Page 34 of Too Busy for Love

‘Yourhistory,’ she says theatrically. ‘What if someone recognises you and calls the TV company?’

I’ve had enough. ‘Mum. You really need to get over this. I’m not Britney Spears shaving her head; I’m a complete nobody who did nothing wrong and I’m sure everyone has forgotten about me. Even if I do appear on camera, nobody is going to recognise me or care.’

‘You can’t know that. I just have your best interests at heart. Perhaps you should call them and make sure you won’t appear.’

‘For God’s sake!’ I shout. ‘I’m not a criminal. Stop treating me like one.’

There’s a deathly silence for a few seconds, before my mother bursts into tears and rushes from the room. Dad pushes back his chair wearily and starts to follow her.

‘I know you and your mother don’t always see eye to eye,’ he tells me heavily, ‘but she does love you, and sometimes I think you forget that.’

I can feel furious tears pricking my own eyes, but I know Dad will always side with Mum over me, so there’s no point in trying to tell him how she makes me feel. Instead, I turn and flee back to my bedroom.

Thursday cannot come soon enough.

12

As I step out of the terminal building into the Mallorcan sunshine, it’s like a heavy weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Although Dad did manage to broker a truce between Mum and me, it wasn’t an easy one. I did get a little more freedom and actually managed to meet a couple of my school friends for a drink last night, but I’ve paid for it in expressive sighs and barbed comments. Losing my rag with her was an idiotic thing for me to do, I know. For as long as I can remember, our family has revolved around keeping Mum happy, because the consequences of doing otherwise were always so catastrophic. She doesn’t sulk, exactly, but she holds on to the hurt like a trophy for weeks. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s still nursing a grudge when I get back from this trip.

It was lovely to catch up with Louise and Rachel, though. I haven’t seen them in ages but it was like we just picked up where we’d left off years ago. We were in the pub till closing time, and they seemed particularly interested in my week with Jock.

‘What I don’t get,’ Rachel had argued at one point, ‘is how you can spend a week with someone who is so patently right foryou, and then just walk away at the end of it. What if he’s the one?’

‘I don’t think you can tell if someone is the one after a week,’ I’d countered. ‘He is lovely, and maybe we’d have made a go of it if things had been different, but he’s gone back to Scotland and I’m off to Mallorca. We both need jobs, and long-distance relationships don’t work.’

‘I guess you’re right. Anyway, if the universe wants you together, I’m sure it’ll find a way to make it happen.’

Louise and I had both laughed at this; Rachel is a great believer in the power of the universe and our ability to manifest things into being if we want them enough, so it was only going to be a matter of time before she brought it into the conversation.

The evening was such a success that even Mum’s scowl when I finally got home last night didn’t dent my good mood. Dad did offer to drive me to the airport but I opted to take the train, even though it takes nearly twice as long. He tried to sound disappointed, but the relief shone out of him like a beacon. I’m sure they’re just as delighted as I am that I’ve gone. I plan to use any downtime while I’m out here to try to line something up for when I get back; I’m prepared to do almost anything to avoid going back home.

The queue at the car-hire desk is relatively short, but it still takes nearly an hour before I’m finally handed the keys and told where to find my car. When I get there, my mouth drops open in horror. I had visions of a nippy little runabout, but this is a minibus. Thinking there must be some mistake, I rejoin the queue but, when I finally reach the desk again, the agent informs me in rapid Spanish that the TV company was adamant I should have the largest vehicle available. His attitude makes it very clear he’s not open to negotiation so, in frustration, I call Gus.

‘Please tell me you’re in Mallorca,’ are his opening words when the call connects.

‘Of course I am,’ I tell him.

‘Good. What’s up?’

‘Why have you hired me this enormous bus? I’ve never driven anything as big as this before.’

‘It’s just like any other car, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ll get used to the size quickly enough. I’ve hired the same for me, but Dom doesn’t drive and we can’t all get in one car, so we’ll need you to meet us when we land on Sunday. You’ll also be doing airport runs for some of the cast, so learn the route, OK? See you in a few days.’

Great. Not only have I been stitched up with a ridiculous car that was never mentioned at the interview, but I’m also expected to be an airport shuttle driver. With a growl of frustration, I press the button on the key fob to unlock it, shove my bag in the cavernous boot and climb into the driving seat. Things only go from bad to worse as I survey the controls. Not only is this thing massive, but the lack of clutch pedal indicates that it’s also automatic, and I’ve never driven an automatic before. This is not a conversation for Gus, so I bite the bullet and ring my dad.

‘Hello, darling, what’s up?’ he asks when he picks up.

‘I’m in Mallorca and the hire car they’ve arranged for me is automatic. How do I drive one of those?’

‘It’s easy. Can you see the gear selector? It’s normally on the floor where you’d find a normal gear lever.’

‘No.’

‘OK. Sometimes they’re on the steering column or sticking out of the dash.’

Fifteen minutes later, we’ve found the selector on the steering column and he’s talked me through everything he thinks I need to know. There was a brief panic when I couldn’t find the handbrake, but we discovered that’s automatic too, and I’ve shunted the bus in and out of the car parking space a couple of times just to make sure I understand what’s going on. I’vediscovered that it has a camera and sensors on the back, so hopefully I’ll manage not to run anybody over while reversing at least. I’ve put the address of the villa into the satnav, so the only thing left to do is pluck up the courage and go. I’m still deeply anxious about taking this thing out on the road though, and my hands are sweating as I fasten my seatbelt and ease out of the car parking space heading for the exit.

My next problem makes itself apparent immediately. I’m used to sitting on the right when I drive, and it’s difficult enough to judge the width of this thing without trying to do it from the wrong seat. I very nearly take out the gatepost at the exit, and my heart is thumping as I join the highway towards Palma. Thankfully, this road is a wide dual carriageway so I’ve got plenty of space around me. There are a couple of hairy moments when the traffic grinds to a halt and I accidentally hit the brake with both feet because I’m automatically reaching for the clutch, but I’m starting to feel a little less intimidated by the size of the car by the time I reach my turn-off. Unfortunately, the roads then start getting progressively smaller and narrower until, after a particularly fractious episode when I meet a tractor coming the other way and have to reverse for what feels like miles, I’m cursing Gus and Casterbridge Media with a vengeance. When I finally pull up at the gates of Villa Madrigal, I’m a sweaty mess and I reckon the stress has shortened my life by at least a year.

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