It’s a shame you won’t drive and come too.’ Beth stares over at Aunty Jo’s car, tucked under the open section of the stables. ‘It’s not like the Home Counties, the roads here are very quiet out of season.’
Aunty Jo shrinks. ‘It’s been a very long time. When I tried to start the car after Christmas the Amazon man said the battery was flat.’
I’m pushing my neck out here. ‘Have you got any jump leads we could use to start it? Then we could both have a little practice here in the barn yard while the kids are out of the way.’ I smile at Aunty Jo. ‘I’m sure you’d soon get your eye in again.’ Okay, I’m being completely selfish here, thinking of the fish and chip suppers as much as Aunty Jo’s progress. How blissful it would be to be able to whizz down to town whenever we felt like a takeaway. So, most nights, then.
Loella’s taking it in. ‘Give me a minute, I’ll bring my big red truck and start up the Mini. Then you can both have a go.’
Aunty Jo’s voice is breathy. ‘I’d better go and put my driving shoes on.’
‘Great, give me five, I’ll be back with the Lo-mobile.’ Loella’s pointing at me again. ‘Cam’s coming with us but, any problems, Barney’s here. Give him a shout, he’ll sort you out.’ The dimples in her cheeks get bigger. ‘If he doesn’t come fast enough you can always throw your easel at him.’
I pretend I didn’t hear that. If there was any chance this wasn’t going to be full speed ahead, we wouldn’t be doing it. I’d rather eat my own head than go to Barney for help. Just saying.
22
Day 163: Friday, 13th April
In the car at Periwinkle Cottage
Epic Achievement: Getting back behind the wheel.
‘Are you okay in there, Edie?’
As Loella’s face appears around the side of the up-tilted bonnet of Aunty Jo’s car, I pop up from finding the keyhole to give her a thumbs-up sign. In spite of the salt smears dulling the blue metallic paintwork on the outside, the stripy seat under my thighs feels almost un-sat on. As I push the key into place, even though I can’t smell a thing I instinctively know I’m breathing in that new-car scented air. My Audi had that too. Probably still has. As Jake says, it’s pointless him sending it back when I’ll be needing it again so soon. In a way that car being there is like a symbol; Jake having confidence I’m going to get better makes it a lot easier to believe it myself.
As my feet find the pedals in Aunty Jo’s car and I let off the handbrake and wiggle the gear stick, it’s strange to be flexing my fingers around a steering wheel again after so long. I reach up and adjust the rearview mirror, then, out of sheer habit, dip in closer for a lippy check. It’s still just as orange as when I put it on as we left the cottage.
‘Okay, leave it in neutral, and as soon as you hear me revving, turn the key, put your foot on the throttle and we’ll get her fired up.’ Loella’s shouting over the noise of the truck engine as she bobs back outside.
I wait for the roar of the truck, then I do as she said and on the third turn of the key the Mini engine springs into life and as I feel the thrum through the accelerator my spirits soar. As a teenager I couldn’t wait to pass my test because being a confident driver means you can literally take yourself anywhere. Better still, as a skill, driving has no link to how clever you are. There weren’t many areas where I could beat Tash, but parallel parking was one of them. Even now I pride myself on being able to squeeze into the tiniest spaces ever. I’m sure me being able to zip from site to site with no worries and only the occasional speeding ticket was one reason why Jake came to rely on me so much.
‘And we’re cooking on gas!’ Loella slams down the bonnet, then she’s back by my window again, winding in the jump leads. ‘Give me a minute to get clear of you, then back her out into the yard.’
‘Cool.’ As I push the button and let down the window I have zero idea what she means about the cooker, but who gives a damn when I’m driving again.
The gears clunk as I hit reverse, then I turn round to see where I’m heading and gently let my foot off the clutch. As the car starts to inch backwards, I know I need the back end to swing around up the barn yard, but I can’t for the life of me work out which way I need to pull on the wheel to make that happen.
I put my foot on the brake, stop and take a breath. Okay. I’ve got this. I set off again, pull the wheel the other way. Stop again. Totally wrong. What the hell’s going on? The back of the car isn’t going remotely where I expect. So I start again and spin the wheel back the other way, but that’s still not right. So I yank it back again. Fuck. As I see the stable wall and Loella’s pink stable door careering towards me through the back window, I ram my foot on the brake and as I skid to a halt I hear a minor crashing noise.
