I slow down. It feels like I’m doing it too early, indicating when I’m still miles away like a spaz, but when it comes to it I almost overshoot. Gravel flies up and the hedge grazes the passenger side.

‘Smooth, Alex,’ she says, ‘really smooth.’

‘I thought you were here as support.’

‘No – I’m here to talk about the trip.’

‘If we’re still alive at the end of this I’ll be all yours.’

‘Stop being such a drama queen.’

But this road is crazy. It’s Russian roulette. Every corner is blind. Overgrown hedges on either side, twisting at ridiculous angles, only enough room for one car at a time, full of potholes and ditches. And this car doesn’t feel like mine yet. It still smells of Nan’s perfume. I stay in third gear and pray no one comes from the opposite direction. Lorna starts whistling something and I can’t be bothered to tell her to stop.

‘Whoa!’ she says, ‘what the hell is that?’

I brake. There’s a game bird waddling out of the hedge, running like a divvy, a streak of colour on its head. I stop to let it go.

‘Grouse,’ I say, although I’m not really sure. I’m just changing back into first then there it is: a battered Land Rover coming towards us fast, braking just before it hits us.

‘Bugger.’

‘Go past him, Alex. He’s waiting for you.’

I look at the space. My face getting hot. I could probably just do it, scrape by with one wheel in the ditch. There’s no mud to get stuck in. All those times driving down the double-parked streets in town and the instructor saying, ‘Don’t look at the cars, look at the gap.’ Land Rover man is holding his hand up. What are you waiting for? I check the rear-view mirror. There’s a passing place a few metres back. It’s safer. I start to put the car into reverse. My hand slipping off the gearstick.

‘For God’s sake, Alex. Make a decision will you?’

I steer the car backwards snaking from side to side, checking the mirrors again and again. As soon as there’s room the other car accelerates and passes, tiny stones hitting the windscreen, my fingers shaking.

I drive. I don’t look at her. I want to tell her to shut up but she hasn’t said anything. The air is just loaded with it, with her face and the swallowed laughter, and her knowing me so well and expecting nothing more or less.

‘It could be a nice little metaphor, if you think about it,’ she says.

‘I don’t want to think about it though.’

‘What is with you today? Maybe this was a bad idea.’

‘Maybe.’

I park on a grass verge next to a farm gate. The field is most probably private but I don’t care.