by Sarah Morgan
A professional couple were offering free accommodation in return for cat sitting, but there was no additional payment. How was she supposed to feed herself? She imagined herself coming home to visit her parents and being so svelte and slim they didn’t recognize her.
She was about to give up when another job caught her eye.
Do you love driving?
Martha closed the laptop and reached for her tea. No, she didn’t love driving. In fact it was no exaggeration to say she loathed driving, and driving loathed her. She’d failed her test five times and eventually passed only because the examiner had been worried about his pregnant wife who had texted in the middle of Martha’s lesson to say that she was having contractions. He’d been so distracted he hadn’t noticed that Martha was in the wrong lane approaching a roundabout, and he hadn’t reacted at all when she’d failed to demonstrate even a hint of skill at reversing. She was used to inducing raw fear in her passengers, including her regular driving instructor, so it had been a relief and a surprise when the examiner had simply nodded as he’d discreetly checked his phone. When he told her that she’d passed she’d had to stop herself from saying, Are you sure?
Still, she’d been delighted and vowed to live up to his faith in her, only every time she slid behind the wheel she broke into a sweat. She felt like a fraud and an imposter. She expected the police to pull her over and tell her that they had CCTV footage that proved she hadn’t really passed her test at all.
Driving scared Martha. It might have been all right if she’d been the only person on the road, but everyone seemed to either be stuck to her bumper, or overtaking her like a racing driver competing for a trophy. She knew that what she needed was more practice, but ever since she’d driven his car into a ditch during a practice session, her father had refused to let her behind the wheel. It didn’t matter that he was an appalling teacher.
Wait until you can afford your own car.
As if that was ever going to happen.
She finished her tea and gazed out the window. From the bed she had a perfect view into the gardens of the houses opposite. Mrs. Pettifer, who was eighty-five and recovering well after receiving a new hip, was watering her plants.
What stories would she have to tell when she was eighty-five? Unless something dramatic changed, nothing that was likely to interest anyone.
She heard her mother clattering in the kitchen below.
“Martha!” her mother called up the stairs. “Kitchen floor!”
“I’m job hunting!” Martha opened her laptop again. She was ready to do anything. Better to do the wrong thing than nothing.
The driving job was still on the screen.
Are you ready for the adventure of a lifetime?
Yes, she was definitely ready for that.
Curious, she read on.
Enthusiastic and competent driver needed for a road trip across America, driving from Chicago to Santa Monica. Generous salary, all expenses paid. Must be good-humored, flexible and friendly. Clean driving license.
Martha stared at it.
She definitely wasn’t an enthusiastic driver, and not by any stretch of the imagination could she be described as competent, but she was friendly, and she was also flexible, always assuming that they were talking about attitude to life rather than the ability to touch her toes without pulling a muscle because that was more her sister’s province.
She scanned the details again.
A road trip across America.
Why did it have to be a road trip? But hadn’t she read somewhere that America didn’t have many roundabouts? If it was all straight roads and no roundabouts then she’d probably be fine. Providing she didn’t have to reverse.
Her driving license was definitely clean, even if that was because no one in uniform had so far witnessed one of her misdemeanors. Also it had gone through the washing machine three times before she’d realized it was in her pocket.
How far was it from Chicago to Santa Monica?
She typed the question into a search engine and stared at the answer.
Two thousand four hundred miles.
She couldn’t begin to imagine a distance like that.
It was two miles from her house to the nearest supermarket.
Two thousand four hundred...basically one thousand two hundred trips to the supermarket.
She gulped and studied the map, and then looked at the map on her wall. Route 66. The road wound its way through multiple states and ended on the Pacific Coast. She’d studied Steinbeck at school, and The Grapes of Wrath hadn’t made the Mother Road sound appealing.
On the other hand it was one of the most iconic roads in the world.
She searched for images of Santa Monica, and found herself staring at sandy beaches, palm trees, a girl cycling with the wind in her hair and a smile on her face. A couple gazing at each other in a restaurant. She could almost hear the crash of the waves in the background.
The place looked so alive.
She glanced out the window again and saw Mrs. Pettifer deadheading geraniums.
California.
It looked like another world, and right now that was exactly what she wanted. Any world other than the one she was currently inhabiting. Best of all, it was thousands of miles away from her crappy life here.
She read the words again, trying to find a way to make herself fit the job. She was definitely good-humored. She’d kept smiling all the way through the fox poo incident, and not only because her sister had trodden in it on her way to work. If the person she was supposed to be driving was good-humored too, then they might just about get by.
Why weren’t they driving themselves?
Presumably they either couldn’t drive, or didn’t want to. Both options worked in her favor. If they couldn’t drive then they wouldn’t know when she was making mistakes, and if they didn’t want to then they’d be sympathetic to the fact that she generally didn’t want to either.
They wanted a competent driver. How exactly did they define competent? It was hard to be competent when you couldn’t afford a car and no one would lend you theirs.
