One Plus One: A Novel (15 page)

N
obody really wanted to get back in the car. The novelty of spending hours in a car, even one as nice as Mr. Nicholls’s, had worn off pretty quickly. This, Mum announced, like someone about to give an injection, would be the longest day. They were all to make themselves comfortable and make sure they’d been to the loo because Mr. Nicholls’s aim was to drive almost to Newcastle, where he had found a B and B that took dogs. They would arrive at around ten p.m. After that, he had calculated that with one more day’s driving they should arrive in Aberdeen. Mr. Nicholls would find them somewhere to stay close to the university, then Tanzie would be bright and fresh for the maths competition the next day. He looked at Tanzie. “Unless you think you’ve got used to this car enough for me to go above forty now?”

She shook her head.

“No.” His face fell a bit. “Oh, well.”

He caught sight of the backseat then and blinked. A couple of chocolate buttons had melted into the cream leather seats, and the footwell was crusty with mud from walking around the woods. Mr. Nicholls saw her looking at him and gave a half smile, like it really didn’t matter, even though you could tell that it probably did, and turned back to the wheel.

“Okay, then,” he said, and started the engine.

Everyone was silent for about an hour, while Mr. Nicholls listened to something on Radio 4 about technology. Mum read one of her books. Since the library had closed, she’d bought two paperbacks a week from the charity shop but only ever had time to read one.

The afternoon stretched and sagged, and the rain came down in
thick, glassy sheets. Tanzie gazed out of the window and tried to do maths problems in her head, but it was hard to focus when she couldn’t see her work. It was about six o’clock when Nicky began shifting around, like he couldn’t get comfortable.

“When are we next stopping?”

Mum had nodded off briefly. She pushed herself upright abruptly, pretending she hadn’t, and peered at the clock.

“Ten past six,” Mr. Nicholls said.

“Could we stop for some food?” said Tanzie.

“I really need to walk around. My ribs are starting to hurt.”

“Let’s find somewhere to eat,” Mr. Nicholls said. “We could divert into Leicester for a curry.”

“I’d rather just get some sandwiches.” Mum said. “We don’t have time to sit down and eat.”

Mr. Nicholls drove through a small town, then another, and followed the signs to a retail park. It had begun to get dark. The Audi crawled through it all, then finally stopped outside a supermarket and Mum climbed out with a loud sigh and ran in. They could see her through the rain-lashed window, standing in front of the chiller cabinets, picking things up and putting them down again.

“Why doesn’t she just buy the ready-made ones?” muttered Mr. Nicholls, looking at his watch. “She’d be back out in two minutes.”

“Too expensive,” said Nicky, “and you don’t know whose fingers have been in them. Jess did three weeks making sandwiches for a supermarket last year. She said that the woman next to her picked her nose in between shredding the chicken for the chicken Caesar wraps.”

Mr. Nicholls went a bit quiet.

“Five to one it’s supermarket-brand ham,” said Nicky, watching.

“Supermarket-brand ham is two to one,” Tanzie said.

“I’m going to go right out there and say sliced cheese,” said Mr. Nicholls. “What odds will you give me on sliced cheese?”

“Not specific enough,” said Nicky. “You have to go for Dairylea or
cheaper supermarket-brand orange-colored slices. Probably with a made-up name.”

“Pleasant Valley Cheese.”

“Udderly Lovely Cheddar.”

“That sounds disgusting.”

“Grumpy Cow Slices.”

“Oh, come on now, she’s not that bad,” Mr. Nicholls said.

Tanzie and Nicky started laughing.

Mum opened the door, and held up her carrier bag. “Right,” she said brightly. “They had tuna paste on special. Who wants a sandwich?”

—

“You never want our sandwiches,” Mum said as Mr. Nicholls drove through the town.

Mr. Nicholls turned on his directional signal and pulled out onto the open road. “I don’t like them. They remind me of being at school.”

“So what do you eat?” Mum was tucking in. It had taken a matter of minutes for the whole car to smell of fish.

“In London? Toast for breakfast. Maybe some sushi or noodles for lunch. I have a takeaway place I order from in the evening.”

“You have a takeaway? Every night?”

“If I’m not going out.”

“How often do you go out?”

“Right now? Never.”

Mum gave him a hard look.

“Well, okay, unless I’m getting drunk in your pub.”

“You seriously eat the same thing every day?”

Mr. Nicholls seemed a bit embarrassed now. “You can get different curries.”

