‘I just wasn’t very good behind the wheel,’ I sigh. ‘I was convinced I’d whizz through it and have my licence by June, but then. . .’
‘When you weren’t meeting the timeline, you pushed it away,’ he says with an understanding nod. ‘If you change your mind, you could always try again.’
I shuffle uncomfortably, avoiding a response.
I still see giving up on driving as one of my biggest failures. I avoid talking about it at all costs, shy away from showing anyone I still have my provisional. There’s a dark cloud over my headevery time I have to run for the bus– a voice that tells me I’m too old for this to be my commute. But Aiden makes it feel easy, like a small blip in the road. ‘You could always try again’ like it’s a choice, not a failure.
He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Did you learn manual or automatic?’
‘Manual,’ I reply.
‘So, you like struggle.’ He grins. ‘Me too.’
He checks his mirrors and tugs down on the gearstick sharply, before twisting the steering wheel with a flick of his wrist. The car and I screech as we make a sharp left. Car horns sound off all around us, but Aiden pays them no mind, continuing his joyride off the packed main road. Within moments, the angry orchestra fades into nothing and he pulls us over on a small country path.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask.
I scan his face for any sign that he plans to murder me in this car, but he is, of course, as unreadable as ever as he finishes parallel parking on the side of the road. Once the engine has stilled, he turns his head towards me, a small but intriguing smile on his lips.
‘Wanna practise?’ he asks.
I stare back, my clear confusion prompting a swift eye roll from him.
‘Driving. Do you want to try driving?’ He gestures boldly to the steering wheel in front of him.
‘You’d really let me drive your car?’ I ask, eyebrow raised.
He’s being so calm, it’s borderline sociopathic.
‘Come on, how often d’you get a free driving lesson?’
It must be some sort of joke or empty gesture to test my new ‘don’t say no, go with the flow’ attitude. There is a difference, however, between not saying no to an after-work drink and not saying to no to something that could quite easily kill us both.
‘I could kill us,’ I say.
‘So be it. I’ve lived a good life.’ He shrugs nonchalantly. ‘But you won’t– I’m a really good teacher. Taught my sister, actually.’
‘You taught your sister to drive?’ I repeat.
‘Sure did, so I’m still insured for a learner to use my car. . . I think. Now, come on, we do have to get to Evie’s at some point.’
He opens his door and walks around to the passenger side before I have another chance to argue. He waits impatiently, tapping his foot as I unbuckle my seatbelt and scurry around to the driver’s seat. A fizz of excitement bubbles from my feet to my chest.
‘Adjust the chair,’ he says as I stare blankly at the dashboard.
I turn to face him, wondering how on earth he expects me to do that, but he stays silent. Time to get creative. I turn back to the buttons and dials, pushing one with a small picture of a seat and some squiggly lines. It lights up and I push back on the chair, expecting it to move, but get a slight warming sensation spreading across my lower back instead.
‘Oh, we’re really starting from square one– got it,’ Aiden laughs, switching off the chair heating before pointing to the other side of me. ‘There’s a lever to your right, just under. . . exactly. You’ve got to press it a few times to move the seat. Go forward and up until you can reach the pedals properly and see out the front window.’
I reach down and start pumping, getting fully comfortable in the seat. It’s still warm, the leather soft and beautifully broken in. He lets out a chuckle.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Nothing. You’re just so short.’
‘I’m only like. . . a couple of inches shorter than you,’ I say.
‘Five, atleast. Six if I’m in the right shoes,’ he retorts. ‘Right, let’s start easy. Put your foot on the clutch.’
