you more than anyone else.’
Andrew stopped again. That was news to him, even though it sort of made sense in terms of the time they were at work – but no one else would have answered like that. They might have
mentioned a boyfriend or girlfriend, husband or wife. Perhaps even a parent or sibling.
He returned to his original argument, having confused himself more than her. ‘Sorry, right, er, let’s say you did have a child – a part of yourself – you’d do
everything you could to discover what happened to them. The police tell you they’re dead but you don’t have a body, so you keep believing. A year from now, five years, ten years: you
still keep thinking they might return. It’s the natural way to be. It’s about closure.’
Jenny nodded slowly but Andrew still wasn’t certain she got it. Perhaps it was an age thing; she was so naturally confident that sometimes he forgot how young she was.
Andrew stood, accidentally sending his chair spinning across the room just as the kettle clicked off. ‘You busy?’ he asked.
‘Not really. I’ve got a bit of typing to do but it won’t take long.’
‘Fancy going for a ride?’
‘I thought you didn’t have a car?’
Andrew had already been reaching for his coat and the car keys. ‘Oh yes. Shite.’
Jenny pushed herself up from her desk and picked up her jacket. ‘Never mind, we can take mine.’
7
Andrew squished himself into the passenger seat of Jenny’s Volkswagen Beetle. He felt like he was in a circus act, as if he was going to fall out when they reached their
destination, only to be followed by three dozen more clowns as the wheels fell off. The seat was so close to the ground that he was struggling to see over the dashboard. His knees were pressed into
the glove box, while the neck rest was doing such a fabulous job of digging into his spine that it was like getting a tantric massage from a sumo wrestler with bratwurst fingers. Not that Andrew
knew what that felt like, of course.
‘Seatbelt,’ Jenny scolded as she pulled away, no hint of a joke in her voice.
‘I was just reaching for it! Bloody hell, it’s like a baked bean tin in here with less room.’
‘It’s not my fault someone set fire to your car. Besides, there are buses if you need to get around.’
Andrew shuddered. First job when we get back to the office, sort out a hire car.
Jenny crept her way into a stream of traffic heading north, away from the city, talking to herself quietly as she acknowledged the various signs and lane instructions. The inside of the car was
completely clear of clutter: no ornaments, no air-fresheners, no soft chimpanzees from a day-trip to Monkey World – nothing except for an ice scraper and a cloth, both neatly tucked into the
door pocket. She really was unnatural. Where were the screwed-up McDonald’s wrappers? The scratched CDs? The bent-in-half atlas with a footprint on the front cover? That thing that blocked
off the cigarette lighter rattling around the back seat which was always the first item to get lost? Hers was actually
in
the socket.
‘Do you know where we’re going?’ Andrew asked.
‘Obviously.’
‘It’s just that you don’t have a map, or your tablet?’
‘So?’
‘How do you know where you’re going?’
Her eyes didn’t leave the road. ‘Up Bury New Road, past the parks, over the motorway, right, left, second right, keep going for half a mile, then left, right, left. What’s
difficult to remember about that?’
Andrew had lost her at the first left.
He sat back as best he could, even though the uncomfortable chair made it feel like he was being mauled from behind by a gorilla with wandering hands. This was what it must have been like to
work at the BBC in the 1970s.
From what he could make out, Jenny was sticking rigidly to the speed limits. He’d been in a car with her many times before, but never with her driving, and the adherence to the law was
something he wasn’t sure he expected from
Andrew stopped again. That was news to him, even though it sort of made sense in terms of the time they were at work – but no one else would have answered like that. They might have
mentioned a boyfriend or girlfriend, husband or wife. Perhaps even a parent or sibling.
He returned to his original argument, having confused himself more than her. ‘Sorry, right, er, let’s say you did have a child – a part of yourself – you’d do
everything you could to discover what happened to them. The police tell you they’re dead but you don’t have a body, so you keep believing. A year from now, five years, ten years: you
still keep thinking they might return. It’s the natural way to be. It’s about closure.’
Jenny nodded slowly but Andrew still wasn’t certain she got it. Perhaps it was an age thing; she was so naturally confident that sometimes he forgot how young she was.
Andrew stood, accidentally sending his chair spinning across the room just as the kettle clicked off. ‘You busy?’ he asked.
‘Not really. I’ve got a bit of typing to do but it won’t take long.’
‘Fancy going for a ride?’
‘I thought you didn’t have a car?’
Andrew had already been reaching for his coat and the car keys. ‘Oh yes. Shite.’
Jenny pushed herself up from her desk and picked up her jacket. ‘Never mind, we can take mine.’
7
Andrew squished himself into the passenger seat of Jenny’s Volkswagen Beetle. He felt like he was in a circus act, as if he was going to fall out when they reached their
destination, only to be followed by three dozen more clowns as the wheels fell off. The seat was so close to the ground that he was struggling to see over the dashboard. His knees were pressed into
the glove box, while the neck rest was doing such a fabulous job of digging into his spine that it was like getting a tantric massage from a sumo wrestler with bratwurst fingers. Not that Andrew
knew what that felt like, of course.
‘Seatbelt,’ Jenny scolded as she pulled away, no hint of a joke in her voice.
‘I was just reaching for it! Bloody hell, it’s like a baked bean tin in here with less room.’
‘It’s not my fault someone set fire to your car. Besides, there are buses if you need to get around.’
Andrew shuddered. First job when we get back to the office, sort out a hire car.
Jenny crept her way into a stream of traffic heading north, away from the city, talking to herself quietly as she acknowledged the various signs and lane instructions. The inside of the car was
completely clear of clutter: no ornaments, no air-fresheners, no soft chimpanzees from a day-trip to Monkey World – nothing except for an ice scraper and a cloth, both neatly tucked into the
door pocket. She really was unnatural. Where were the screwed-up McDonald’s wrappers? The scratched CDs? The bent-in-half atlas with a footprint on the front cover? That thing that blocked
off the cigarette lighter rattling around the back seat which was always the first item to get lost? Hers was actually
in
the socket.
‘Do you know where we’re going?’ Andrew asked.
‘Obviously.’
‘It’s just that you don’t have a map, or your tablet?’
‘So?’
‘How do you know where you’re going?’
Her eyes didn’t leave the road. ‘Up Bury New Road, past the parks, over the motorway, right, left, second right, keep going for half a mile, then left, right, left. What’s
difficult to remember about that?’
Andrew had lost her at the first left.
He sat back as best he could, even though the uncomfortable chair made it feel like he was being mauled from behind by a gorilla with wandering hands. This was what it must have been like to
work at the BBC in the 1970s.
From what he could make out, Jenny was sticking rigidly to the speed limits. He’d been in a car with her many times before, but never with her driving, and the adherence to the law was
something he wasn’t sure he expected from
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