“Nah, I want to take this,” he insists, tossing the keys in the air and catching them again. “I’m sick of being driven around everywhere. It just attracts more attention.”
“Yeah, whereas we’ll be totally inconspicuous in a bright orange convertible,” I deadpan. “No one will give us a second glance, for sure.”
“Trust me,” Jett insists. “It’ll be fun. I think we’ll leave McTavish out of this one, though. I’m not sure this thing’s big enough for three adults, somehow — even when one’s as small as you.”
I stick my tongue out in response to his teasing, relieved by the change of topic.
Maybe Jett’s right. Maybe a road trip will be fun. Maybe it’ll be just what I need to help me forget about Mum, and Emerald, and all the other things that’ve been on my mind since I came back here.
“Okay,” says Jett, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Just give me a second so I can arrange for Scarlett to meet us there with her photographer.”
Or, on second thoughts, maybe not.
* * *
It takes us almost three hours to drive to Birnam, where the tree Jett wants to see is, and Jett sings the entire way. Literally the entire way.
It starts with Dolly Parton’s ‘Jolene’, which happens to be playing on the radio as we leave Heather Bay (after a few false starts as Jett, who’s insisted on driving, gets used to the unfamiliar stick shift), then progresses through a varied selection of tracks, ranging from The Eagles to The Spice Girls, and pretty much everything in between.
“Do you just somehow know every song ever made?” I ask in amazement, as the opening chords to ‘Summer of ‘69 strike up, and Jett immediately joins in.
“I love music,” he says, shrugging. “I listen to it constantly back home. It’s like a form of therapy for me. I listen to music when I want to change my mood, or take my mind off something that’s worrying me. Doesn’t everyone?”
“I didn’t know that,” I reply, slightly shamefaced. I still barely even know this man sitting next to me. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own problems that I haven’t really stopped to think about him, or what might be worrying him, as he puts it.
“And do you want to change your mood now?” I ask, looking over at him. He’s wearing a pair of dark glasses and a close-fitting t-shirt, and he insisted on putting the top down on the car, so the wind is blowing through his hair, which is miraculously free of the ever-present baseball cap for once. He looks like he’s starring in a movie about some kind of lovable rogue who’s on the run from the law. It’s almost unbearably sexy. So much so that I almost forget I asked a question until he answers it.
“Nah, I’m good,” he says, grinning over at me. “How about you, Lady M? You heard anything more from your mom?”
I stiffen, instinctively on guard at the mention of Mum. As it happens, I have had a few messages from her; mostly asking if Jett and I can come and pick her up when she gets out of hospital after the miraculous recovery she seems to have had. I haven’t answered any of them yet. I will, of course. I just need to clear a bit of space in my head first; which is one of the reasons this trip with Jett seems like an even better idea the more I think about it.
“No,” I tell him, surprising myself with how smoothly the lie comes out of my mouth. “Nothing at all. Oh my God, I love this song!”
I don’treally, as it happens. It’sDon’t Stop Believin’, and I associate it with too many drunken nights out in my youth. But I crank up the volume on the radio anyway, and Jett and I sing along, all the way to the little town of Birnam, where the rain starts to fall as soon as we pull into a parking space.
Awesome.
“So, where’s this tree?” I ask, wishing I’d worn something a bit sore substantial than the pair of strappy sandals that seemed like a good idea in this morning’s sunshine. “Is it close?”
“No idea,” says Jett cheerfully. “Scarlett should know, though. Look, there she is.”
I twist around in my seat, and, sure enough, there’s Scarlett, smiling and batting her eyelashes as she waves at us from under an umbrella. She’s in full ‘Wicked Witch’ mode, wearing a bright red trench coat that matches her name and her lipstick, and I find myself uncharitably hoping she slips and falls into a puddle or something.
By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.
Jett gets out of the car and goes to meet her, with me trailing along grudgingly behind. By the time I reach them, Scarlett’s already offered him a space under her umbrella, and I’m left to share with the newspaper’s photographer, who doesn’t utter a single word as we trudge along a path and into the forest that skirts the edges of the village.
“Sorry, Lexie,” Scarlett shouts back at me as the paved footpath gives way to a muddy trail. “You might want to wait there for us, if you don’t want to get your feet wet.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” I mutter, earning a look a silent approval from the photographer. I bet he’s about as sick of Scarlett Scott as I am right now. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
I grit my teeth as I squelch my way through the forest, my sandals soaked through within seconds. Scarlett yells that the tree isn’t too far from the town itself, but by the time we reach it, I’m freezing cold, soaking wet, and thoroughly annoyed.
All this for a freakingtree.
Still, it’s quite a nice tree, I suppose. If you like that kind of thing.
Trying to show some interest, I take a step closer to it, and bend down to examine the sign in front of it, which Jett and Scarlett have stopped in front of.
