Page 18 of One Summer Weekend
‘Good idea. We don’t want poor Bill thinking he’s getting a last-minute VAT inspection.’ He switched on that disarming grin and, despite the slur on my business suit, I found I couldn’t rise to the bait. Maybe I was simply tootired to care.
‘Give me ten minutes.’
It took less than that to wheel my suitcase to the Ladies, wash my face and slip on jeans, T-shirt and trainers. I kept a sweater with me as well, in case the weather turned cooler in the hills. But a glance in the mirror stopped me in my tracks: my French pleat now looked ridiculously out of place. I quickly undid it and let my hair swing loosearound my shoulders.
When I returned to his office, his eyes widened – although all he said was ‘okay, let’s go’ as he picked up my case. On the way out, I fully expected to run a gauntlet of stares and nudges – but I noticed none; perhaps he left early every Friday with a woman and a suitcase in tow.
We reached his car. While he put the cases in the boot, I opened the passenger door– and stopped dead. The seat was back in its semi-reclining position; hardly surprising, given the woman he’d taken home yesterday. No doubt they’d started in the car what they’d finished in the bedroom. I almost recoiled at the very thought of taking her place, but managed to pull myself together and get into the car.
This time, Jack needed no prompting to adjust my seat. And, as if hecould read my mind, he stumbled through an explanation about needing to make Karina comfortable, because she kept falling asleep. Totally unconvincing.
We travelled the first few miles in silence. This latest reminder of last night’s humiliations, real or imagined, as well as the car’s stop-start progression through a maze of road works, didn’t encourage conversation – let alone a coachingdebrief.
Once we joined the M6, however, the traffic flowed more freely and I regained my composure, launching into a comparison of today’s meeting with yesterday’s, from the perspective of his performance and learning. During the discussion that followed, I stared out of the passenger window to avoid looking at him. But that didn’t fully protect me from his sense of humour; or charm, whenhe chose to use it.
As the business talk subsided, I started to feel uneasy – almost nauseous. Oh, he was a good driver; no problem there. This was more about me and my ripped-open wounds of recollection.Those road trips with Troy, along the Pacific Coast Highway, up to Napa and Yosemite, down to Mexico … Except that, for much of the time, I hardly noticed the scenery – did I? Take a high-speccar, an unerring ability to find secluded parking areas, and lovers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other … No wonder the trips became a succession of ‘why wait?’ moments.
Oh yes, that faraway summer I’d learnt all about love, if that’s what it was. And, when it was all over, I’d vowed that I’d never be played for such a fool again.
Jack made sporadic attempts at conversation.Each time, I blinked rapidly and struggled with a non-committal murmur in response, before retreating to the past. It was as if my finger was hovering over the self-destruct button.
And then came the hills, transforming the landscape from the ravages of industry to a gods’ playground. Some spanned the horizon like the shoulders of giants; others flanked us so closely that I could almosthave reached out and touched them. Lower, greener expanses were speckled with grazing sheep and stunted trees; higher up, waterfalls streaked white against bare rock. The broad ribbon of motorway twisted and turned between them, silvered by the sun; no sign of the famous rain.
Perhaps Jack sensed my brightening mood, because he broke the silence once more. ‘Pennines on the right, Lakelandfells on the left. When I was young, I climbed most of them with the Venture Scouts. Kept me out of trouble, my mother always reckoned.’ A pause. ‘I was even angrier than most sixteen-year-olds, but that’s another story.’
A sudden image came to mind, a scowling, lanky, black-haired boy in uniform; I managed a wan smile. ‘Maybe you should take it up again.’
‘Oh, I will – but it’s notjust about having the time, it’s about having the right person to do it with.’
I tried to picture him and Karina hillwalking – and failed.
When at last we left the M6 behind, the contrast couldn’t have been more marked. The roads were narrow, edged with dry-stone walls and crawling with traffic. Every so often a string of cottages on either side, with the occasional shop or pub, indicateda village: rural communities, presumably revitalised each spring by the tourist trade. I wondered if Threlkeld would be any different … Which reminded me – I needed to prepare for meeting our hosts.
‘How have you positioned the purpose of this weekend with Bill and Mitch?’ I said, briskly. With any other client, it was a question I would have asked much earlier; except, of course, with anyother client I wouldn’t have been in this situation.
A lengthy pause before he spoke. ‘Let me give you the background. Bill’s been a customer of Leo Components for over twenty years, but I only got to know him when I moved into sales—’
‘I didn’t realise you’d been in sales. I thought you’d always been in production.’
‘It wasn’t that big a jump, more a technical sales role. AndI only did it for a couple of years, a stepping stone to general management. Anyway, as Bill’s factory’s near Glasgow, we used to meet half way – Penrith, just off the M6, north-eastern part of the Lake District. Then we started doing a spot of fishing together, and Mitch would come down and join us—’
‘But I thought they lived here? Isn’t Blencathra Lodge their home?’
‘It’s their holidayhome. They bought it last year, for their silver wedding anniversary.’
I frowned. ‘I thought same-sex marriages were only legalised recently.’
A puzzled glance across at me. ‘What makes you think it’s a same-sex marriage?’
‘Isn’t Mitch a he?’
He burst out laughing. ‘Midgeis very definitely a she!’
‘Midge? As in another name for a mosquito?’
‘Bill says it appliesjust as much to her, since she’s small, annoying and frequently found in Scotland.’
‘Mmm.’ I was too busy working through this new information to share the joke. Did it matter that Midge was female? Probably not. But it mattered that I’d made assumptions instead of checking everything out. And all because, for the first time in a while, I’d let a man get to me …