As I jump out, I’m flapping my jumper to get rid of the sweat. I try to smooth the marks in the gravel with my boot where I’ve been wrenching the wheels from side to side. At least the car is out of the shelter, I haven’t stalled it and the engine is still running. If I was a bit confused back there, I think I got away with it. No one seems to have noticed.
‘Over to you, Aunty Jo, you can take it from here.’ Nice recovery, even though I say it myself.
‘Just a moment, Sweetpea.’
Aunty Jo is picking up one of Loella’s bay trees from the gravel next to the car boot. I’m about to tell her she can’t put this off by messing about, then I see the soil on the ground and my heart does a nosedive. Do hearts even do nosedives?
‘Did someone hit that?’
‘Nice try, Edie.’ Loella’s laughing from the open window of the truck. ‘For once it wasn’t me.’
Aunty Jo’s hugging the tree and tilting it back into position. ‘No harm done, it was probably in your blind spot. You get in the passenger seat, I’ll just have my five-flower essence drops and I’ll be with you.’
Maybe that’s what I was missing. If I’d been less stressed out, I’d have managed fine. As soon as Aunty Jo’s doing the steering, I’ll know which way to tell her to go.
‘Okay, ladies, don’t go burning too much rubber, I’ll see you later.’ Loella’s drumming her fingers on the truck side as she shouts at us from the open window.
I’m waving wildly, dodging the gravel spray as she turns out onto the lane. ‘Thanks, have a great day.’ It’s a shame I couldn’t add in something about cooking.
As we both get into the car, I’m looking at Aunty Jo’s feet. ‘Nice pumps.’ They’re blush and covered with so much glitter they’re almost crusty.
She pushes a stray wave off her forehead. ‘They make me think of Fairy Godmothers, whenever I take the car out I like to feel mine’s looking after me.’
‘Great.’ It’s not at all. I’d actually rather not know.
Her knuckles are white where she’s gripping the steering wheel. ‘Engine on, in gear and … off we go.’ She turns the wheel to straighten up, then we teeter forward all the way down the barn yard to the lane. Then come to a halt and go backwards all the way, at the same speed.
‘Brill.’ I flash her a smile. I have to give it to her – she’s cracked the crawling in a straight line. In both directions.
‘Do you know, this isn’t anything like as bad as I remember. Maybe I could try it a bit faster?’ Her eyes are still wide, but she’s sounding bright.
I wiggle my eyebrows. ‘Go for it.’ As she does it four times more at the same speed, I’m wondering how my dad does this all day long. ‘Okay, now press harder.’
Aunty Jo’s eyebrows close up. ‘On what?’
‘With your foot – the pedal near the door, NOW!’
There’s a sudden lurch and we swerve across the barn yard, shoot straight across the lane.
‘St-o-p!’ I manage to yell then make a grab for the handbrake.
The car slews round and if we’d hit a wall we couldn’t have stopped any faster. It’s a shame no one was filming because it’s the kind of clip that would have gon
e viral. Then Aunty Jo lifts all her feet off the pedals, and there’s another huge jump forwards as the engine stalls.
‘Fuck!’ That’s my shout, not hers.
‘I thought I wrote on your calligraphy list that you didn’t say fuck any more?’ She gives me a wounded stare.
‘No, I wanted to stop giving a fuck, not saying it.’ I let out a groan, and put it in the too difficult pile.
‘So what now?’ She’s sounding remarkably unconcerned, considering her bumper’s wedged against her house wall. Which she well might. After all, none of this was her idea. Which is probably why she’s expecting me to sort it.
‘What do you think?’ For once I’m going to pass this back to her.
‘Well, the battery’s buggered, so it’s not as though we’re going anywhere. And you know what Barney says about not parking on the lane.’ There’s definitely a pucker to her lips. ‘There’s only one thing to do, and that’s what Loella suggested. If you pop along and get Barney to help, he’ll feel involved. That might work?’
