Chapters (46)
One hundred and ten miles an hour; that’s what he had been averaging for the hour and a bit since then. Your stopping distance at this speed, Karl thought was about a quarter of a fucking mile. But not many people were on the road. The scenery out of both windows was top-drawer, he’d have to admit; the coastline breaking suddenly into cold grey-blue water; trees rising from strange outcrops, the landscape wild and witchy-looking. He’d never been up this way. not this far. James was always talking about it but it was a thing with his dad, really. Shame that the first time Karl saw this countryside, he was seeing it flash past so fast he might as well be teleporting through it. Shame that the first time Karl was joining James north of the border, Karl didn’t know if James was still alive. Shame his hands were so sweaty he had to clamp them to the wheel – he’d almost lost his grip once already – and that he was so hungry he reckoned he might faint. Karl’s lips pursed into what was almost, almost, the grimmest of smiles. This was the polar opposite of the dream. The smile unravelled again.
He’d stopped glancing at the phone more than a couple of times a minute, partly because he was doing close to the speed of a space shuttle, but largely because instinct told him now that he’d know if there was a miracle. It wouldn’t be a text, it wouldn’t be chatter on Facebook. It would ring. The phone would actually ring, and it hadn’t.
And he had no business asking for a miracle. This wasn’t that black-and-white movie James and Michaela made him watch one Christmas, where they all prayed for the fella and an angel appeared and showed him how much he was worth. That was what all the people online were doing, he supposed; this was the modern equivalent. But who was listening? It was all very well Karl talking to the DJ about praying. There was nobody out there as far as he knew.
Yet he couldn’t stop saying it, under his breath, or out loud: it didn’t matter, on the road, in the silence. Just let me have this. Please. I’ll be better. Just like he’d always said to his dad. Getting out of bed early with an alarm, flaying his brains to get his maths score up, shaking as he handed over the school report. I’ll do better. If you come back and live with us. If it’s my fault, I’ll do better. Now, just like then, Karl was holding out these promises to nobody, an empty space. But there was nothing else left for him to offer.