‘Yah,’ Edward pulls out his own decent impression of the presenter. ‘And of course, the pressurised potable water system is vital for thesymmetryandwinsomenessof this domicile, even though it will add another million to the build cost. There is adelicacyand arefinementto this water tower that must be conserved and safeguarded.’
‘Just look at theexquisite dusty, ash dingy greyness!’ I signal to come off at the next junction and then point an exaggerated finger in the air. ‘Regard thepulchritudeof this unliveable new home!’
‘Pulchritude!’ Edwards sounds amused. ‘Good word. It sounds like you’re aGrand Designsfan, too?’
‘Actually…’ I stop at a busy roundabout, waiting my turn to pull out. ‘I’ve had to stop watching it. There are toomany episodes now where they don’t finish the project, and that makes me itchy. I cannot have that kind of resentment in my life.’
‘That’s fair.’ Edward smiles. He checks his phone for the millionth time and this time I catch a change in his expression. ‘Oh, thank god,’ he murmurs. ‘The first responder is there.’ He checks his watch. We’re still about an hour away. ‘She thinks Mum could’ve had a TIA, but my brother says she’s fairly confident it’s just a severe migraine.’ I watch the road, listening intently. ‘There’s no drooping, she’s able to raise her arms, and her speech isn’t slurred. They’ve checked Mum’s blood pressure and respiratory rate, and they’re both raised, but the responder isn’t unduly alarmed.’ Beside me, I feel Edward sagging into the seat with relief.
Thank god.
He snorts. ‘It’s pretty obvious my brother’s not that worried anymore – he’s saying he wants us to grab some food en route, since there’s nothing in the house.’
‘That’s such good news!’ I say sincerely, glancing across at Edward. His whole energy has relaxed. ‘There’s a service station a couple of miles away, shall I turn off there?’
He nods and my stomach rumbles quietly. It’s after lunch. Is it inconsiderate to suggest we get something to eat for ourselves, too? What’s the etiquette when you’re driving your therapist to his mum’s house during a medical emergency but you’re starving because you only had three spoonfuls of tiramisu for breakfast since it’s the only food in the house? It’s probably too niche an example for William Hanson to have covered in hisetiquette books, but I’m guessing it would be frowned upon. You’re not really allowed an appetite in times of crisis.
We pull off the motorway, park up, and head into an overpriced food shop. My legs ache from the drive as Edward loads items into a basket. I watch on longingly. I’mdesperateto grab something to eat but hold myself back. I have self-control, I have willpower!
Maybe I could just shoplift a sandwich and mainline it in the loo?
As we retrace our steps down the high-ceilinged concourse, Edward pauses beside me. ‘Would it be weird to suggest we grab some fast food?’ Edward gives me a sheepish sideways look, gesturing towards a KFC a few feet to our left. ‘I’m starving!’
Oh, thank GOD.
‘I guess we could do that, if you think we have time?’ I offer without much enthusiasm, and he nods, as my stomach growls again; loudly this time.
We sit down with our junk food and I tuck into my wrap joyfully, too ravenous to regret my messy choice. Across from me, Edward chews on a hot wing and we sit in companionable silence. He looks deep in thought, and I wonder if I should ask him again about his mum. It’s funny that I’ve told him so much about my parents and I know so little about his. Beyond the fact that his mum makes a lovely carrot cake. Maybe he’d like to talk about her? Maybe he reallydoesn’twant to talk about her. Maybe I should be googling reassuring things to say about a stroke – something about howclever the brain is at building new pathways. Except Google is never reassuring about these kinds of things.
He clears his throat. ‘I have a question for you, Olivia.’ He pauses. ‘Do you saycould care lessorcouldn’t care less?’ He looks at me piercingly and then picks up his napkin, wiping his fingers. ‘They’re now pretty widely recognised as meaning the same thing, like flammable or inflammable.’ He sighs. ‘And I don’t want to be a snob about the way language changes, but I can’t get over how wrong it sounds to say youcouldcare less. Surely it undermines the point you’re making if youcouldcare less?’