There’s only one drawback – I wasn’t planning on seeing him again. Not for months and months and months. In fact not ever. Seeing him today is my whole life too soon.
Aunty Jo’s chiding me. ‘Hurry along, Sweetpea, one of Barney’s delivery lorries could arrive at any moment. They can’t possibly get past when we’re stuck like this.’
I let out a long sigh. There are times when it’s easier not to argue. A few seconds later I’m standing on Barney’s doorstep, wondering how he can possibly be taking up the entire grey-framed doorway.
‘You remember what you said about when cars blocked the lane?’
His mouth is twitching. ‘That I tow them?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Loella mentioned you might be knocking.’ There’s another twitch of his cheeks. ‘Knocking on the door, that is, not knocking things over onto me.’
If I didn’t know better, I’d think that low rumble was a laugh. But Barney never laughs. If he’s bringing this out now, I might as well bat it straight back to him. ‘So why do you do it?’
‘Do what?’ From his double-take, he’s not expecting that.
‘Take your clothes off for money.’ It’s a valid question. He brought the subject up.
‘That’s not quite how I’d put it.’ He pulls a face. ‘Like a lot of things around here, it’s down to Beth and Loella.’
‘You’re blaming them?’
‘Not entirely.’ His shrug says he is. ‘I’m on my own with a five-year-old. It’s my best chance of getting out for some adult company.’
‘Really?’ I’m frowning, but my voice goes high because it’s another of those times I can’t tell the truth from the bollocks.
‘Do I need the truck?’ He’s moving this on. ‘And the jump leads?’
‘Yes, two times.’ He might not have noticed, but adding up and a snappy comeback all in the same sentence has to be a first. ‘Anyway, isn’t Cam six?’ Me pulling him up on numbers too? I might have stuffed up mightily with my driving, but it’s all going right in other areas this morning.
He’s staring at me. ‘Six … five … it’s near enough.’
Except it isn’t. What kind of dad doesn’t know how old their child is? I’m shaking my head and opening and closing my mouth, but my fast retorts must be all used up because this time nothing’s coming out.
He gives another ‘nothing to do with me’ shrug. ‘Well, you might have all day to chat, but some of us are busy. Shall we get on with this?’
I’m not going to argue with that. By the time Barney comes up behind me on the lane in a truck very like Loella’s, only black, Aunty Jo’s made it out of the car and is resting her bottom on the bonnet of her Mini, a lot like those models Bella and I saw on that retro TV programme, The Girl’s Guide to When We Were Helpless.
‘What’s all this? Stopping the traffic again?’ Barney comes up beside her and gives her a nudge.
She’s fanning herself with her scarf. ‘I think I might have overdone the flower essence.’
‘Were those Cinderella slippers a bit heavy on the accelerator?’ As Barney looks at her, it’s almost like he’s teasing. ‘Can you keep hold of Robert for me?’
She lets out a strangled hoot, then immediately goes back to looking sombre.
I’m staring at her. ‘Aunty Jo, did you just laugh?’
‘Me?’ She stares at me like I’m the one who just shrieked. ‘Edie, look at where we parked my car, there’s absolutely nothing funny about that.’
Now she mentions it and I take a step back and see the car slewed sideways across the lane, its wheels up to their middle bits in periwinkle cuttings and freshly dug earth, I’m having to bite my lip to stop my sides splitting.
Barney catches my eye over the car roof as he eases into the driver’s seat. ‘Laughing is mean, Edie Browne.’ Then he turns the key and the engine roars into life.
‘Jeez, how did that happen?’ What about his clips and his red and blue wires?
Aunty Jo leaps off the bonnet and lands among the daffodils further up the verge.
‘The battery must have recharged while it’s been running.’ Barney’s still half hanging out of the car. ‘Shall I move it to a better position while I’m in here?’ He’s not even implying that we’re wasting his time.
‘That would be lovely, Barnaby.’ Aunty Jo’s answering from the ditch. ‘So long as you don’t mind?’
He’s looking at her gravely. ‘Barnaby’s my surname, shortened to Barney because of the barns. If we’re going for first names, Josie, you need to call me Guy.’
