as I sing the correct ones. Okay, maybe I am accentuating my diction here. Just a bit, like. And we come together during the ‘Oh-a-aho oh’ parts, bopping our heads in time to the beat we’ve created. As we reach a natural finale, Zara gives a huge round of applause and drum rolls with her feet.
‘You’re such a dickhead,’ I say.
‘That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all day,’ she says. ‘So, what were you called?’
‘What?’
‘Your band. What were you called?’
‘Oh. The Dentists.’
‘WHAT?’
I give a shrug. What’s her problem?
‘The Dentists?’ she cries.
‘Yeah. It was funny. You see, Snowy and the others, Mikey and Griffo, they all wore them train tracks.’ I flash my teeth and point to them. ‘But, me, I had naturally straight pearly whites. See? Never needed them. And … what? What the fuck you laughing at?’
‘That’s NOT funny,’ Zara howls.
‘It is! It was!’
‘You called your band THE DENTISTS ’cause you had perfect teeth? And your bandmates had braces?’
‘Ah, fuck.’ I slap my forehead. ‘It’s not fucking funny at all.’
And I laugh so much that it hurts my sides. Christ, I’m struggling to catch my breath, and Zara’s laughing beside me, wiping away tears. Eventually, we slow down with a sigh, then another. It’s quiet again, but, I have to admit, a whole lot better than before. Nothing about today can be described as easy, but right now, it’s easier. Just a little.
‘You okay?’ I ask, a few miles further.
‘At least I’m not dead,’ Zara says.
‘That much is true.’
‘I mean, imagine if I’d died in our crash today.’
‘Bit morbid, girl.’
‘Not only would I be dead, but I wouldn’t have achieved anything.’
‘Sounds like you’ve done a lot to me.’
‘How?’
‘You’ve seen the world.’
‘Been dragged around it, more like. I’d rather keep still.’
I shake my head. What I’d give to swap.
‘I thought I was home,’ she says. ‘I thought I had it all sorted.’
‘Not ’cause of Nick?’ I ask, aware of how me saying the word ‘Nick’ sounds like I want to be sick. The sick bastard. I hope that somehow gives Zara a bit of comfort, if she noticed.
‘Well, he was a damn good liar. But, I had more than just romance pinned on this trip, you know. I was hoping to go back to university, too, finish my degree. I’ve always regretted dropping out. A stupid snap decision. But, everyone on my course was either so damn talented or so sure of themselves, I couldn’t keep up. My papa called that my excuse for being lazy. And guess what? Guess whose bright idea it was to go back and complete it?’
‘Nick’s?’
‘Got it in one.’
‘He’s not the boss of you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, just ’cause he’s a total bellend doesn’t mean you can’t go back to uni.’
‘No way, it’s a sign. This whole day’s been a sign.’
‘What were you gonna study?’
‘Art. Well, illustration. Which is such a pipe dream of a subject anyway.’
‘That attitude’ll get you nowhere, Zara.’
‘I’m being realistic.’
‘You’re being depressing.’
‘Realistic IS depressing.’
I laugh out loud. ‘Bloody hell, girl.’
‘What?’
‘I only asked if you were okay.’
She finally finishes that tuna butty and dabs her mouth with a brown serviette.
‘We’re making good time,’ I assure her. ‘We should be at Heathrow in about an hour.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, just because of … everything. Today. And … Oh, it doesn’t matter.’
‘You’re not making any sense, love.’
‘You seemed a bit upset after you spoke to your friend on the phone,’ Zara says, a careful tone to her voice, tip-toeing on egg shells. ‘I’m sorry. I could be totally wrong again, or maybe it was me that you were pissed off with … understandably … and I—’
‘You weren’t wrong.’
‘Oh.’
‘That was me best mate on the phone,’ I swallow. My words rich, precise. ‘And he’s marrying me ex.’
‘Helen?’ Zara asks.
‘They’ve got two kids.’
‘Twins?’
‘You picked up a lot from that conversation, didn’t you?’
‘Small details are one of my few skills.’
‘They’ve been together years, like. With me blessing,’ I tell her.
‘But?’
‘But what?’
‘I sensed a …’
‘A but?’ I sigh. ‘Nope.’
I sit forward, my eyes on the road as we cruise down the middle lane.
‘It’s just a bit – I dunno – weird?’ I ask myself, aloud.
‘Complicated?’
‘Yep. Complicated.’
There’s an open end to this conversation, but definitely an end.
Heathrow’s getting close; a relief for both of us.
‘You wanna know why I got expelled from boarding school?’ Zara asks.
‘I’ve a feeling you’re gonna tell me anyway,’ I say. ‘Fire away, love.’
23
Zara
The navy-blue blazer lined with yellow ribbon, matching socks pulled up to the knee, was more costume than uniform. The