Read Online One Perfect Christmas by Paige Toon - Free Book Online Page B

I say doubtfully, although I think I can smell salt water, even through closed windows. ‘Is it a lagoon?’
    ‘A lagoon…’ From her side profile, Bridget looks thoughtful. ‘Do you know, I have never said that word out loud.’
    ‘Neither have I, come to think of it.’
    ‘Don’t suppose you have many lagoons in London.’ That’s where we live. ‘Or England, for that matter,’ she adds. ‘Probably the whole of Europe.
Mangroves!’ she exclaims, her blue eyes widening as they look at me in the rear-view mirror. ‘Don’t they grow in swamps?’
    I laugh. ‘I have no idea. But swamp or lagoon, it’s still not the ocean.’
    ‘I’ll beat you yet,’ she says in what I
think
is a joke serious voice. Perhaps she’s more competitive than I thought.
    We pass a palm tree farm on our left, followed on our right by a tangled sprawl of multi-coloured bungalows with boats in their backyards.
    I’m struggling to keep my eyes open, but I feel bad about abandoning Bridget. She may have nabbed the driving just so she could sit in the front seat with Marty, but I won’t hold
that against her. Don’t want her to fall asleep at the wheel and kill us all – much as it’s hard to imagine how I’ll ever live with the humiliation of what my husband is
putting me through.
    ‘There!’ she shouts as we pass a huge expanse of water.
    ‘Nope,’ I shake my head. ‘Still a lagoon. Look, you can see land over there.’
    ‘Shit,’ she mutters.
    I smile to myself. The sunlight on the water is blinding, but I force myself to look at it. I need some light in my life. The last two weeks have been
dark
.
    ‘Hang on,’ Bridget snaps. ‘We’re in Key bloody Largo! You can’t tell me that’s not the ocean.’
    ‘Okay, you win,’ I concede. I told you, it’s hard to care about much these days.
    Four white sails project out of the mangrove swamps as they make their way towards open water. We pass a bank of houses on stilts and I can see the water glinting beyond them. The houses and
shop fronts are painted in colours of blue, green, aqua, yellow and cream; in front of some flies the American flag on a gentle breeze. Polystyrene buoys hang like garlands over fences and outside
bars. There are lots of scuba diving and bait and tackle shops – and hundreds of boats. I keep catching flashes of the ocean through the lush, tropical vegetation. And all the time, the long,
straight road goes on. How strange that it will come to a permanent stop in Key West, the southernmost point of the USA. Then all that will be left in two weeks’ time is for us to get back on
this same road and come home again. The thought depresses me. Maybe I’ll hitch a boat ride to Cuba instead.
    Marty lets out a loud – and I mean LOUD – snore, and Bridget and I crack up laughing.
    ‘What?
What
?’ Marty jerks awake.
    ‘You were snoring,’ Bridget says.
    ‘No, I wasn’t,’ Marty scoffs.
    ‘Yes, you bloody were! You sounded like a whale. Didn’t she, Laura?’
    ‘Whales don’t snore,’ Marty retorts, before I can answer.
    ‘A pig, then,’ Bridget says.
    ‘I’d rather be a friggin’ whale!’ Marty exclaims.
    We all crack up and then Bridget lets out a huge snort at the end of one guffaw, which only makes us laugh more.
    ‘God, I’m tired,’ she says when we’ve all calmed down.
    ‘Do you want me to drive for a bit?’ I offer.
    ‘No, it’s okay.’ She brushes me off. ‘I slept on the plane, so I’m alright.’ She yawns loudly. What a martyr.
    ‘What have I missed?’ Marty demands to know, as she wriggles in her seat.
    ‘Bridget spotted the ocean first,’ I tell her as we drive onto a massive bridge with ocean all around us.
    ‘Wow, exciting stuff,’ she replies sardonically.
    I guess this is why they call it the Overseas Highway, I think to myself as I look out the window. The Atlantic on our left is choppy and sparkling, while the Gulf of Mexico on our right is
glassily still. Two pelicans glide over the road