This is how laid-back he is – a couple of quick shunts back and forth, the car’s back on the lane and he’s still got the door open.
‘Will your Aunty Jo take it from here, or have you had enough adventures for one day?’ He’s tilting his head on one side, looking at me. ‘Shall I run it back under cover in the barn yard?’
‘That might be a good idea.’ I think we’ll revisit the driving if ever my dad comes to stay. For a year. Just in time I remember how grateful I am. ‘Please, Guy.’ I give myself a pat on the back for that instant recall, and hope he’s not expecting it to happen again.
By the time I’ve helped Aunty Jo back onto solid ground, the car’s away and he’s walking towards us, throwing the keys up and catching them from the air.
For a moment I want to throw my arms around his neck and hug him for getting us out of this mess. Then I come to my senses and kick myself for thinking like someone from the olden days. All I need is a spangled bikini and a sports car to sprawl across and my degradation would be complete. Realistically, if he wasn’t so territorial, us almost demolishing Aunty Jo’s house would never have been a problem anyway.
‘Thank you, Guy, thank you so much.’ Aunty Jo takes the keys from him.
‘Yes, totally.’ What she says, but a bit less.
‘Any time.’ He’s locking eyes at me over her head. ‘You’re welcome.’
Me thinking of blue striped boxers isn’t helpful. ‘Cake on Sunday! Come and have some!’ It’s another of those gushing Tourette’s moments I have no control over. I’m thinking of what I can add to neutralise it. Not. One day. Some time. Next year.
But Aunty Jo’s on it. ‘What a lovely idea, Sweetpea, you can make us some of your lovely cupcakes.’
‘I can?’ I’ve only got myself to blame. Edie ‘the original version’ would not have stuffed up like this. Whatever I thought about toppling easels, I need to find her again, and fast.
‘Great, see you Sunday.’ He’s walking off down the lane, his hand in the air. ‘Until then, love you, bye.’
And just for a moment the tune in my head isn’t dreary. It’s not Leave a Light On from the TV advert. Or Harry Styles’ Sign of the Times. Okay, it’s not anything upbeat like Viva La Vida or Razorlight singing America, like my dad used to force us to sing along to. But for once I can’t fault my brain for the song it’s thrown up.
It’s all over th
e front page, you give me road rage …
23
Day 165: Sunday, 15th April
At Periwinkle Cottage
Epic Achievement: Cooking on … you know … that thing …
Fact for today: Voice recognition gadgets are nothing like they look on the TV ads. So Siri, tell me a cake recipe was never going to work. But it’s actually fine to turn to Aunty Jo for help, because she blew the event into something huge by inviting Beth and Loella’s crew along too.
I’m musing on exactly what to bake, and reaching for the ingredients I’m going to need as Aunty Jo shouts them out.
‘Eggs … flour … sugar … butter … icing sugar … and there’s brand-new pipes and a piping bag in the drawer by the sink.’
I used to do a mean chocolate tower cake for office birthdays, with squishy swirls of icing and slices of chocolate orange stuck in. Variations, with Oreos, and Maltesers. Sometimes with them all at once. Honey cupcakes with crunchy toffee drizzled over them and teensy golden sugar balls. And Marcus’s mates went wild for anything with popping candy.
I’m flicking through the photos on my phone to remind myself, and it all feels a lifetime away. Then I find what I’m looking for. ‘How about I make champagne cupcakes with rosewater buttercream swirls?’ Finished with a strawberry, colourful sugar flowers and tiny pieces of candied lemon. Looking at who’s there eating them, I made them to take for Tash’s birthday. I flash Aunty Jo the picture on my phone.
‘They look lovely, Sweetpea, but let’s get the little steps right before we move onto the big ones. We don’t want to put you under pressure, so Beth’s picking up a cake or two from Clemmie’s too.’ She’s staring at me in that way she has, to see how I’m taking this.
‘And?’
‘Why not try plain sponge cupcakes, with vanilla buttercream. Just this once.’ She’s completely taken over. Which I should be happy about. This definitely wasn’t anything to do with showcasing my talents, because there’s definitely no one here I’d want to impress. ‘I’ve bought suitable sprinkles.’
‘And what the hell are they?’