If she could fake it at the beginning, then by the time she’d driven two thousand four hundred miles there was a strong chance she might actually be competent. As long as she could make it out of Chicago without crashing into something, she’d be fine. She’d be ecstatic! She’d never achieved anything in her life, as her mother was always pointing out, but driving across America—that would be an achievement. And it would get her away from her family for the summer. Best of all it would get her away from Steven. She wouldn’t have to look over her shoulder every time she left the house.
And a road trip would give her the chance to think about what she wanted to do with her life.
Maybe it would even lead to another job.
Martha Jackson, long-haul truck driver.
She imagined herself checking into a motel with a glowing neon sign. Maybe walking into a traditional diner and ordering a juicy burger.
America.
It sounded unbelievably glamorous compared to her little part of outer London.
“Martha! Kitchen floor!”
Martha was dragged from her fantasy of feeding coins into an old-fashioned jukebox and dancing round a bar to country music.
She felt like one of the ugly sisters. She was expected to scrub the floor while her sister was paid to prance around in leopard print yoga pants.
A new determination spread through her as she reached for her phone and dialed.
She had no idea who exactly wanted to be driven across America, but they couldn’t be more annoying than her own family. Somehow she had to sound like a perfect candidate.
Martha Jackson, personal chauffeur. Calm (except when there’s a roundabout), confident and reliable.
She waited until she heard a voice on the o
ther end of the phone and then she smiled, trying to inject an appropriate level of friendly and flexible into her voice.
“My name is Martha and I’m calling about the job...”
Flexible, friendly and possibly the worst driver on the planet.
5
LIZA
“Who is this girl? We don’t know anything about her.” Liza paced across her mother’s kitchen. It was her third trip to Cornwall in a month and each visit was more frustrating than the last, and not just because the traffic was starting to heat up along with the weather. It was as if dealing with an intruder had made her mother give up all thought of personal safety. Or maybe it had given her rather too much confidence in her own ability to survive the worst.
Whatever the psychology, nothing Liza said could make her see sense. “If you’re determined to do this trip then book a tour. Go with a group. And a guide.”
“I don’t want to be part of a group. I’m too old to tolerate people whose company I haven’t chosen and will no doubt find annoying. I shall go where I wish and stay as long as it pleases me to stay. It’s not as if I have anywhere in particular to be at my age.”
“Mum—”
“You didn’t want me to stay alone in the house, and this way I won’t be alone in the house.”
There were days when Liza felt as if she was banging her head against a wall. “What if something happens?”
“I hope something does happen. It would be a crushing disappointment to travel two thousand four hundred miles and not encounter a single adventurous moment.”
“You don’t think you should start with a less ambitious trip?” Liza cleared the breakfast things into the dishwasher and set it to run. “You haven’t been anywhere since Dad died.”
“That was a mistake.” Kathleen set a box of maps on the kitchen table. “Confidence and bravery can be lost if they’re not used. I’ve spent far too long at home.”
“You can’t travel across America with a stranger.”
“Why not?” Kathleen pulled out a map and spread it across the table. Then she found a large notepad.
“It isn’t safe.” Why was she the only person who thought this was a bad idea? Sean had refused to get involved. It’s her life, Liza. Her choice.
Her mother peered at her over the top of her reading glasses. “Could you pass me the guidebook please.”
Everyone in her life seemed determined to make foolish choices. Before she’d walked out the door to drive to Cornwall Caitlin had informed her that she was going to a party with Jane and if Liza tried to stop her she’d run away. Liza had been too nervous to leave her in the house, but Sean had intervened, persuaded Caitlin to have a few friends over instead, and everything had calmed down. Until next time. What had happened to her adorable daughter, who had loved dressing up and playing “school”? What had happened to the hugs and affection? These days Liza was greeted by rolled eyes and attitude.
Liza intended to spend the summer holidays rebuilding her relationship with her daughters. And with Sean too, because so much of the time it seemed their relationship revolved around the people they were caring for.
Eight signs that your marriage might be in trouble.
The article was still squashed in the bottom of her bag. Buried, but not forgotten.
She watched as her mother squinted over the map.
It was a mammoth trip for anyone, let alone someone who would be eighty-one on their next birthday.
Liza’s strong sense of duty nudged at her.
She’d already started dreaming about their two weeks in the South of France. Her holiday reading was stashed away in the suitcase along with her sunhat.
But now here was her mother needing someone to drive her on her ridiculous road trip.
And then a thought occurred to her. Wouldn’t this be the perfect opportunity for her and her mother to grow closer? Cocooned in a car, her mother would have to open up a bit, surely?
She felt something close to excitement. “I’ll drive you. I’d really like to.”
It was difficult to tell who was most shocked by that announcement, her mother or her husband.
“Er—Liza?” Sean scratched his head. “France?”