I blink. ‘That’s what you were thinking about?’ He nods, waiting patiently, so I answer. ‘I don’t think I say either, to be honest. Mostly because I do care, I always care. I couldn’t caremoreif anything. It’s a curse.’
He smiles softly. ‘I can see that.’
‘And I don’t think I’ve ever said inflammable or flammable either,’ I add. ‘But that’s a lot of stupidity for one English language.’
‘English is endlessly stupid,’ he agrees. ‘Don’t get me started on bi-monthly meaning both twice a weekandevery other month.’
‘Oh, oh! And how is it possible that cough, rough, though, and through don’t rhyme?’ I ask, full of exasperation.
He laughs. ‘You know, any time someone saysa lot, I now think about what you told me and Samira after our second session. You remember when she burst in to take you for a haircut? You told us Justin would insista lotwas one word?’
I look down. The last person I want to think about right now is Justin, never mind the embarrassing stuff he did when we were together, that I told myself was cute.
He leans closer. ‘Sorry,’ he tells me quietly. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. It struck a chord because I have a friend who thinks thank you is one word.’
My eyes widen. ‘You haven’t upset me!’ I tell him quickly, my voice a little high. ‘You didn’t.’ I sigh. ‘Justin was… he was an interesting guy in hindsight, what can I say?’ I narrow my eyes at Edward. ‘But wait, how does your friend thinkthank youis one word? What about when they sayyouin any other context? Is that a whole different word tothankyou? And do they not ever say thanks?’
He puts a hand to his chin, considering this. ‘He definitely does saythanks, so I assume he thinksthanksis an abbreviation ofthankyou. Which it is, of course. And – if I had to guess – I’d say he thinksthankyouandyouare whole different words. Much like, I don’t know,makingandkingare unconnected, separate things. Or friend and end. Or Justin and tin.’ It’s his turn to look down at the table. ‘Sorry, I keep mentioning your ex.’
I shake my head. ‘It’s fine, but I’m not sure Justin and tinareseparate things. The man clearly has a tin head, so maybe Justin isjusttinthrough and through.’ Edward laughs at this nicely, so I keep going, feeling a little punch-drunk on making this man laugh. ‘I also think a lot – oralot– about how he didn’t clean his ears because he said his hair protected them from dirt. It’s my Roman Empire. Butmostly I feel uneasy about it because I don’t really know how to clean my ears myself.’ Meeting Edward’s eyes, I add quickly, ‘I mean, of course Idowash them. Every day. But I’ve never been totally clear on what everyone else does and I think about it every time I get in the shower—’ I move smoothly past this, though I can feel myself getting pink. It might be my imagination, but I think Edward’s blushing, too. ‘What I mean is, do you just use water to clean your ears? Or do they count as part of your head, therefore you clean them with shampoo when you’re washing your hair?’ He narrows his eyes at this, and I immediately need to know what shampoo he uses. His hair isso nice. I continue with my lengthy, multi-part question. ‘In which case, what if you don’t wash your hair every day? Samira does hers every four or five days, so does she only shampoo her ears every four or five days?’ I pause for breath. ‘Or maybe your ears count as your body, so you use bodywash? Or maybe they’re part of your face, in which case you would rinse them with facewash?’ I shake my head. ‘But my facewash is expensive, it feels a bit offensive to waste it on my ears.’ I sigh. ‘It’s such a conundrum.’
Edward has been listening carefully, taking all of this in. He nods now. ‘Maybe Justin had the right idea in leaving them well enough alone.’
I giggle, and he joins in. ‘But seriously!’ I cry, genuinely keen for an answer. ‘What do you do with your ears? Please tell me you wash them!’
‘I do,’ he confirms, smiling. Then he shrugs. ‘Actually, Ijust use my shampoo all over, for everything. Hair, face, legs, arms, ears, all… of it.’
