CHAPTER TWELVE

August 20th 2021

‘Drive safely!’ her dad called out, as he always did, like she was some teenager who had newly passed her driving test. ‘There are idiots on these roads!’ This too he liked to point out, regardless of how many idiots were getting into or alighting from vehicles in the now busy car park of the pub in which they said their goodbyes.

‘Text us when you get home!’ This was one of the rules set by her parents whenever she drove away from them, no matter the journey: miles or yards. Her mum had once explained that she could not ‘settle’ until she knew Bess was home safely. There had been several occasions when Bess had forgotten to send the text, only to receive a barrage of near frantic messages along the lines of:

Are you in a ditch?

Have you hit a tree?

Have you been arrested?

Kidnapped?

Should we call an ambulance?

The police?

Or the fire brigade?

Her reply was always similarly mundane:

Sorry. Nipped to the garage for milk. Forgot to text. No need to call emergency services. All good.

On one occasion, however, this had invited the response:

That’s exactly what a kidnapper would say who had got hold of your phone! What was the name of our next-door neighbour who you had to write an apology to because of your drunken antics? I doubt a kidnapper would know this!

Jesus Christ! All Bess wanted to do was have a wee and a cup of coffee.

Mrs Hicks. Her name was Mrs Hicks . . .

Did the kidnapper force that information from you or is that actually you, Bess?

And on it went . . . It used to annoy her, until her own children started to drive and then she understood completely, her mind able to conjure the most terrible outcomes, all involving other idiots on the road. And God forbid she should hear an emergency vehicle siren before they had texted their safe arrival – this could send her into a right old spin. Yes, when her own kids started to drive, she finally understood the value of those texts and the power of a phone call.

‘Thanks for a lovely lunch!’ she called, and waved from her window before indicating and pulling out of the car park, watching her parents standing side by side like a couple of white-haired sentries, getting smaller and smaller as she drove away.