It feels as though we’ve been on the road on a fairly arduous journey for many hours. In reality, though, we aren’tthat far out of Rome and only half a day has passed since we first saw each other this morning, and therefore my travel options are extremely similar to how they were first thing: there are still no alternatives to the camper van other than walking and hitchhiking. And, according to Janet, in many European counties, including Italy, hitchhiking is illegal on roads where pedestrians are banned (like motorways), and in Italy it is also illegal to hitchhike at motorway service areas. And I don’t fancy doing anything remotely illegal, because I like being a lawyer.
So until tomorrow, at least, when we will hopefully reach Florence, if not further, I think I’m going to have to gratefully accept my ride with Emma.
By early evening, I’ve accomplished some actual work. I’ve also called Thea for a chat, which always makes me feel better, and I feel that I’ve pretty much come to terms with the weirdness of seeing Emma again.
Obviously this evening we’ll have to eat dinner together, but once we’ve left here, I doubt I’ll have to talk to her as much; for the remaining time we’re on the road, we can listen to music in the van. All good. Totally fine.
And when Emma rattles the door handle a lot before coming into the room, I amfine.
I’m still fine when she says, ‘I thought it would be weird for a wife to knock on the door of the room she’s sharing with her husband; hope that was okay,’ and I nod and say of course it’s fine, which of course it is, and then she follows up with: ‘Have you seen the gorgeous blue, blue, cloud-free sky outside?’
‘As in, the rain’s finally let up?’
I hadn’t seen; I’ve been engrossed in reviewing a contract for the last hour.
‘Yes, exactly.’
‘Oh my God, so we could… go?’ I do of course feel grateful to the monks for taking us in. But I also really just want to get home and I don’t want to share this room with Emma, for so many reasons. ‘I mean, obviously I’ll still pay the monks. And for dinner, too. We can find a garage on the way or in Florence to fix the wipers.’
‘Yes. Although…’ She looks at her watch. ‘It’s getting late.’
‘It’s only seven p.m.?’
‘What time does it get dark, though?’
‘Oh, okay. Sorry; I hadn’t thought that you might not like driving in the dark.’
I suppose night-time driving is the same kind of thing as driving anywhere near the speed limit on the motorway, so it makes sense that she might not like it. And I cannot complain, I remind myself; I am lucky to have this lift.
‘Well, no, it’s…’ And then her eyes shift away from mine. And she says, ‘Yep.’
I feel my eyes narrow as I watch her. She was definitely going to say something else.
‘Emma?’
‘Mmm?’ She isn’t looking at me at all now; she’s busying herself pointlessly neatening her already perfectly neatly placed Kindle and sunglasses on the little table between the beds.
‘Do the lights on the van not work?’
She sits up straight on her bed and looks me right in the eye. ‘Most of them do work.’
‘But some don’t?’
‘Just the back ones. As of literally yesterday.’
I stare at her as I feel a wave of real fury wash over me.
I make a huge effort and say, very conversationally, rather thanyelling, ‘You know you’re an idiot?’
‘Oh, please.’
‘What do you meanoh, please.’ I’m veering more towards the yell than the conversational now. ‘Broken windscreen wipers, back lights not working. That’sdangerous.’
‘It’s only dangerous if you drive in the rain or the dark. I neverhaveto drive in the dark, like I’m not going to do now.’ She smiles at me as though her words areentirelylogical and acceptable. I’m sure they aren’t, but in the moment I can’t work out why not.
‘The rain, though?’ I say. That’s definitely dangerous.
‘I didn’t know it was going to rain and in my defence it’s rare for the weather forecast to be that extremely wrong and as soon as it did start to rain I stopped driving.’
