Chapter 13 Flynn
‘Flynn, look,’ Amy hisses as she hits my thigh and I glance up to see what she’s worried about.
It takes me a few moments to register the traffic that snakes into the distance.
I know this sight will make her more anxious and want to help. ‘Oh, well, it’s probably just the queue to get past … um … Weston-Super-Mare … It won’t be all the way to Devon,’ I say, the smell of diesel permeating the car.
‘Why? Will everyone get off there?’
‘Of course they will. There’s the pier and …’ I give her a cheerful side-eye, ‘the Helicopter Museum. Loads of helicopter fans. Oh no,’ I check the time on my phone, and in a mock shocked voice I say, ‘T’wirly.’
This doesn’t even make Amy’s mouth twitch and my palms dampen as I think of another way to get this trip back on course.
‘Let’s play some music to distra— to entertain us!’
Amy’s Honda’s so old she has a CD player and I rootle through the glove compartment and emerge, delighted, with a CD from over a decade ago.
‘Oh my god!’
She’s there on the cover, ‘Amy Norman’ in simple cursive scroll, a teen Amy sat on a stool, a spotlight above her. She looks so vulnerable in the intimate space and I can’t help touching her face, her expression direct, a hint of fear behind her eyes.
‘What is this?’ I say, turning it over in my hand. How has she never said she made this? How have I never seen it in the car before?
Her voice makes me tingle even if I catch snippets from the shower, or in the kitchen when she’s lost in cooking, her hips swaying gently as she stirs pasta. I feel privileged to be the only person on the earth that knows how talented she is – but the thought makes me both secretly proud and utterly devastated. She hasn’t sung in public for years – Laura says she refused after their dad died.
I slip the CD out of the plastic casing and notice Amy glance across, feel the pull as her hands momentarily slip on the wheel. Her eyes widen, her voice shrill, ‘Don’t, Flynn.’
I distract her by waggling the empty case at her, ‘You made an album!’
‘One song.’
‘Still!’
‘Seriously – put it back.’
I slide it in quickly and cover the eject button with a palm. ‘We have to,’ I say, desperate to hear it.
‘Don’t.’
The air fills immediately with the gentle tones of the acoustic guitar and Amy’s voice – higher, melancholy, beautiful. It seems to reach to a place I barely acknowledge exists and widens the hole inside me.
‘Flynn, turn it off.’
I’m lost in the wistful song, sad that Amy has refused to sing for Laura and Jay – hearing her voice over the gentle strumming of the guitar, I know the congregation would be a blubbering mess if she did. She told me to drop it at the time and I knew not to push things – I don’t want to upset people.
‘Flynn, seriously. TURN IT OFF.’
Her voice shocks me into ejecting the disc and there is a terrible silence, only the whirs of the wheels over the rough ground.
She can’t be as angry as she sounds. Don’t ask her: better to leave it. My familiar anxiety at creating conflict makes my stomach drop. Don’t push her away, Flynn.
Her voice is tight and high, ‘Can you check the map on your phone? The postcode’s on the invitation in my bag …’
I scrabble to get the invitation, frowning as I see the photo of Laura and Amy with their dad in a frame, a hint of the Bristol Rovers football strip. I slip it back before she sees, wondering why she has brought it with her. I don’t want her to talk about her dad – talking about him leads to questions about mine, and I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding them. What’s the point anyway – talking won’t bring either of them back.
Amy thinks I’m from Jay’s world because of where I went to school. She has no idea.
For a second I can feel the leather of the car that day I drove there, remember the black hole inside me that scared me so much I crammed it full of anything else: sport, friends, jokes, resentment. I paid the money back to Patrick three months ago. I never told Amy; that would have led to even more questions. Eleven years of boarding school fees almost broke me but I don’t owe him anything any more: he holds nothing over me. That thought at least makes me proud.
‘How long is it saying it will be?’
I’m dragged back to the car. ‘Oh, Wookey Hole is coming up soon!’ I say quickly, tilting the phone screen away from her so she can’t see the long snake of orange and red that shows the entire M5 is basically at a standstill.
‘Flynn, seriously. Tell me. Should we come off?’
I tap some more buttons. ‘There is a longer way round that shaves twenty minutes or so.’
‘Should we take it?’
I chomp nervously on another Jelly Baby. This journey is unravelling, my chest feels tighter by the second. I feel frozen with indecision.
‘Flynn! Focus!’
I nod quickly, aware I need to give an answer, not just remain internally fretting. ‘Let’s take the scenic route,’ I say, describing it in a way that makes it sound infinitely more romantic and less stressful than it might be.