Chapter 14
HAL
‘What’s the next site like?’ Sarah asks me, her tone forcibly nonchalant.
We left La Grande Tortue early this morning and have driven for about an hour. The sun is up, and the scenery is changing from flat to undulating, gentle dips and lifts that challenge Betty’s suspension but look gorgeous through the window.
‘What do you mean?’ I feign innocence.
‘I mean,’ she says, ‘do I have to brace myself for a field of dry cowpats and a shower that could easily double as a cattle shed?’
My laugh sounds slightly squeaky, even to me.
In truth, I don’t spend much time choosing my campsites when I’m on a trip. As far as I’m concerned, my accommodation doesn’t really change – I’m always sleeping in Betty – so I search for places closest to whatever I’m actually visiting. Chateaux, woodland walks, wild lakes or cities.
But I’m a bloke and I suppose we’re less complicated creatures. We can pee pretty much anywhere (especially in France) and although I like to think of myself as pretty clean, a strip wash or a river swim will do me when I’m on the move.
It all seems fine when I’m on the road alone, but now I’m seeing each stop through Sarah’s eyes, some of the places I’ve stayed in are admittedly… substandard. This morning, I frantically googled the next site on my phone and found it was yet again based on a working farm.
This doesn’t necessarily spell disaster, of course. Some farm stays I’ve stopped at before have been welcoming and clean and well serviced. It’s just, whatever the websites might say, they’re often hit and miss.
‘Hal?’ she says now. ‘Is it a farm?’
‘What? Um, sorry, didn’t catch that.’
‘Is it a farm?’
‘It might be. But honestly, I don’t think it’ll be anything like last time,’ I say, hoping to God I’m right.
‘It’d better not be.’ It’s hard to tell from her tone whether Sarah is serious or pulling my leg. But I feel a prickle of dread either way.
My inability to properly plan a trip is odd, as I’m pretty much on the ball when it comes to work.
I almost made the shortlist for Tech Whizz 2023.
I’m quick to respond, keep abreast of the latest developments, and manage to keep one step ahead of the competitors.
Which is not at all bad for a bloke whose school reports branded him as ‘disorganised’ and ‘scatterbrained’.
It’s just my personal life that’s in disarray.
I slow down as I approach a small Renault van, the kind of vehicle that you’d only see in specialist car shows back home.
It’s rattling along at quite a pace, the whole chassis vibrating.
Checking the road ahead, I signal and pull out to overtake.
And for a moment, I’m stunned. There appears to be a labrador in the driving seat.
‘What the—’ I begin before realising that of course, this is a left-hand-drive vehicle and I’m looking at the passenger seat. The dog regards me with exactly the level of disdain that I deserve.
The guy actually driving seems to take exception to my flexing Betty’s comparatively race-worthy speed of 40 kmph and waves his fist as we pass.
Sarah laughs. ‘Think you’ve upset him.’
‘Don’t worry, he’ll never catch us,’ I quip, only for Betty to make a grinding sound, just to remind me that despite my best efforts at maintenance, she could break down at any second.
‘So, another farm?’ she says. ‘Does it have a website?’
‘Of course.’ I pass her the notebook where I’ve jotted the itinerary and her forehead creases. ‘Aren’t you meant to be some sort of computer whizz?’ She peers at my scribbles.
‘I know, I guess I’m just an analogue guy at heart. There’s something nice about just putting pen to paper.’
‘I get it.’
‘You do?’
‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Using a spreadsheet would feel too much like work, right?’
I nod.
In actual fact, I don’t tend to use spreadsheets other than when I’m doing the accounts. But I don’t correct her. I’m not sure how many people truly understand how my business works. Sometimes even I’m not sure.
Twenty years ago, I designed a software program that creates a mechanical process in factory machinery; and the program became integral to a lot of different processes. This tiny bit of software became bigger and more important than I could have imagined.
And suddenly I had a lot of money. The problem is, I’ve never managed to match the innovation in that first program.
And there are so many more people in the field now, I probably never will.
So, the majority of my role is now servicing, selling and distributing and troubleshooting, rather than developing anything new.
Sometimes I forget I invented the thing in the first place.
I don’t mean to complain. In many ways it’s amazing that I can make a fair whack for minimal work, especially since I took Todd on. But in some ways, despite the money, I feel like a big fat failure. I peaked at twenty-three and have been treading water ever since.
‘It’s a millennial thing,’ she tells me. ‘We were brought up in analogue and even though we embraced digital, I think we still hanker after those simpler times.’
It’s hard to know whether she’s 100 per cent serious. ‘Four channels on the TV,’ I say.
‘Five, but you could never quite tune the last one in properly.’
‘Oh yeah,’ I grin, remembering how hit and miss it had been.
‘No remotes?’
‘Not till I was six.’
‘Do you remember when if you needed a pee, you’d miss half a show?’
‘Oh God. And everyone would have to catch you up.’
‘I don’t know how we survived, to be honest. When I mention any of that to Louis, he looks at me as if I grew up in a cave!’ she says.