“You could go without me this year.” The more she thought about it, the more excited she was. As a child she’d longed to be taken along on her mother’s travels. This was the perfect time. They’d bond over the adventures. Emerge with a new closeness.
“It wouldn’t be the same without you.” Sean’s appalled expression made her feel better about life.
She’d started to feel that people saw her only as a killjoy. Someone to put the brakes on their more impulsive decisions.
But Sean wanted her there.
Perhaps all that was wrong with their marriage was that they’d stopped creating time for themselves as a couple.
“You’d miss me?”
“Of course.” Sean, who had obviously decided that nothing but coffee was going to get him through the weekend, was pouring a third cup. “How would we manage without you? I don’t even know where we get the keys for the place. You always deal with the scary Madame Laroux. You’re the best French speaker. And then there’s the food. We’d probably starve if you weren’t there.”
The excitement oozed out of Liza.
He wanted her there because she made his life easy? That was it?
Did he even love her? Not her organizational abilities, but her, Liza, the woman he’d married?
“I’m sure you’re capable of booking a restaurant.” And now she was even more determined to go with her mother. It would bring them closer and also give Sean and the girls the opportunity to see how much she did for them.
“Don’t panic, Sean,” her mother said. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want Liza to drive me. She would be the wrong person for this kind of trip.”
The rejection tore open an old scar. She’d been eight years old and clinging as her mother had walked out the door. Take me with you! On one occasion she’d even sneaked her own packing into her mother’s case and then howled when it was gently removed.
“Why would I be the wrong person?”
“Apart from the fact you love your annual trip to France and you’d resent not being there, you like everything to be in your control, and on a trip like this nothing is going to be in your control. You would worry about your family constantly and spend half your time phoning home. And you’d nag me to eat the right things and be careful. It would be stressful for both of us.” Kathleen smoothed the map flat on the table. “This is one trip I’m doing alone.”
She’d done every trip alone, Liza thought, absorbing the pain while outwardly keeping herself composed. She should be used to rejection by now, so why did it hurt so much?
She had to accept that they’d never be close, no matter how much she wanted it to happen. She needed to stop hoping for that.
She’d go to France, even though that felt tainted now.
She was processing the fact that Sean saw her as a tour operator when she heard the sound of a car engine through the open window.
Kathleen straightened, one hand on the map. “That’s her. Martha. My driver. Why don’t you and Sean go and breathe in the sea air?”
Her mother didn’t want her around.
Only her sense of responsibility forced her to stay put and meet the girl. “Have you checked her credentials? How do you know she’s a safe driver?”
“The roads that lead to this house are narrow and twisty. If she managed it without having an accident, then she’s a good driver. I’ll meet her,” Kathleen said. “I don’t want you scaring her off or sending her away.” She left the kitchen and Liza stood there feeling unappreciated, alone and misunderstood.
Sean gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Narrow escape there, Liza. She might have said yes and then where would w
e have been?”
She would have been driving across America spending quality time with her mother.
But Kathleen didn’t want that. She’d rather spend weeks with a stranger than her own daughter. Liza wasn’t adventurous enough.
“Is that all I am to you? Someone to organize your holiday?”
“No.” Sean finished his coffee. “Although you are good at that. Thanks to you, life runs smoothly.”
The holiday, which she’d been looking forward to for so long, no longer seemed as shiny. She wanted to tell him how she felt, but she couldn’t do that with a stranger about to join them in the kitchen.
Grabbing Sean’s mug, she refilled it.
She needed to stop overthinking everything, particularly her marriage. Sean had made an insensitive comment. So what? People said the wrong thing all the time. She said the wrong thing. It was important not to overreact. She was going to throw that stupid article away.
She heard laughter from the hallway and then her mother came back into the room, accompanied by a girl who looked barely older than Caitlin.
Her curls bounced around her shoulders and her jeans and her top clung to her curves. She had a dusting of freckles on her nose and a friendly smile that made you want to smile back.
Sean stepped forward. “Nice to meet you. Martha, is it? Good journey?”
“Great, thanks. Straight through from London.”
Liza looked at her stupidly. “You came by train?”
“Train, and I splurged on a taxi from the station. He moaned all the way.” Martha seemed sympathetic rather than annoyed. “Something about the roads being too narrow and the hedges too high.”
She made Liza feel old. “I assumed you’d drive.”
“I don’t have a car, and anyway I like the train. It’s a good time to read and I always find the rhythm soothing.”
“I am the same,” Kathleen said. “I once traveled from Moscow to Vladivostok on the Trans-Siberian Railway.”
Liza remembered that trip. She’d had meningitis and been so ill she’d had to spend weeks in the hospital. People had talked in hushed voices around her. Her father, white-faced and tense, had never left her bedside. For a short time she’d been the focus of attention, and then her mother had arrived home with postcards and souvenirs from her trip and the focus in the house had shifted.
