Drive Me Crazy (12 page)
Authors: Portia MacIntosh
The drive to Liverpool was a relatively peaceful one – probably because I pretended to fall asleep and then kept my eyes shut for most of the journey. I was very much awake though, fretting over Will not texting me back – and when we arrived at the ferry port, a little bit of that excitement came back. Yes, my world had fallen to pieces, but my first time on a ferry was still sparking a little something in me. We parked the Love Bug below deck and (after Danny spent the longest time making sure it would be OK down there by asking the steward a million questions) we headed up the stairs towards the passengers’ lounge.
As we stepped out onto the open deck, I looked out to sea and couldn’t get over how beautiful it was. It’s a beautiful summer’s day and the water looked so flat and calm. The world just seemed so open and full of possibilities. It wasn’t like my world was everything that was in front of my face – I could see for miles, although it was impossible for me to tell how many. We could literally sail off into the sunset.
Danny popped inside to have a drink and relax but I wanted to stay outside. Partly to avoid spending time with him, but also because I wanted to take in the view as we left the shore. As we pulled away, I watched Liverpool getting smaller and smaller, and it felt great…until it didn’t. You know that momentary feeling when you get off a fairground ride and your legs feel like jelly? You feel sick, dizzy and off your tits on adrenalin, but only for an instant. Well my brief longing for a life at sea – just aimlessly sailing towards to sunset – was exactly that, brief, because my body repels being on a boat like it does being in a proper relationship. Ever since we left the shore, I’ve felt like I have just stepped off a waltzer – after drinking twelve milkshakes and going on it three times forwards, then another three backwards – and it’s been an hour now.
‘You all right here, Elizabeth Swann? You’re not looking too hot,’ Danny says, strolling up to me on the deck.
‘Thanks,’ I reply, through gritted teeth. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘After that epic display of carcolepsy you displayed on the way here?’
I stare at him blankly.
‘You one of those who sleeps through car journeys? Was a proper dull trek without company.’
I shrug my shoulders.
‘You want to come inside for a bit? I’ll get you a drink or something.’
The truth is, I don’t think I could go inside if I wanted to. That just-off-a-waltzer feeling has my head spinning and the contents of my stomach feeling like they might be about to put in an appearance. I’m clutching the railing for dear life, and the thought of trying to put one foot in front of the other makes my head spin even faster.
‘Seasickness?’ he asks, and I nod gently. It doesn’t feel good to move my head, but it feels worse to open my mouth. ‘Thought you were looking a little green around the gills. Well, I could sing “Sailing” in the style of Rod Stewart and sway from side to side in front of you, or I could tell you what the mariner I met while I was travelling in – ’
‘Danny, I’m not in the mood for one of your stories right now. Can you just leave me alone, please?’
‘Sure,’ he says quietly, walking off.
For a second, I feel bad. Just because I’m feeling ill and upset over Will, there’s no need for me to take it out on Danny, even if he does annoy me most of the time.
I lean over the side of the ferry and watch the choppy water lapping up against the side. I side-glance and see another girl leaning over the side. She’s looking about as rough as I feel, and we exchange a sisterly glance of shared suffering. As I cautiously pull the corners of my mouth into a comforting smile, the girl leans over the railings and starts throwing up. Seasickness, it turns out, is like a cold in a primary school playground: contagious. Watching this girl being sick combined with the undulating movement of the boat is enough to push me over the edge, and we are sick in sync.
I slowly make my way to a nearby bench and sit down, exhaling as deeply as I can without being sick again. I hear a rustling noise, before I notice a little packet of ginger biscuits sliding towards me along the bench. I look up to see Danny, waving a white serviette at me.
‘Been sick?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ I reply, quietly.
‘Eat those, they’ll help,’ he tells me. ‘And don’t dangle over the side like that lass is doing – that’s why she’s throwing up. Focus on the horizon. It’s the only thing that isn’t moving.’
I do as he instructs, looking at the horizon as I nibble on one of the biscuits.
