Page 26 of Handle with Care
“Well, there’s lots to see, in Cambridge and elsewhere. Is this your first trip out of London?” he marvels.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’ll find some scenic routes for you, then.”
I’m surprised but pleased, and I smile. “Back home, I’d go hiking on occasional Saturdays. We always have the mountains in Vancouver, and it’s a quick drive away to go snowboarding. Or to the beaches for swimming or whatever you like. Paddle boarding.”
“I suppose London is a change.”
“It is,” I acknowledge. “But it has other things. Like so many exhibitions, my God. And a lot of them are free or by donation. It blows my mind.”
“We do have a lot of exhibitions. Though not as much wild nature, like you’re used to. Or the Alps. But we have Hampstead Heath, a green oasis in London.”
“I’ll have to check it out.”
“Recommended. There are other parks, of course, but Hampstead Heath is a jewel in London.” He smiles at that, still focused on the road.
We continue in the quiet, the music off at this point, taking in the scenery as we go by. Finally, I dare ask a question to test the waters a little. See what he’ll give me. “Did you grow up in the country? That must have been nice.”
“Actually, we lived in Cambridge when I was small. We then moved out to the country. It grew quickly on my brother and me.”
“You have a brother?” For some reason, this is unexpected news. It’s hard imagining Will with a family, parents and a brother too. It makes him seem more real, less like a catalogue advert for McLaren. Or apparently, Land Rover. Or even an underwear campaign.
His laugh is sudden, rich. Something I realize I haven’t heard before either, making a lasting impression like that first time he smiled only for me. It does something strange to my insides. Something I can’t describe. “Of course I have a brother. Older. How about you? Brothers? Sisters?” Will gives me a quick glance.
“Just me, I’m afraid. I try to act like I’m several children in one to make up for it.” I smile at him. “I try to rein that in a little as an adult. My mom used to say that after me, she broke the mold.”
Will’s quiet, absorbing this. “Used to?” he asks at last. “What does your mum say now about you?”
That’ll teach me to bring up personal topics. Cue double-edged sword and all of that.
“She doesn’t,” I offer after a long hesitation.
“Oh?” He frowns. Cue frown dimples. It’s a fleeting distraction from the twinge in my chest whenever I think of my mom.
“I mean… I mean she passed away.”
Will glances quickly over before refocusing on the road. “I’m so sorry to hear,” he murmurs, all apology even across his face in profile. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You’re not prying.”
But it’s a bittersweet topic, bringing up my mom. Her loss is still too raw to say more right now. Especially when I’m not prepared to talk about her. Silly me: I didn’t think finding out a little more about Will would mean I need to share something about myself, too.
Will doesn’t say anything either. Though I don’t miss the following sidelong glance a couple of minutes later, the question in his eyes. About what happened. About whether I’m alright. I don’t want to talk about it or think about it. Instead, I settle in and watch the green landscape pass by around Cambridge.
And when he puts on a documentary podcast after we stop to stretch our legs after a couple of hours of driving, I don’t complain about his choice.
We make good time and arrive at our destination at 2:00 p.m. Kirkby Lonsdale is a picturesque village, perfect for postcardswith its stone buildings and winding lanes giving way to verdant countryside. On the drive up, Will said there are all kinds of hiking—or, as he put it, hillwalking—trails surrounding the village.
As arranged, we meet the designer in her workshop, stopping in for a cup of tea, and sign for five items. Will’s quiet, and his usual charisma in these situations is lacking. He’s perfectly polite, but I know the difference. When I look at him, sitting in a sunbeam cast through the skylight of the leather workshop, he’s glassy-eyed and pale. We don’t linger for more than half an hour, and I place the boxes of handmade leather items in the back of the Land Rover.
Will gets into the driver’s side in the meantime, and when I get into my seat again, I study him. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
I frown. “You look not great. I mean, you always look great. I mean… forget it. Look, we’ve only eaten crisps and road food. Maybe we should have a proper lunch before heading back to London.”
Will positively greens at the mention of food. “I’m not sure that’s a great idea.”
