Page 43 of Five Gold Rings

‘I’ve just seen the damage it can do when done irresponsibly.’

‘Are you calling me irresponsible?’ I say, giggling.

Joe doesn’t reply straight away but his head remains still, looking out on to the road. ‘No, but you’re definitely drunk.’

‘We should stop for chips,’ I suggest. ‘This is when a motorway services would come in handy, eh?’

I see him smiling from the front seat. I’ve broken him down with my services talk.

‘I’ll see if I can find somewhere. I’d rather just get the next ring delivered,’ he replies, his mood shifting again. ‘It’s getting late. Rings four and five might have to wait until tomorrow now. We’ll still get them there in time. I’ll let Mr and Mrs Caspar know.’

‘On Christmas Day?’

‘I guess.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He doesn’t reply. He’s mad at me, isn’t he? I guess he didn’t anticipate this bleeding into Christmas Day itself.

‘Do you know how they met? Mike and Abby?’ I tell Joe, kicking my shoes off and resting my feet on the perforated ceiling of his car.

‘I do not. Please don’t kick in my roof, this is a fragile car…’

‘They met at school. They were in the same science class. They’ve been together for nearly ten years.’

Joe doesn’t reply to this.

‘What’s been your longest relationship?’ I ask him, realising my drunkenness is turning into philosophical, chattering nonsense. I move my head around. Crikey, my neck is bendy.

‘Two years. Her name was Amandine…’

‘FRENCH!’ I shriek, so loudly that the radio vibrates. ‘That’s why you can speak French?’

‘Yes. I learned a lot of French by being with her.J’aimerais mieux foutre un âne que toi.’

‘So romantic,’ I mumble.

‘I would rather fuck a donkey than you,’ he says, plainly. ‘I think that was my favourite.’ I think I see his shoulders shaking with laughter and I’m relieved I’ve changed the mood of the car for a moment.

‘Was she pretty? I bet she was pretty,’ I grumble. ‘Was she gammmmiiinnne?’ I don’t know why I say that word like that.

‘She was but she was cruel. I stayed for too long. What was your longest relationship then?’ he asks me.

‘Chris,’ I whisper. Naturally, just to have to say that out loud in my inebriated state does not sit well in my muddled old head so I feel tears run out of me, down my temples as I lie there, not knowing how to be comfortable or how to digest that I am in some strange limbo of feelings and emotions. It is, however, drunken crying so I whimper sadly as I weep, getting progressively louder. The tears are pouring out of my eyes now, making their way into rivulets that drip down my chin.

‘Are you OK back there?’ Joe asks quietly.

‘Maybe I did something wrong in all of this? You know? I was thinking about this. In the greater scheme of things, I wasn’t enough…’

‘You are enough,’ he says, quietly, in the way you talk to a highly drunk person, in tones that you hope can coax them down off that precipice of high emotion. ‘You are more than enough.’

‘But it wasn’t enough for him,’ I sob.

‘Or you know, maybe he was a king dick?’ he says sharply.

‘He wasn’t always a dick,’ I say, not sure why I’m defending him. ‘Maybe I just have a real knack of falling in love with the wrong people. Before Chris, I dated a man who used to eat his own toenails. While they were still on his feet…’

That was supposed to be me relating a funny anecdote. Joe doesn’t reply, some steely look in the corner of his eye. Just endure the drunk, keep her safe, hope she passes out soon.

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