‘I went on this fishing trip,’ Danny tells me, sitting down next to me, leaning back with his hands behind his head. In his tight-fitting, muscle-hugging, JLS-esque neck T-shirt, the bulging of his biceps temporarily catches my eye, but this is something I hopefully do subtly. ‘We had this little stove below deck. It was my turn to make dinner, so I was heating up this tinned chilli – my culinary skills far surpass what I was capable on the boat, just so you know.’ He laughs. ‘It was a particularly rough evening at sea – cold too – so I was down there cooking, shut in this little room, the boat bouncing around on the water like a beach ball, and then the smell of the food… It filled the room, filled my lungs. I hadn’t suffered a second of seasickness until I caught a whiff of that food and I felt like I was going to die. I made my way to the deck to get some air, did exactly as the skipper told me, and it soon passed. I’ll never forget that feeling through. Horrible.’
As I nibble my biscuits and alternate focusing on the horizon with focusing on Danny’s arms/story, I realise that I don’t feel quite so shocking any more. I don’t feel great, but I don’t feel like I want to throw myself overboard either.
‘Thank you,’ I tell him sincerely.
‘You’re welcome,’ he replies. ‘Anyway, we need to sort you out before you get back in the Love Bug. I can’t have you throwing up in my woman.’
‘Charming,’ I reply.
Danny rummages around in his pocket and pulls out a folded-up piece of paper.
‘Let’s see what the boss’s anal list dictates we do when we get off the boat,’ he says. ‘He a planner, our Mr Starr, isn’t he?’
I nod. I suppose you have to be when you’re living a secret double life. The devil is in the details, and it’s the little discrepancies in your story that catch you out. Like, I don’t know, how you can suddenly have a prematurely born baby with another woman when you’ve supposedly been in a committed relationship with someone for a year. You know, little things like that.
‘First up, we check into the hotel,’ he tells me. ‘It’s not too far from the depot, so we can clean you up a little then head straight over.’
Danny laughs at the state of me.
‘Thanks,’ I reply sarcastically.
‘Are we not cutting it a bit fine?’ Danny asks. ‘It’ll be close to closing time when we get there.’
‘It won’t take long,’ I tell him. The truth is that we had no intention of calling in to the depot tonight. Will was going poke his head around the door in the morning, before we hit the road early to head to Newcastle. That way we could get settled and have some fun. That’s the problem with pretending you’re on a business trip – you have to pretend you’re doing business.
‘So, what exactly do you have to do when we visit these places, and why exactly did you think something so boring would convince me to stay with the firm full-time?’ he asks.
Very difficult questions to answer without the truth, aren’t they?
‘Just look in, touch base, show everyone that the big boss thinks of them – that kind of thing.’
‘So we can say hi and then go off and have fun?’ he asks. ‘Is that why you invited me? So we can use it as an excuse to slack off from work and have a laugh?’
‘No,’ I reply, a little too quickly.
‘Didn’t think that sounded like you,’ he admits, like I’m the most boring person he’s ever met. ‘But you want to convince me to stick around?’
‘No,’ I reply, again, far too quickly. ‘I didn’t want to get stuck with one of the annoying women from marketing. I used to work in there, and all they talk about is what they bought from IKEA at the weekend and
The Undateables
and how to braise things. They are not my people.’
‘And nerdy IT guys are?’ He laughs.
‘No, but you’re preferable.’
‘Preferable to chatting about lamps and meat – wow, Candy, you’re killing me with kindness.’
I shrug my shoulders.
‘Because you’re a regular Prince Charming,’ I reply.
‘You’re not going to be much fun this week, are you?’
I don’t give him an answer; I just stare at the horizon.
‘You never know,’ he says, ‘you might actually enjoy yourself if you let that hair down.’
I know that to Danny I probably seem more uptight than ever, but he has no idea what I’m going through. There’s no way I can tell him though. I’ll just have to suffer in silence.
‘And if you follow Samuel, he’ll carry your bags to your room for you,’ the receptionist chirps.
‘Rooms?’ Danny says.
‘Sorry?’ the receptionist is confused.
‘You mean rooms, right?’ he clarifies.
‘No, room,’ she repeats. ‘The booking is for one double room.’
Danny and I look at each other for a moment. That’s when it occurs to me that of course there’s only one room booked. That’s because Will booked them for the two of us and, wherever we go, there’s only going to be one room booked. I try to think fast, but it probably takes me longer to come up with something than the instant it feels like in my head. If I can just explain away this one instance, I can get in touch with Will and have him sort it, so that tomorrow night there will be two rooms and it won’t seem so obvious.
