the journey

 

The Journey

They were silent in the car and the rhythmic swish of the windscreen wipers had become almost hypnotic. Looking at her watch, and imagining the traffic on the road ahead, she was certain they would be late and felt the knot in her stomach tighten in a mix of anxiety and anger. She was sure he took his time on purpose knowing how important this trip was to her. It was not as if today had come as a surprise being something that they did every year, and she often wondered why, despite everything, she still insisted they went.   

She looked again at her watch and tutted, willing him to go faster, his determination to stay below the speed limit feeling like a test of her patience. She bit her tongue, knowing better than to annoy him as she knew in the next few hours she would need his support.  Instead, she turned her head to watch the half familiar scenery rush past, her eyes following the rain as it drew diagonal streaks down the car window.

She’d been awake since five, unable to sleep, her mind unable to shut out the whirling thoughts of the day ahead. Rolling on to her side, she’d watched him lying asleep beside her. She’d felt the warmth of his body and listened for a while to his breathing, slow and regular, feeling a familiar irritation at his ability to shut the world out so easily. She had a momentary temptation to wake him.

They used to love going away; the coffee table in the sitting room was piled high with photograph albums filled with their trips, each one holding memories of places she’d only dreamed of visiting as a child: China, India and Africa, photos that could have come from a travel magazine, some she can hardly remember having taken. Snapshots of them both in front of ancient and famous buildings, a wide tourist smile captured and forever fixed in time.  Sometimes, when she felt the need to have a reason for her sadness, she would spend an afternoon leafing through the photos studying the images of them both, incredulous at how young they looked and how much hair they both once had.

Now the prospect of going anywhere, even if only for one night, brought with it a weight of worry that felt easier to avoid and so in an unspoken agreement between them both, they had stopped travelling.  Only funerals took them away from home these days, funerals, and this journey which, she realised with a sense of shock, would be their last.

“Typical! A bloody hold up!” His voice broke into her daydream and bringing her eyes back into focus, she became aware that they were coming to a stop at the back of a slow-moving queue of traffic. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, her chest tightened as she calculated how much further they had to go, and she bit back the urge to scream at him for not having left earlier.

 “Looks like there’s been an accident, hopefully it won’t take too long to get past.” She could tell that this statement was more a reassurance to himself than to her and so she chose to say nothing. He knew she hated to be late and would often admonish her by saying, “When have I ever made you late?” He was right of course, they had never been late, but that was because, she told herself, she always insisted they left in plenty of time.

“There, it’s moving again” he said as the car started to gather speed once more and she felt almost disappointed that she had lost the excuse to be angry with him.

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He reassured himself that the traffic was moving well once more as he shifted himself back into the seat and loosened his grip on the wheel.  Catching a glimpse of her sitting by his side, her hands held tight in a knot, the knuckles white, her body appeared to be   vibrating with emotion. She always insisted on leaving too early he thought to himself engaging the cruise to 66mph.  It annoyed him that they invariably ended up sitting in the car at the other end waiting for the others to arrive, but he knew better than to argue being the way she was every time they went; all worked up and snappy weeks beforehand, then tearful all the way home.

He’d given up suggesting they didn’t go and   that seeing someone he loved so upset was hard for him to cope with. He had learned that anything he said would open the floodgate of her hurt and anger and so he said nothing. But this time, he thought to himself, would be their last time as after today, there would be no reason to make the journey anymore.

He knew the day he first saw her that he would love her forever.  Until they met, his life had been on a steady path over which he had trodden swiftly. With the easy confidence of someone who believed life was his to enjoy effortlessly, he had found himself middle aged, middle management, and unhappily married at forty. When she came along, her insecurities acting like a magnet - her quirkiness a glimpse of a different world to his, he became hooked. Even now, after so many years together, he can still feel his heart leap when she smiles at him and the smell of her body in bed beside him makes him want to climb inside her.

He knows that for her, getting older has brought with it a black cloud of regret and she sees his contentment as complacency at times. He wishes he could make her happy but fears exploring her unhappiness, for although it is often attributed to other people, a part of him knows it is because she chose to marry him.

He remembered the first time they talked about travelling together. They were in bed, her body tucked in the space under his outstretched arm, her legs coiled round his, her arm draped over his stomach. They had spent the afternoon making love and he had told her he loved her and promised to be with her forever. She cried telling him she loved him too and he remembered promising to take her away to see the Grand Canyon and her playful laughter at his promises suggested a doubt they would be kept not knowing him well enough yet or that he was a man who always kept his promises.

He still remembers the chill of the early morning in the following June as they stood shivering at the edge of the Canyon and the kiss, she placed on his lips that matched the warmth of the sun as it rose over the ridge.

They had travelled a lot since then and sometimes it was hard to recall all the journeys they had taken together. It had become something of a joke between them that her memory for places was better than his; a bit like that song, he thought to himself, “Ah yes I remember it well”, memories of places became tangled and confused in his mind.

Nowadays, they preferred to stay closer to home and although he would be reluctant to admit it to her, the thought of going too far made him feel a bit nervous. He had always wanted to visit Antarctica and Bhutan and given half a chance, the Moon. Not liking the cold or the altitude she tried to encourage him to go on his own, but to go anywhere without her would feel as if his journey would be incomplete so he never went.  If he allowed himself to think about places he would never now see, the well of regret and disappointment would drown him.

Today will be hard, he told himself but being the last time they would have to make this journey, he couldn’t help feeling an overwhelming sense of relief and, if he was being honest a guilty pleasure at being able to have her to himself from now on. He had been realistic to know that she had always been holding a bit of herself back, whether in the hope that things with her family might turn out to be different,  or the  anger at what her being with him had cost her.

He wondered if she realised how hard it was to have to be the strong one all the time and how sometimes he needed her support and reassurance too. It was as if they had both settled into roles that had become rutted and potholed over the years; too difficult to break free from but damaging, nevertheless.

The sudden spray from a passing lorry showered the windscreen making the road invisible and her throw  her hands forward as if to stop the car. Braking slightly, as the wipers struggled to clear the screen he reached across and cupped her knee in his hand, “Don’t worry, we’re alright, not much further now”.

 

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As the car finally pulled into the car park, she could see that they were the first there. Switching off the engine his sigh filled the space with a heavy recrimination at having been made to set off so early. She took his hand as a token apology, and felt his fingers grip hers reassuringly. She longed to ask him to start the car again and drive off, to take her away before the others arrived. Perhaps when today was over, they could go away, she bargained with herself pushing her anxious, stay at home mind aside in a panic to escape. There’d be nothing to stop them, two people taking to the road, people did that all the time. Perhaps she could write a book about it. The need to do this journey no longer a fixed and dreaded date in their lives; the caul that held them together having been dissolved and about to be buried.

“There they are, they’ve arrived”  his voice broke  the silence bringing her back to the moment,  and with a sigh to match his she undid her seat belt, opened the car door, and uncurled herself stiffly onto the pavement.

“ Hello, you got here in good time , How was your drive?”  His ability to make small talk a blessing, she allowed herself the safety of hiding behind his chat.

“Pretty good, how about yours?” 

“Yes, we made good time, only one hold up along the way- it was a good journey”.

He was right she thought to herself, their journey together had been a good one. She should tell him she loved him more often as hand in hand they walked into the building behind the others.