Love at the Little Wedding Shop by the Sea - Jane Linfoot Page 0,32
eyes. ‘That sounds like the original urban legend, and this is the country not the town.’ Just saying, I’m not going to add it to my very long list of anxieties.
‘Another couple typed Carpi instead of Capri and ended up four hundred miles away at the totally wrong end of Italy.’ From his snort he clearly thinks it’s funny.
‘I know where I am, I lived here over half my life.’ If I was less stressed, I’d never have let that out.
‘Really?’ His eyebrows shoot up. ‘Why didn’t you say that earlier? More to the point, why the hell do you need the sat nav then?’
Obviously, I’m blanking that. And obviously, I know the way. But it’s one of those funny things – when you’ve been away for a while you forget the details of the bends and turns. And it’s easy to have a momentary mind blank about where you are. Like the other day coming out of St Aidan, I completely missed the coast road and ended up cutting across country and getting horribly lost. Which definitely won’t be happening here, because even though lately I’ve come in from the other direction, I know I simply have to turn right, go past another little crossroads, and then it’s a couple of hundred yards on the left. However low Nic’s opinion of me is, even I should be able to get this right and maybe claw myself to a better place.
‘And there was that other couple who did what the sat nav said and ended up just driving into a lake. I mean, who would do that? You’d think they’d have seen the water, engaged their brains, and stopped.’
‘Turn left in fifty yards … in fifty yards you will have reached your destination. Turn left … turn left …’
I grit my teeth. ‘Would you please just shut the eff up about driving into bloody lakes and let me concentrate.’ There’s a phantom Phoebe, frowning over my shoulder, tutting. Telling the customers what I think is another no-no.
In my head I’m remembering more trees. But it’s quite possible Jess might’ve cut them down. Have you noticed how tetchy these sat nav women get if you don’t do what they say fast enough? As for having Mr Trendell on my case too … I spot the gap in the hedge, the open gate. Bring out my most decisive driving, pull on the steering wheel and accelerate into the turn.
It’s only as the tarmac runs out into grass instead of gravel that my tummy gives a little flutter of doubt, but by now it’s too late. As the grass opens up and I realise that I’m going totally wrong here, my stomach cartwheels and I jump on the brakes. But all that happens is we’re skidding forwards down a slope. Then, as the ground levels and we slide to a halt, I feel the steering wheel get heavy and immovable.
Damn, damn, damn. Of all the effs!
I look across at Nic and keep my tone very calm and my smile very bright. ‘Excuse me, I think I may have turned too early there. One moment, I’ll just get out and check exactly where we are before I turn around.’
‘Exactly in a field by the looks of it.’ What’s worse, he sounds like he’s holding back a laugh.
I fling open the door. ‘It doesn’t take a prize navigator to work that out.’ There’s no need for me to lose it completely. If I keep cool, I can breeze my way through this. ‘It won’t be a problem, I’ll just reverse back out into the road.’
The last thing I need is to listen to another bloody urban legend. Or worse still, him crowing about me joining the ranks of disengaged brains. If I leap down onto the grass at least I’ll look like I’ve got this situation under control. But when I land on the grass it isn’t as firm as I was expecting. My boots sink straight in and before I know it there’s muddy water sluicing halfway up my calves. I shiver as the freezing liquid seeps through the seams and all the way to my toes. And as I’m standing there, I take in the van tyres, buried up to their axles in mud too.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, when I look up, Nic’s sliding across the front seat of the van and he’s staring down at me from the driver’s door.