Yes.
Did you double check that we'd cleared the bathroom?”
“ Yes.
Did you check the fridge was empty?”
“ Yes.
Did you put the cottage key back in the keysafe?”
Gail
checked her handbag. “Yes.”
“ That's
all right then.”
“Listen to us,” commented Gail,
drily. “Just like an old married couple.”
Tom
didn't comment. The windscreen wipers set up a melancholy rhythm. It
occurred to Tom that whereas their journey to Skye had had the air of
a school outing about it, the return journey had the feeling of
impending exams, an air of doom. Whereas before there had been a
companionable silence there was now an uneasy tension.
“ You
remember what I said last night,” said Gail, breaking a long
silence.
“ What
exactly?” replied Tom.
“ One
part of me wants to turn my life upside down, move in with you, marry
you or whatever. That was supposed to provoke a response from you,
but all I got was silence.”
“ I
wasn't sure if you were being serious or flippant.”
“ Neither
was I, but either way you didn't respond.”
At
this point Tom was trying to overtake a slow-moving truck, and used
the necessary concentration required, to evade a response once again.
“ I
know,” said Gail. “You're trying to make sense of this
mad woman, and failing miserably.”
Having
safely negotiated the overtaking manoeuvre, Tom glanced round at her
to try and gauge what expression was accompanying these statements.
“ Keep
your eyes on the road,” warned Gail.
They
lapsed into silence for a few minutes.
“ It's
not going to work, is it?” started Gail, more of a statement
than a real question, as if challenging a rebuttal.
“ I
think we need to go home and think about it.”
“ Then
it will never happen. We will get back in our ruts and stay there. Is
that what you want?”
“ No,
but I'm not sure what the viable and practical alternative at the
moment.”
They
lapsed into silence again.
They
made their way over Rannoch Moor, an inhospitable place even in the
best of weathers, but now in the mist and rain, it was an even more
depressing world, which seemed to echo the atmosphere in the car.
Gail
appeared to become somewhat distracted, staring vacantly out of the
window. She was thinking of the large empty house she was going home
to, on her own, compared to the small cosy cottage with the two of
them. She turned and glanced at Tom's profile concentrating on the
road. Was it possible to have a second relationship as good as her
first one? Is that what she wanted, and did she want it with this
man? Would she distance herself from her family to make it work? She
was so confused it was giving her a headache.
Tom
tried to keep his mind on the road and his concentration on the
driving but it was hard work. Somehow he felt that these next few
days could determine the rest of his life, but he couldn't bring
himself to tell Gail what he really felt about her, about the ache he
felt at the thought of leaving her. He was not prepared to put that
much emotional pressure on her. That wouldn't be fair.
The
journey seemed to pass a lot faster than their previous one had, and
neither of them could decide whether that was a good or a bad thing,
until they hit stationary traffic on Loch Lomondside.
“ We
don't seem to have a lot of luck by Loch Lomond, do we?”
suggested Tom.
“ No,”
came the monosyllabic reply.
They
sat in silence, the engine switched off, magnifying the quiet.
“ Oh,
what the hell is the matter with this traffic?” cried Gail.
“ It's
probably a minor accident, or even just a breakdown.”
“ Why
did it have to be now?”
“ It
didn't have to be now. Whenever it happened it was going to hold
someone up, and in this case it happens to be us.”
“ Bravo
Mr Logic,” retorted Gail, and if hands could have moved with
sarcasm they would have done so.
“ At
least we're not dashing for a plane,” replied Tom, ignoring
Gail's tone.
“ Oh,
I just want to get home,” she