“That must cost a fortune. So what do you eat when you’re at Beachfront?”

“I get a takeaway.”

“From the Raj?”

“Yeah. You know it?”

“Oh, I know it.”

The car fell silent.

“What?” said Mr. Nicholls. “You don’t go there? What is it? Too expensive? You’re going to tell me it’s easy to cook a baked potato, right? Well, I don’t like baked potato. I don’t like sandwiches. And I don’t like cooking.” It might have been because he was hungry, but he was suddenly quite grumpy.

Tanzie leaned forward through the seats. “Nathalie once found a hair in her Chicken Jalfrezi.”

Mr. Nicholls opened his mouth to say something, just as she added, “And it wasn’t from someone’s head.”

Twenty-three lampposts went by.

“You can worry too much about these things,” Mr. Nicholls said.

—

Somewhere after Nuneaton, Tanzie started sneaking bits of her sandwich to Norman because the tuna paste didn’t really taste like tuna, and the bread kept sticking to the roof of her mouth. Mr. Nicholls pulled into a petrol station.

“Their sandwiches will be awful,” said Mum, gazing inside the kiosk. “They’ll have been there for weeks.”

“I’m not buying a sandwich.”

“Do they do pasties?” said Nicky, peering inside. “I love pasties.”

“They’re even worse. They’re probably full of dog.”

Tanzie put her hands over Norman’s ears.

“Are you going in?” Mum said to Mr. Nicholls, rummaging around in her purse. “Will you get these two some chocolate? Special treat.”

“Crunchie, please,” said Nicky, who had cheered up.

“Aero. Mint, please,” Tanzie said. “Can I have a big one?”

Mum was holding out her hand. But Mr. Nicholls was staring off to his right. “Can you get them? I’m just going to pop across the road.”

“Where are you going?”

He patted his stomach and he suddenly looked really cheerful. “There.”

—

Keith’s Kebabs had six plastic seats that were bolted to the floor, fourteen cans of Diet Coke arranged in its window, and a neon sign that was missing its first
b
. Tanzie peered through the window of the car, and watched Mr. Nicholls’s walk become almost jaunty as he entered its strip-lit interior. He stared at the wall behind the counter, then pointed to a huge hunk of brown meat turning slowly on a spit. Tanzie considered what animal was shaped like that, and could only come up with buffalo. Maybe an amputee buffalo.

“Oh, man,” said Nicky, as the man began to carve, his voice a low moan of longing. “Can’t we have one of those?”

“No,” said Mum.

“I bet Mr. Nicholls would buy us one if we asked,” he said.

Mum snapped, “Mr. Nicholls is doing quite enough for us. We’re not going to mooch off him any more than we already have. Okay?”

Nicky rolled his eyes at Tanzie. “Fine,” he said moodily.

And then nobody said anything.

“I’m sorry,” said Mum after a minute. “I just . . . I just don’t want him thinking we’re taking advantage.”

“But is it still taking advantage if someone offers you something?” Tanzie said.

“Eat an apple if you’re still hungry. Or one of the breakfast muffins. I’m sure we’ve got a few left.”

Nicky raised his eyes silently. Tanzie let out a sigh.

Mr. Nicholls opened the car door, bringing with him the smell of hot, fatty meat, and a kebab was swaddled in white, grease-stained paper. Two twin bungee ropes of drool dropped immediately from Norman’s mouth. “You sure you don’t want some?” he said cheerfully, turning toward Nicky and Tanzie. “I put only a bit of chili sauce on.”

“No. That’s very kind, but thank you,” said Mum firmly, and gave Nicky a warning look.

“No, thanks,” Tanzie said quietly. It smelled delicious.

“No. Thank you,” said Nicky, and turned his face away.

—

Nuneaton, Market Bosworth, Coalville, Ashby de la Zouch, the signs passed by in a steady blur. They could have said Zanzibar and Tanzania for all Tanzie knew of where they actually were. She found herself repeating
Ashby de la Zouch, Ashby de la Zouch,
and thinking it would be a good name to have.
Hi—what’s your name? I’m Ashby de la Zouch. Hey, Ashby! That’s so cool!
Costanza Thomas was five syllables, too, but it didn’t have the same rhythm. She considered
Constanza de la Zouch
, which was six, and then
Ashby Thomas
, which sounded flat by comparison.

Costanza de la Zouch.

Mum was reading again, with the passenger light on, and Mr. Nicholls kept shifting around in his seat, until finally he said, “That map—is there a restaurant or something up ahead?”

