entirely sure you’re worth the effort.”
I blink. “Maybe I am high maintenance,” I say in a tone of revelation. “Perchance that’s why my relationships have all withered and died. They were burnt out by my constant demands for sensate partners. Oh my God, you’ve really put your finger on it now. Which, incidentally, is what you should have been doing last night and the night before.”
“Give it a rest,” he advises me. “I’m feeling really ill. The least you can be is sympathetic, Felix. Why the hell aren’t you suffering too?”
“Because I stopped drinking after the fifth hour, as I had a sneaking suspicion that you wouldn’t remember where the hotel was.”
I look at him and sigh. He picked me up in a club a few weeks ago by telling me he was an architect. To be fair, he could have told me he was a sewer cleaner and I’d still have shagged him, because he was so sexy with his lean body and grey-brown hair. However, this weekend would have been a disaster even if he hadn’t passed out. He’s patronising and has a habit of ruffling my hair like I’m one of the fucking Von Trapp children. If he starts eyeing up the curtains or using a whistle, I’m out of here. We also have zero in common, and it’s very apparent once we’re out of bed.
“Thank you for that,” he says grudgingly. Then he sighs. “Babe, I think you’re going to have to drive back.”
I choke on my mouthful of tea. “What?”
“I bet I’m still over the limit. Not to mention that I feel like utter shit.”
“You want me to drive on the motorway on a Sunday afternoon when the whole of England will be driving home?”
“You’ve passed your test, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” I say slowly. “Although I’m really not sure how I did it, and I don’t want to test my abilities in the fire of the M40.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” he says dismissively. “You’ll be fine.”
He looks much happier now, I think sourly.
An hour later however, he’s looking a lot less sanguine. “Oh Jesus,” he shouts from the passenger seat, pressing his foot down on fresh air. “Watch that old lady.”
“Pensioners really are like lemmings,” I marvel as I steer around the two old people who don’t seem to realise that there’s traffic on the roads these days rather than horses and carts. “Maybe the motorway won’t be so busy after they’ve all been flattened while shopping for antiques and eating cake.”
“Oh my God, brake,” he shouts.
I come to a juddering stop at the lights. “I did see them turn red,” I say through clenched teeth. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do today than watch the road.”
“The light is on green,” he informs me.
I shoot him a killing glare and set off, but only after stalling the car and incurring the wrath of the motorist behind me who puts his hand on his horn and keeps it there for an obnoxiously long time.
“Go fuck yourself,” I shout out the window at him.
Andrew pulls me back in. “Not in the Cotswolds, Felix,” he says, sounding a lot like I imagine Barbra Streisand would if she’d been asked to sing a Cheeky Girls song. “You really are a shit driver. Did you learn to drive in an actual car?”
“No, Andrew,” I say in a sing-song voice. “It was a plane. Where the fuck did this road come from?”
I turn onto Chipping Campden high street and all sniping stops.
“This really is the prettiest village I’ve ever seen,” he says and I have to agree.
Golden-bricked houses and half-timbered buildings flank a narrow high street, their mullioned windows catching light in the sun. Every few steps there are pretty shops and delis or old pubs.
However, my attention is fully occupied by attempting not to hit people as the car crawls along. It’s like Need for Speed without the points system.
“His house is on the high street according to Google Maps. Where will you park?” Andrew asks.
“Zeb said you can go behind the house and park on his drive.” I see the turn up ahead and exclaim. “Yes, there it is!”
“So, this is a friend of yours?”
“Not really my friend. He’s Zeb’s stepbrother,” I correct him. “And we’re definitely not stopping for long. We’ll drop the papers off, watch him sign them, and then get off back to London as soon as possible.”
As I drive down the narrow lane, I see the big sage-green gates that Zeb mentioned in