Joan sniffs. “Everyone knows the road markings are suggestions.”
“What about the lights? Are they suggestions too?”
“You were never in danger!”
“The van driver who almost ran into us would beg to differ!”
“I thought young people were meant to be fun.” Joan sinks into her seat like a petulant child. “Rowan, dear, you don’t think my driving’s that bad, do you?”
“I am not getting involved.”
“Coward,” Ewan mutters.
“Joan, thank you so much for driving us here,” Lila says diplomatically. “It’s certainly been an experience I’ll never forget.”
“You’re so welcome, dearie.” Joan beams. “Let me know if you’re ever in Lancashire – do stop by for a cup of tea.”
“We will.” Lila opens the door and swings her legs out. “Priya, have you got everything?”
“Yep!” Priya replies, scrambling out as if she can’t wait to leave the car.
After that drive, I’m not sure she’ll ever willingly get in one again.
I roll down the window. “I’ll meet you on the platform.”
Ewan salutes and follow the others out, somehow managing both crutches and his bag, and leaving Joan and I alone.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come back with me?” she asks.
“No!” I choke. “No, thank you, Aunt Joan. I want to go home.”
Home being Marnie’s sofa, for now. I texted her on the drive, asking her if I could crash. She sent me a picture of Brian giving the camera two thumbs up. They’re what I need right now. Marnie and Brian and Rufus, a tub of ice cream, and a long, hard cry.
“Well, the offer’s there if you ever need it. Bol and I would be glad to have you. Oh, you can try our latest creation: peach focaccia with a mustard marmalade drizzle. It was Bol’s idea.” Her eyes glaze over as her smile turns dreamy. “She’s always so creative when it comes to cooking.”
“Did you say mustard… marmalade?”
Joan smacks her lips. “That’s right. Bitter. Tangy. Sweet. Hits all the notes.”
I try not to shudder. “Fascinating. I appreciate the offer, but I really do need to face the music.”
And yet, still I sit there, listening to the faint whirr of the engine and the quiet voices on the radio, watching as other cars pull up and people get in and out, and wonder where they’re all going, and who is waiting for them at the other end.
“It’s going to be okay, love,” Joan says eventually.
“Is it?”
I have no home, no boyfriend, no qualifications, and no sense of what I want to do or where I want to go. I miss Angus already. The burr of his voice. The warmth of his arms. But he doesn’t want me. No one wants me.
Nothing.
Everything feels hopeless. When I think about the future, it’s a dense, black hole, and I don’t know what will happen when I pop out the other side – or if I even would.
I bite my lip. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this, Joan.” The confession spills from my lips like stones. The words are heavy: thoughts I’ve kept bottled up in the darkness for so long that it’s a struggle to bring them into the light.
“Cut out for what, pet?”
“Life.” I sniff. “It’s hard. It’s so hard, all the time, and sometimes I’m so sad I can’t even take it, and I want— I wish—” I can’t say it. Can’t get it out.