They had been back on the open road for 389 lampposts. Usually it was one of them who asked to stop. Tanzie kept getting dehydrated and drinking too much, then needing a wee. Norman whined to go every twenty minutes, but they could never tell if he genuinely needed one or was as bored as they were and just wanted a little sniff around.

“You’re still hungry?” Mum looked up.

“No. I—I need the loo.”

Mum went back to her book. “Oh, don’t mind us. Just go behind a tree.”

“Not that kind of loo,” he muttered.

“Well, it looks like Kegworth is the nearest town. I’m sure there’ll be somewhere you could go. Or there might be a services if we can get past the bridge.”

“How far?”

“Ten minutes?”

“Okay.” He nodded, almost to himself. “Ten minutes is okay.” His face was weirdly shiny. “Ten minutes is doable.”

Nicky had his earbuds in and was listening to music. Tanzie was stroking Norman’s big soft ears and thinking about string theory. And then suddenly Mr. Nicholls swerved the car abruptly into a lay-by. Everyone lurched forward. Norman nearly rolled off the seat. Mr. Nicholls threw open the driver’s door, ran round the back, and as she turned in her seat, he crouched down by a ditch, one hand braced on his knee, and began heaving. It was impossible not to hear him, even with the windows closed.

They all stared.

“Whoa,” said Nicky. “That’s a lot of stuff coming out of him. That’s like . . . whoa, that’s like the Alien.”

“Oh, my God,” said Mum.

“It’s disgusting,” Tanzie said, peering over the back shelf.

“Quick,” said Mum. “Where’s that kitchen roll, Nicky?”

They watched as she got out of the car and went to help him. He was doubled over. When she saw Tanzie and Nicky were staring out of the back window, she flicked her hand like they shouldn’t look, even though she had been doing the exact same thing.

“Still want a kebab?” Tanzie said to Nicky.

“You’re an evil sprite,” he said, and shuddered.

—

Mr. Nicholls walked back to the car like someone who’d only just learned how to do it. His face had gone this weird pale yellow. His skin was dusted with tiny beads of sweat.

“You look awful,” Tanzie told him.

He eased himself back into his seat. “I’ll be fine,” he whispered. “Should be fine now.”

Mum reached back through the seats and mouthed
plastic bag.
“Just in case,” she said cheerfully, and opened her window a bit.

Mr. Nicholls drove slowly for the next few miles. So slowly that two cars kept flashing them from behind and one driver sat on his horn really angrily as he passed. Sometimes he veered a bit across the white line, like he wasn’t really concentrating, but Tanzie
registered Mum’s determined silence and decided not to say anything.

“How long now?” Mr. Nicholls kept muttering.

“Not long,” said Mum, even though she probably had no idea. She patted his arm, like he was a child. “You’re doing really well.”

When he looked at her, his eyes were anguished.

“Hang on in there,” she said quietly, and it was like an instruction.

And then, about half a mile farther along, “Oh, God,” he said, and slammed the brakes on again. “I need to—”

“Pub!” Mum yelled, and pointed toward a light just visible on the outskirts of the next village. “Look! You can make it!”

Mr. Nicholls’s foot went down on the accelerator so that Tanzie’s cheeks were pulled back. He skidded into the car park, threw the door open, staggered out, and hurled himself inside.

They sat there, waiting. The car was so quiet that they could hear the engine ticking.

After five minutes, Mum leaned across and pulled his door shut to keep the chill out. She looked back and smiled at them. “How was that Aero?”

“Nice.”

“I like Aeros, too.”

Nicky, his eyes closed, nodded to the music.

A man pulled into the car park with a woman wearing a high ponytail and looked hard at the car. Mum smiled. The woman did not smile back.

Ten minutes went by.

“Shall I go and get him?” Nicky said, pulling out his earbuds and peering at the clock.

“Best not,” said Mum. Her foot had started tapping.

Another ten minutes passed. Finally, when Tanzie had taken Norman for a walk around the car park and Mum had done some stretches on the back of the car because she said she was bent out of shape, Mr. Nicholls emerged.

He looked whiter than anyone Tanzie had ever seen, like paper. He looked like someone had rubbed at his features with a cheap eraser.

“I think we might need to stop here for a bit,” he said.

“In the pub?”

“Not the pub,” he said, glancing behind him. “Definitely not the pub. Maybe . . . maybe somewhere a few miles away.”