kind of leaped out at me.’
‘Because . . . ?’
‘I don’t know what it was, except in junior school we used to have this ancient book called Flight Six: The Holy Land. I remember sitting in the library looking at the
pictures, and it dawning on me for the first time ever that places you heard about, like in assembly, Bethlehem and that, actually existed and you could go visit them. So when you grew up you could
go anywhere in the world if you wanted to. Maybe it’s that.’
‘Couldn’t you choose somewhere more peaceful, though?’
‘It’s not all fighting round there. There’s people living ordinary lives, a different culture and stuff. Some of it’s very historical.’
‘I’ll give you “historical”. Next year, foist your junk-shop finds on someone else.’
He laid his arms across the steering wheel and rested his chin there, staring out at the far-off orange glow from the bypass. ‘I wonder what it would be like to go out somewhere so
different and far away. I might have it back, your book, and make use of it myself.’
‘You wouldn’t.’
‘I might.’
‘We’re talking the other side of the world.’
‘Exactly.’
‘You don’t know the language. There are terrorists.’
‘I think I can work out how to use a phrasebook. There are terrorists everywhere these days.’
‘For God’s sake.’
‘What?’
‘You love the garage.’
Michael sighed in exasperation. ‘I don’t “love” it. It’s OK. But there’s other stuff I want to do. It might be nice to travel the world, properly travel, meet
different people who’ve grown up thousands of miles from you and had completely different experiences. All right, maybe not the West Bank, that probably is a bit radical, but somewhere . Are you telling me you want to spend your whole life here, in this two-horse town?’
‘What about the people here?’ What about me, I suppose I meant. ‘Aren’t we enough for you?’
I guess I’d not appreciated how much I relied on Michael. He was someone I could always moan at, confide in, laugh with. He’d given me lifts home when I was stranded, bailed me out
of a small financial crisis, helped me find my first proper job. Plus, quite aside from any emotional support, he represented free car maintenance, something which must have saved me a small
fortune over the years. If all of a sudden he wasn’t around, it was going to leave such a hole.
Not that our relationship had always been so positive. When we very first met, I’d developed a small and secret crush on him. This crush evaporated overnight when I came limping back from
uni and he took it upon himself to give me a right telling-off. He actually took me out for a meal to do it: massive great bollocking in the beer garden of the Dusty Miller. ‘For God’s
sake, Freya,’ he’d ranted, ‘I wish I had half your brains. You don’t appreciate what you’re chucking away.’ Oh, he’s changed his tune since then, but at
the time he was furious with me.
For half a year after that we avoided each other. Then I went to his awful, sad wedding and I just felt sorry for him. It’s difficult to stay angry when you discover the bridegroom round
the back of the registry office with his head in his hands.
‘Wouldn’t you miss your friends and family?’ I asked him now. ‘Your workmates, and the pub, Oulton Park? What about all those autojumbles you go to?’
The edges of the fishing lake before us were busy with little silver streaks of movement – coots, moorhens, mallards, or perhaps only the ordinary disturbance of water against reeds. To me
it looked beautiful. And the clouds pearly against the half-moon, and bare tree branches outlined by distant sodium lamps, and every few minutes the twinkle of headlights passing.
Michael spoke without turning his head. Each sentence misted the windscreen faintly. ‘I don’t know, Freya. I don’t know whether it’s enough. I keep thinking lately,
there’s got to be more than
‘Because . . . ?’
‘I don’t know what it was, except in junior school we used to have this ancient book called Flight Six: The Holy Land. I remember sitting in the library looking at the
pictures, and it dawning on me for the first time ever that places you heard about, like in assembly, Bethlehem and that, actually existed and you could go visit them. So when you grew up you could
go anywhere in the world if you wanted to. Maybe it’s that.’
‘Couldn’t you choose somewhere more peaceful, though?’
‘It’s not all fighting round there. There’s people living ordinary lives, a different culture and stuff. Some of it’s very historical.’
‘I’ll give you “historical”. Next year, foist your junk-shop finds on someone else.’
He laid his arms across the steering wheel and rested his chin there, staring out at the far-off orange glow from the bypass. ‘I wonder what it would be like to go out somewhere so
different and far away. I might have it back, your book, and make use of it myself.’
‘You wouldn’t.’
‘I might.’
‘We’re talking the other side of the world.’
‘Exactly.’
‘You don’t know the language. There are terrorists.’
‘I think I can work out how to use a phrasebook. There are terrorists everywhere these days.’
‘For God’s sake.’
‘What?’
‘You love the garage.’
Michael sighed in exasperation. ‘I don’t “love” it. It’s OK. But there’s other stuff I want to do. It might be nice to travel the world, properly travel, meet
different people who’ve grown up thousands of miles from you and had completely different experiences. All right, maybe not the West Bank, that probably is a bit radical, but somewhere . Are you telling me you want to spend your whole life here, in this two-horse town?’
‘What about the people here?’ What about me, I suppose I meant. ‘Aren’t we enough for you?’
I guess I’d not appreciated how much I relied on Michael. He was someone I could always moan at, confide in, laugh with. He’d given me lifts home when I was stranded, bailed me out
of a small financial crisis, helped me find my first proper job. Plus, quite aside from any emotional support, he represented free car maintenance, something which must have saved me a small
fortune over the years. If all of a sudden he wasn’t around, it was going to leave such a hole.
Not that our relationship had always been so positive. When we very first met, I’d developed a small and secret crush on him. This crush evaporated overnight when I came limping back from
uni and he took it upon himself to give me a right telling-off. He actually took me out for a meal to do it: massive great bollocking in the beer garden of the Dusty Miller. ‘For God’s
sake, Freya,’ he’d ranted, ‘I wish I had half your brains. You don’t appreciate what you’re chucking away.’ Oh, he’s changed his tune since then, but at
the time he was furious with me.
For half a year after that we avoided each other. Then I went to his awful, sad wedding and I just felt sorry for him. It’s difficult to stay angry when you discover the bridegroom round
the back of the registry office with his head in his hands.
‘Wouldn’t you miss your friends and family?’ I asked him now. ‘Your workmates, and the pub, Oulton Park? What about all those autojumbles you go to?’
The edges of the fishing lake before us were busy with little silver streaks of movement – coots, moorhens, mallards, or perhaps only the ordinary disturbance of water against reeds. To me
it looked beautiful. And the clouds pearly against the half-moon, and bare tree branches outlined by distant sodium lamps, and every few minutes the twinkle of headlights passing.
Michael spoke without turning his head. Each sentence misted the windscreen faintly. ‘I don’t know, Freya. I don’t know whether it’s enough. I keep thinking lately,
there’s got to be more than
Similar Books
