Nudge 27 The Lesson
The Lesson
Are you allowed to call a break-up a break-up if you were never technically in a relationship? It was barely a situationship – I can’t claim he used me for sex, because he was too lazy to even meet up for that. And yet, the way he ended it has made me feel absolutely worthless.
‘What’s going on with you?’
I turn to see Aiden, eyebrow raised sceptically. His eyes linger for a moment. Or, at least, as long as they can before they have to flit back to the road ahead.
‘Nothing.’
‘You haven’t said a word this whole journey. You just keep staring out the window like you’re in a music video.’
I sigh and turn my head in the opposite direction, watching as the cars slow on their way back to the city.
‘See, usually that would have got me a laugh.’ He pauses, his tone softening as he risks a second glance. ‘Seriously, what’s up with you?’
I snap at him. ‘Shouldn’t you keep your eyes on the road? I’m not in this car with you by choice; we don’t have to make small talk.’
It is entirely uncalled for, but, in my defence, so is his incessant checking-up on me. If I wanted to talk about it, I would, and I would do so with literally anyone else in the world.
‘Wow. Well, next time we go to Evie’s, you can drive yourself,’ he says jovially, my snark rolling right off his back. ‘You’re one of those super cautious, annoyingly rule-abiding drivers, aren’t you?’
He’s trying anything now, angling for any kind of bite.
‘I bet you passed with a perfect score,’ he continues. ‘Come on, what was it? You can tell me . . . Or maybe it wasn’t so perfect! Is this where I learn that you’re actually a rule-breaking speed demon?’
‘I don’t drive,’ I sigh, desperate to shut him up.
‘Why? Environment? Road tax?’ He gasps. ‘Suspended licence?’
‘I haven’t passed,’ I say. ‘Never even took my test.’
It slips out, a result of my desperation to quell his relentless attempts to fill the silence, but I immediately wish I could swallow it back up again.
Aiden pulls the handbrake up at a red light, taking the moment to properly turn towards me.
‘What?’
‘I don’t have a licence,’ I say through gritted teeth.
‘You don’t have a licence,’ he says slowly.
‘Well, what do I need a car for? Buses, trains and taxis exist.’
‘This journey, no?’
He’s too smiley, too light. He’s having too much fun sparring and it’s only souring my mood more.
‘I said I’d get the train,’ I retort.
‘And I said I wouldn’t let you, because that was a pointless idea,’ he says.
‘Well, then, you don’t get to lord it over me. And you don’t get to act all superior just because you can push some pedals.’
Silence drowns us yet again, the air stale and awkward. I painstakingly count each raindrop that slides down the glass. I know he meant nothing by it, and usually I would have taken it on the chin, but today is not the day for anyone to test me.
But Aiden, annoying as he is, isn’t Benji, and for once isn’t the person actively making my life a misery.
I can’t take everything out on him; it just isn’t fair and it would prove for a very awkward forty-eight hours.
I glance over. His eyes are now fixed on the road, his grip tight on the steering wheel, arms and jaw tensed.
‘It was just one of those things that I just never got round to doing.’ I attempt to defuse the tension.
‘I tried at the start. Began learning the second I turned seventeen. Booked in ten lessons starting the day after my birthday. I had the test booked for the summer because that gave me enough time to get my forty-five hours of practice in.’
He nods curtly, stealing a fleeting glance at me. He doesn’t speak, but his grip on the wheel loosens ever so slightly.
‘Then what happened?’ he asks.
‘I just wasn’t very good behind the wheel,’ I sigh. ‘I was convinced I’d whizz through it and have my licence by June, but then . . .’
‘When you weren’t meeting the timeline, you pushed it away,’ he says with an understanding nod. ‘If you change your mind, you could always try again.’
I shuffle uncomfortably, avoiding a response.
I still see giving up on driving as one of my biggest failures.
I avoid talking about it at all costs, shy away from showing anyone I still have my provisional.
There’s a dark cloud over my head every time I have to run for the bus – a voice that tells me I’m too old for this to be my commute.
But Aiden makes it feel easy, like a small blip in the road.
‘You could always try again’ like it’s a choice, not a failure.
He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Did you learn manual or automatic?’
‘Manual,’ I reply.
‘So, you like struggle.’ He grins. ‘Me too.’
He checks his mirrors and tugs down on the gearstick sharply, before twisting the steering wheel with a flick of his wrist. The car and I screech as we make a sharp left.