‘There must have been some kind of error with the booking,’ I reason casually. ‘It’s OK, I can just book another one.’
‘I’m sorry, but we’re full tonight,’ the receptionist tells me, not sounding like she’s going lose any sleep over it.
Again, Danny and I look at each other, neither of us knowing what to say.
‘Look, don’t worry, we’ll figure something out,’ Danny assures me. ‘Let’s head up, get changed, show our faces at the office so you can do whatever it is you need to do, then we’ll see what other options we have.’
‘OK, sure,’ I reply.
We step into the lift with Samuel, who takes our cases for us. It’s an awkward journey, but a brief one thankfully. As we arrive at our room, Samuel takes us through where everything is. Samuel flicks on the lamp next to the TV, illuminating the room. He gestures towards the double bed – which is neatly made up with floral print sheets – and the pine furniture. The fridge is tucked away, hidden behind a cupboard door under the desk, which Samuel lets us know by simply opening it. He isn’t saying a word, just pointing out that there is indeed furniture in the room.
Samuel shows us into the bathroom, with its fluffy white robes and squeaky clean, brilliant white facilities. There’s a selection of fancy-looking bath products sitting on the side, which I make plans for the second I clap eyes on them.
Samuel leaves and Danny pops into the bathroom to freshen up, leaving me alone. I check my phone. Still no word from Will, but I need to sort this hotel problem with him so I’ll have to text him again.
Me: I need to talk to you. It’s important.
With the message sent and Danny occupying the bathroom, there’s not much to do but think. Rather than dwell on the epic fail that is my life right now, I take in my surroundings and conclude that hotels are weird.
It’s uncanny, the way the room tries so desperately to be a ‘home away from home’, and yet that couldn’t be further from the truth. Sure, there’s the pretty furnishings, a TV and – of course, what every home needs – the kettle and teacups, but it’s all a façade. Like anything, when you look closer, the cracks begin to show. There’s the no smoking signs, the room service menu next to the phone and those anti-suicide locks on the windows that prevent you from opening them wide enough to even reach your hand outside to feel the air.
If I had come here with Will, I wonder what we’d be doing right now. If his wife hadn’t gone into labour prematurely, I never would’ve known. We’d be here, playing house in this fake home, but our relationship would be just as false as the Monet on the wall above the bed. It might look like the real deal, but it’s nothing but a copy, and a copy is worth nothing.
‘Right, bro, I’m ready to go. Get a wriggle on,’ Danny chirps, snapping me from my increasingly depressive thoughts.
‘Must you call me that?’ I ask.
‘Must you call me that?’ he repeats, mimicking my accent. ‘The way you speak fascinates me.’
‘The way
I
speak fascinates
you
,
pet
?’
‘Playing the Geordie card – that’s low,’ he says, clearly feigning offence.
Despite his cheeky, ‘lad culture’ attitude and filthy mouth, I suspect Danny may be way smarter than he lets on sometimes and it scares me – like maybe he’s onto me, knowing exactly what’s going on, knowing everything I’m thinking before I’ve even thought it myself.
Danny grabs the remote and dives onto the bed, making himself at home.
I shoot him a look, which he immediately picks up on.
‘I’m just getting comfortable while you’re getting ready,’ he explains. ‘Had a quick look for another hotel while I was on the toilet – ’
‘Charming,’ I interrupt, but he pays me no attention.
‘Everywhere is booked up, so I’ll just sleep in the Love Bug. That’s one woman who never lets me down.’ He laughs.
For a split second, I wonder whether I should tell him not to be so silly, and to just stay in here with me tonight. So many things occur to me though, like what Will might think if he knew (like that should matter) or that I might suffocate him with a pillow while he sleeps just to end this ordeal (well, he is annoying). He seems happy enough about sleeping in his car – maybe it’s best we leave things that way.
I close the bathroom door behind me as Danny starts laughing loudly at an episode of
SpongeBob SquarePants
.
‘Hey, Candy,’ he calls loudly so that I can hear it through the door. ‘SpongeBob and Patrick are on a road trip – they’re just like us.’