Page 84 of Road Trip to the Riviera
‘Go get her, tiger!’ she tells me, and slaps me on the bottom.
We are going to have to have a conversation about boundaries at some point, but Vivian is right, it’s now or never. And I’d definitely rather it were now.
‘Wish me luck!’ I say and race out of the door, climb into Betty. The sound my precious camper makes when I turn the key in the ignition doesn’t fill me with confidence. She’s become more throaty since the breakdown, despite Marcel at the garage’s best efforts, and a flood of doubt races through me. Am I just going to fail?
Vivian comes around just as I’m pulling on my seat belt.
‘I don’t even know which route they took!’ I tell her, feeling my adrenaline begin to seep away. She grins and holds up her phone to show me a map with a moving dot. ‘You’re tracking her?’
She makes a face. ‘Maybe don’t mention it?’
I give her a look. ‘Vivian!’
‘Well,’ she shrugs. ‘It just gives me a bit of peace of mind to know where she is.’
I decide to debate the wrongs and rights of this another time. ‘OK, thanks,’ I say, grabbing the proffered phone and putting it down on the seat next to me. ‘I’ll bring it back, when…’
‘Yes, yes. Don’t worry about that now!’
I rev Betty to make sure she doesn’t stall, but Vivian hears it as a kind of battle cry.
‘That’s the spirit!’ she says.
I pinch myself briefly to make sure I’m not dreaming – although I doubt my subconscious mind would be capable of coming up with quite such an odd set of circumstances – nod at my son’s grandmother and start to drive.
Usually, I enjoy my time behind Betty’s wheel. She’s not the most powerful of vehicles and this usually suits me just fine. I enjoy the scenery, plan in regular stops. We’ve worked out a rhythm that works for us both. But this time I’m a man on a mission. My knuckles are white from gripping the wheel, my face set in a concentrated frown.
Thinking back, I wonder how Vivian convinced me to take on this fool’s errand. Yes, she’s Sarah’s mother, but she’s not exactly adept in working out what her daughter wants. But something about her enthusiasm, after years of seeming to think I was a lowlife, spurs me on. I have her blessing! The universe will surely fall into place for me this time?
They are only fifteen minutes ahead, perhaps due to driving at a sedate speed, or maybe they’ve had to stop for petrol. Either way, I’m grateful. I haven’t got a great chance, but it’s better than nothing. I hit the accelerator and pray to the car gods again that Betty is able to keep herself together for the journey.
It’s an hour down the road when I finally catch up with the black Mercedes. I’ve had a million soul-crushing false alarms– every black car en route has caused my heart to leap – but this time I know I’m right. Vivian’s phone, which she had the foresight to tell me the pin code for, has continued to track their progress and as I glance down to check, I feel a leap of expectant hope when I realise that this time I’m actually in the right place.
The car is cruising along at a steady 50mph; the driver is clearly taking a scenic route, perhaps to make the whole journey more pleasurable. A man after my own heart. I flash my lights and flick on a signal for a moment once I pull close, but there’s no reaction from inside the car.
I’ve made it. Only nothing happens. I repeat the gesture, but still the Mercedes cruises on.
Annoyingly the back window is blacked out, so I can’t see whether Sarah is looking or not. I gesticulate just in case, but nothing. Instead, the driver begins to pick up pace. ‘You idiot!’ I flash my lights at him, but he reciprocates by putting his hazards on for a moment. He’s telling me to fuck off.
I know I don’t speak much French but I’d thought the language of the road was universal. Flashing and signalling mean pull over – right? ‘Come on!’ I say, knowing that whatever happens, I can’t give up now.
I press harder on the accelerator and Betty jumps forward a little and begins to groan. I flash again, wave a hand at the car. But I can’t see any reaction through the blackened glass. I beep my horn, and the Mercedes speeds up again.
The driver’s window opens and an arm comes out, gesturing at me to pass them. Clearly, I’ve been identified as some sort of suicidal speed demon. Has he evenseenwhat I’m driving? I beep the horn.No, that’s not it!I want to shout.Of course I don’t want to go faster than seventy mph! This thing will fall to pieces.
I wish, momentarily, that I’d taken Vivian up on the offer of borrowing her car. Not only would it easily have nipped in frontof the Mercedes, I could have put the soft top down to help with communication. But it’s too late for that now. Plus, I kind of feel I owe it to Betty to involve her in this. She’s the one who brought me and Sarah together again; she’s been with us every step – or roll – of the way. She should be here when it ends.
The driver puts his foot down even more, and we’re now going seventy-five.
I flash my lights repeatedly.No, no, no!
Betty is now shaking so hard that her steering wheel feels as if its pulsing with electric current. It’s no use. I’m going to have to stop, call Sarah. Let her know that I’ve chased her down and need to talk to her.
I glance down at my phone, wondering if I can risk doing a quick one-handed dial.
It’s seconds, but when I glance up again, something has changed. The Mercedes is braking, signalling to pull over. Trying to get out of the way of the madman in the camper-van.
‘Shit!’ I slam my foot on the brake but rather than the reassuring thud I expect to feel, there’s more of a soft, squealing sound. Rubber grates on metal and Betty’s trying her best, but she’s not going to… She won’t stop in time.
