I sighed with frustration. ‘Can’t you at least give me a clue?’
I frowned as we moved into the slip road at the next junction. It was the exit to Birmingham and Oxford. Were we having a city break? It didn’t seem likely, given Rory’s supposed secret agenda. But there were plenty of pretty villages around both.
At least I knew now that we weren’t going up north. I’d had a sneaking suspicion that we’d be heading for Lincolnshire, possibly somewhere near his parents’.
The weather up there was much colder than it was down here. I’d checked the forecast for the whole of England last night, although I was pretty certain we’d be staying within a few hours of home and Rory had just confirmed that. It was only a short break, after all.
A thought occurred to me and I shifted nervously in my seat. ‘It’s – it’s not the Cotswolds, is it?’
Rory exhaled heavily and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. ‘Just wait and see.’
‘Yes but…’
Hewouldn’t. Rory would never be that stupid. He knew perfectly well that I hadn’t visited the Cotswolds for years, and he knew why too.
‘Why don’t you play some music?’ Rory suggested. ‘There are some mints in the glove compartment if you want one.’
I gave him a sideways look, wondering what was wrong with him.
‘Why don’t you just tell me where we’re going?’ I asked. I glanced at the satnav which, when we’d set off had said we were ninety-one miles from our destination but, unhelpfully, didn’t mention where that destination was.
‘Just enjoy the journey and trust me,’ he said briefly.
Annoyed, I reached over and turned on the radio. I was even more annoyed when, instead of music, I realised we were now listening to some confused-sounding man desperately trying to win five hundred pounds by answering lame general knowledge questions.
When he failed to answer a single one correctly I said, ‘Good grief. I might ring that radio station tomorrow. I’d walk it.’
Rory gave me a tight smile, and I mentally shook my head, already fed up before we’d even got to wherever it was we were going.
I suddenly noticed that the M40 had become the A40 and we were only thirty-six miles from our destination. My stomach swirled and I stared at my husband, willing him to tell me that we weren’t going to be staying anywhere near the Cotswolds, even though it was looking increasingly likely.
‘Rory,’ I said coldly, ‘where exactly are we going?’
‘I told you, wait and see,’ he said.
Okay, we could be going anywhere, I told myself. This could be a trick to fool me. Make it more of a surprise.Don’t jump to conclusions.
I fought my anxiety and focused on the radio, but when the DJ announced he would be playing a triple bill of Buck’s Fizz hits I turned the radio off and, in the absence of alcohol, reached for a mint. I’d gone off eighties music a long time ago.
My mind drifted to the possibility that we really were going to be spending four nights in the Cotswolds. How would I deal with that if we were? I hadn’t visited the area for years. Eighteen years in fact.
How could I when it was there that Danny had met his end?
That bloody stupid fancy dress party! I should have been with him, but I’d made an excuse. I’d said I wasn’t feeling well. That I felt sick. Danny, I remembered with shame, had got excited about that, even though he was sorry I was ill. I’d known what he’d been thinking, hoping. I should have said it was a headache, but I’d used that one before on several occasions.
‘I think it was something I ate,’ I’d said, trying to manage his expectations.
Danny had looked a little downcast at that. ‘Oh well, perhaps,’ he’d said uncertainly. ‘Look, I’ll give it a miss, too. I’ll stay home with you and make sure you’re okay.’
‘No! Don’t be silly. I’m going to have a warm bath and an early night. I just want peace and quiet to be honest. You go. You don’t want to miss out on this. You’ve been looking forward to it for ages. You’ve got your costume and everything.’
That bloody Adam Ant costume! I’d howled with laughter when he’d shown it to me and he’d been quite hurt, but I had to admit that, when he finally tried it on and I helped him with the make-up, he actually looked rather cute in it.
‘Well, so have you,’ he’d pointed out.
I’d decided to go as Debbie Harry from Blondie, because who was cooler than that? And if I had to dress as some 1980s pop star I couldn’t think of anyone better. Deep down, though, I’d known I was just going along with it. I had no intention of going to the party. Not really.
‘It doesn’t matter about that,’ I’d told him. ‘Just go and enjoy yourself, or I’m going to have a whole load of guilt on my shoulders on top of feeling unwell. There’s no point in you being here if I’m just going to sleep, is there? Besides, you promised Brooke a lift, didn’t you?’