We both laugh, then lapse into silence. I wonder if Sarah, like me, is wondering where all the time went.
‘I don’t know though,’ Sarah says, musing, ‘I think there was something nice about having less choice. You know, everyone tuning in to the same thing, talking about it the next day.’
‘Yeah,’ I nod. ‘I guess it sort of bound us together. Even if we watched something awful.’
‘Especially when we did,’ she agrees.
‘I guess dating was the same, back then.’
She barks out a laugh. ‘What? I’m pretty sure the men I’ve dated don’t have remotes. Unless you’re developing something in a lab that you want to tell me about?’
I laugh. ‘I mean it was simpler. These days there’s too much choice.
’ I think of the dating sites I’ve joined, flicking through women and making a match.
But faced with so much choice, it’s harder than ever to know what you want, what you’re looking for.
Because attraction and even love, they aren’t quantifiable in that way, are they?
On paper, Sarah’s probably not my ‘type’ even though she’s gorgeous.
But when we were dating all those years ago was probably the best time of my life.
The closest to being in love that I’ve ever experienced.
‘Yeah. Know what you mean,’ she says. ‘All the men I’ve dated turned out to be dicks.’
‘Present company excluded?’ I ask.
She grins. ‘If you like.’ She shifts in her seat a little and I’m not sure whether she’s uncomfortable about our conversation or whether her leg’s hurting again. ‘But like you said, maybe it’s choice. Nobody wants to settle.’
I’m unable to suppress a snort.
‘What?’ She’s annoyed and I quickly put her right.
‘I’m not laughing at you. It was more… incredulity.’
‘What? Why?’
‘That you’d think anyone who wanted to stay with you – you know, longer term – was settling. In any way.’
‘Oh.’
‘I don’t mean… I’m not saying… It’s just, there’s no such thing as the perfect person. But I’d say you’re pretty close to perfection.’
And now I’ve made it worse.
‘Oh look!’ I say, ‘A cow!’ And now I’m a parent distracting a toddler by pointing at something out of the window. When I turn back to Sarah, she’s watching me quizzically.
‘Is this you trying to butter me up?’
‘What?’
‘You know. Shitty campsite upcoming. Better put her in a good mood.’
‘Ha. Yeah,’ I say, clinging on to the ‘out’ she’s given me.
In all honesty, I’m not sure where the words came from.
It’s sitting with someone day after day, I guess your inhibitions break down a bit.
I’ve already almost given her a cup of pee to drink, after all.
There’s no getting my dignity back. But I stand by what I said.
Over the years where I’ve messed up relationship after relationship, I’ve watched, astounded, as men treat Sarah like shit, or ghost her, or leave her.
I ‘get’ that women run for the hills as soon as they uncover the ‘real me’.
But I’m a disaster. Sarah, in comparison, is a bloody goddess.
High maintenance, maybe. But worth the effort. She’s right. Men are dicks.
A couple of hours later, we’ve found our pitch on the new site, which is actually not nearly as bad as I feared. We’ve settled Betty in and had a well-deserved glass of wine and, as is often the case after a drink, everything feels pretty much perfect.
It’s noticeably hotter here, on the verge of uncomfortable, but Sarah seems content.
She’s managed to fashion a makeshift sunlounger from one of the wooden chairs and a box that she lugged out of Betty when I was at the shop.
She’s changed into a bikini and looks amazing, although I’m obviously trying to keep my eyes on her face.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind me doing the hike?’ I ask. I had resolved to stay with her and not be the kind of asshat who goes off on a jolly while his other half waits around with nothing to do. Not that Sarah’s my other half, obviously, but still.
But Sarah brought it up after seeing it on the itinerary and has insisted I go. I’m not sure whether this has more to do with being nice to me, or whether she simply wants to get shot of me for a couple of hours.
I’ve changed into shorts and hiking boots, prompting Sarah to call me a ‘Scout Leader’ – not the look I was going for. But now that I’ve got the map out and have planned a route, I’m actually quite excited about it.
‘Right,’ I say, getting to my feet. ‘I guess I’d better get on with it.’
‘Wait!’ she says and I stop. ‘Could you grab my laptop for me please?’
I settle her to work, making sure she has everything she needs in easy reach, then finally shoulder my backpack containing water, a map, a compass (although I also have my phone and am simply following the trail through the chestnut forest, so doubt I’ll need them), and begin the walk down the slight slope to the campsite exit.
When I glance back, Sarah is on the phone, the laptop open in front of her. She’s still in a bikini and the juxtaposition between her holiday attire and the serious face she’s making as she talks legalese to some lucky client makes me smile.
I’ve realised in the last day or so that a lot of what I thought about Sarah is based on snippets of information. Brief exchanges, and the knowledge that she’s in this high-powered career. I found her intimidating, if I’m honest.
But she’s still Sarah. Under it all, there’s still the girl I knew when she was seventeen. And rather than being an awkward journey, I’m beginning to wish I could make this trip last even longer.