Car horns sound off all around us, but Aiden pays them no mind, continuing his joyride off the packed main road.
Within moments, the angry orchestra fades into nothing and he pulls us over on a small country path.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask.
I scan his face for any sign that he plans to murder me in this car, but he is, of course, as unreadable as ever as he finishes parallel parking on the side of the road. Once the engine has stilled, he turns his head towards me, a small but intriguing smile on his lips.
‘Wanna practise?’ he asks.
I stare back, my clear confusion prompting a swift eye roll from him.
‘Driving. Do you want to try driving?’ He gestures boldly to the steering wheel in front of him.
‘You’d really let me drive your car?’ I ask, eyebrow raised.
He’s being so calm, it’s borderline sociopathic.
‘Come on, how often d’you get a free driving lesson?’
It must be some sort of joke or empty gesture to test my new ‘don’t say no, go with the flow’ attitude. There is a difference, however, between not saying no to an after-work drink and not saying to no to something that could quite easily kill us both.
‘I could kill us,’ I say.
‘So be it. I’ve lived a good life.’ He shrugs nonchalantly. ‘But you won’t – I’m a really good teacher. Taught my sister, actually.’
‘You taught your sister to drive?’ I repeat.
‘Sure did, so I’m still insured for a learner to use my car . . . I think. Now, come on, we do have to get to Evie’s at some point.’
He opens his door and walks around to the passenger side before I have another chance to argue. He waits impatiently, tapping his foot as I unbuckle my seatbelt and scurry around to the driver’s seat. A fizz of excitement bubbles from my feet to my chest.
‘Adjust the chair,’ he says as I stare blankly at the dashboard.
I turn to face him, wondering how on earth he expects me to do that, but he stays silent.
Time to get creative. I turn back to the buttons and dials, pushing one with a small picture of a seat and some squiggly lines.
It lights up and I push back on the chair, expecting it to move, but get a slight warming sensation spreading across my lower back instead.
‘Oh, we’re really starting from square one – got it,’ Aiden laughs, switching off the chair heating before pointing to the other side of me.
‘There’s a lever to your right, just under .
. . exactly. You’ve got to press it a few times to move the seat.
Go forward and up until you can reach the pedals properly and see out the front window. ’
I reach down and start pumping, getting fully comfortable in the seat. It’s still warm, the leather soft and beautifully broken in. He lets out a chuckle.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Nothing. You’re just so short.’
‘I’m only like . . . a couple of inches shorter than you,’ I say.
‘Five, at least. Six if I’m in the right shoes,’ he retorts. ‘Right, let’s start easy. Put your foot on the clutch.’
I stare back blankly.
‘The one furthest left,’ he says, smiling at my evident lack of knowledge. ‘So, first find the bite on that clutch; press it all the way to the floor and keep lifting until you feel the shift.’
‘What shift? What will shift?’ I ask.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll feel it.’
‘Feel what?’
‘Stop thinking, just try.’
His words are strong but careful, actions gentle and so attentive. It’s exactly how he was in the boardroom and on the stoop of the La La Lounge. I move my left foot, trying different pressures until the front of the car lifts slightly.
‘I think I’ve found it!’ I say.
‘Amazing. Do you think you can hold it there for a bit?’
I nod, my eyes fixed ahead of me as I refocus all my energy on keeping the ball of my foot exactly where it is. My calf is shaking just thinking about it, but I power through.
‘Cool, let’s see how good you are at keeping the clutch in place – go into first gear and lift the handbrake.’
He says it so steadily, like we’re playing with a little toy and not a giant metal cage that could take someone out.
I jerk the gearstick upwards and the car makes a horrible metallic crunching sound. I shriek and instinctively pull back on it sharply, which causes an even louder crunch.
‘You’ve got to put your foot down on the clutch when you change gears,’ he says with a small chuckle.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I just did!’ He leans back, smiling.
‘Yeah, great timing.’
‘Shut up and try again,’ he says.
I slam my foot down and push the gearstick.
This time it slides across easily, guiding me into a false sense of security.
I lift my foot. The car shudders and lurches forward before the engine cuts out entirely.
Adrenaline shoots through me and I feel my cheeks flush with a strong, shameful, burning heat.
This isn’t a fun little test. I could do real damage if I’m not holding the clutch correctly.
This is why I should not be driving and this is exactly why Aiden’s not a qualified instructor.
‘Maddison. It’s OK,’ he says, picking up on my panic. ‘Give me your hand.’