The Last Road Trip

by Gareth Crocker

  And that, more than anything, threatened to consume her.

  Forty-one

  After an early dinner, during which little of anything meaningful was said, Elizabeth retired to one of the spare rooms at the back of the house – one that presumably held the least memories for her – and fell asleep almost at once. Such was their concern for her that Jack took it in turns with Sam and Rosie to watch over her during the night.

  In the small hours before morning, as Jack listened to the sound of her laboured breathing and the occasional sobs that still rattled through her diaphragm, he wished there was something he could do to help her. He was convinced that while her parents had most certainly suffered after she had left – just as any parents would have – they did not blame her for going away. They would’ve understood that she was young and eager to experience the world. They would’ve known that it was part of her spirit, of who she was, and they wouldn’t have begrudged her that. He was certain that much of the guilt that Elizabeth felt was neither merited nor fair. But, unfortunately, he also knew that he would almost certainly never be able to convince her of that. She had been up on the cross for far too long to suddenly allow herself down.

  It was late morning when Elizabeth finally stirred. Still very quiet, she got up and poured herself a glass of water. For a while she seemed a lot calmer – much more in control of her emotions – but Jack knew that it was just a façade. Inside, she was still torturing herself. As she sat at the large dining-room table, the house seemed to drain her energy and, before long, she returned to the spare room where she again fell into a deep sleep.

  A sleep that held her for hours.

  Sam looked out the window and shook his head as the sun peered over the horizon. ‘I don’t know, Jack. Maybe we should call a doctor. She’s been sleeping for a long time.’

  ‘It’s just the stress of coming home. Her body needs to cope with what’s happened. To shut down for a while. To reset itself. She’ll come around soon.’

  ‘I think so too,’ Rosie replied. ‘I’m sure she’ll wake up any time now. There’s no need to panic.’

  ‘Maybe we shouldn’t have come. There’s no closure for Lizzie here. If anything, it’s just fresh pain on top of old pain,’ Sam suggested.

  ‘Perhaps that will change,’ Rosie said. ‘Once she settles down a bit, things might be different. I think in time she’ll be able to focus on all the good years she had in this house. And maybe that will give her the peace she’s looking for.’

  ‘I think she blames herself for things that aren’t her fault.’

  They all turned to look at Jack.

  ‘I don’t believe her parents blamed her for leaving. Sure, they were obviously very sad to see her go but that doesn’t mean they felt she had abandoned them. I’m convinced that most of Lizzie’s guilt is misplaced. I just wish there was a way of proving it to her.’

  ‘A way of proving what?’ Elizabeth asked. She was standing in the doorway, wrapping her silk gown over her shoulders.

  ‘Hey.’ Jack smiled. ‘How’re you feeling?’

  ‘Better,’ she said, smiling faintly. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday. I lost complete control. I feel terrible that you had to see me like that.’

  Rosie was about to tell her that yesterday had, in fact, been almost two days ago, but thought better of it. ‘There’s no need to apologise, Liz. We get it.’

  ‘I knew it was going to be difficult, but I didn’t imagine it being quite this overwhelming. I thought I’d be able to keep it together.’

  ‘How about we get your mind on something else? Like breakfast.’

  ‘Thanks, Sam. Maybe a bit later. So what were you talking about before? When I came in?’

  Jack scrambled for an answer. ‘The stars.’

  ‘The stars? What about them?’

  ‘Well, after what you told us in the car, I figured we should stay up one night and see them for ourselves.’

  Elizabeth mulled it over, then said, ‘I agree.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. Maybe we can find the old drive-in. If it’s still there, of course.’

  ‘The old drive-in? Think that’s a good idea?’

  ‘Probably not. But it’s one of my favourite memories.’ She glanced over at Rosie. ‘If you can put up with my tears, I think I’d like to go back there.’

  While Jack was still trying to work out if it was a good idea or not, Elizabeth continued. ‘Let’s do it – the sooner the better. I think I need to get out of here for a while anyway.’

  ‘All right. When would you like to go?’

  ‘What about tonight?’

  Jack knew that her words might have been phrased like a question, or possibly even a suggestion, but they were neither of those things.

  ‘Whatever you want, Lizzie.’

  Forty-two

  ‘I think it might be up here,’ Elizabeth suggested for the third time in half an hour. Large plumes of dust tumbled across the Chrysler’s headlights, obscuring the view ahead.

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ Rosie replied. ‘At the rate we’re ageing, pretty soon one of these hills is bound to have a hippie in a big white dress standing on top of it, guarding some rather pearly-looking gates.’

  Sam frowned and then laughed. ‘I’m fairly sure that’s blasphemy.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that it’s only blasphemy when you badmouth the Lord and Chief himself. The Grand Imperial Poobah of the sky. The Almighty Benevolent. If you think about it, Saint Peter is really just his doorman. His bouncer. Besides, I’m fairly confident that His Venerable Magnificence has a well-developed sense of humour. How else would you explain call centres? Or denim jackets?’

  ‘You keep this up, Rosie, and the doorman’s not going to let you in.’

  ‘Well, at least you’ll have someone to keep you company in hell, Sam.’

  ‘What have I done? Why’m I going to hell?’

  ‘Don’t take it personally. It’s nothing you’ve done. It’s just that when they were drawing up the membership guidelines for heaven, black people hadn’t been invented yet.’

  Elizabeth’s mouth curled into a smile. ‘So … massively … inappropriate. I think you really do have Tourette’s, Rosie.’

  Sam reached out and turned up the music. Springsteen’s ‘Working on a Dream’ was playing. For the first time since arriving in Sutherland, some of the heaviness had lifted.

  When the song ended, Elizabeth leaned forward and tapped Jack on the back of his head. ‘So when were you going to mention to me that I pretty much slept for two days?’

  ‘Actually, we were thinking of telling you that Sutherland’s local council had taken a vote and decided to do away with Tuesdays as a general premise,’ Rosie volunteered.

  ‘Didn’t think it mattered,’ Jack answered. ‘Besides, we knew you’d work it out before too long. You’re smart like that.’

  ‘I’ve never slept for that long. Not even close. I struggle to sleep at the best of times, as you know.’

  ‘It was your body’s way of protecting you,’ Jack offered. ‘How’re you feeling now?’

  ‘Quite peaceful, surprisingly. I’m actually really looking forward to this evening.’

  Rosie pressed her face to the window and looked up. ‘I don’t mean to ruin the moment, you two, but have you looked up at the sky?’

  ‘It’ll clear,’ Elizabeth assured her.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s uncanny that in an area that gets about as much rainfall as the sun, we have an enormous cloud hanging over us? And on the one night we come out to see the stars?’

  ‘It’ll be wonderful if we have a decent downpour. Nothing cleans the sky like summer rain.’

  Rosie watched as the grass beside the road twitched and swayed in what was now a stiff breeze. ‘It’s cold. About to rain. And there isn’t a single patch of open sky above us. A perfect night for stargazing then.’

  ‘As I said, it’ll pass. Trust me. And then you’ll have the show of your life. Something you’ll
remember forever.’

  As they crested the hill, Jack flicked on the wipers to clear the dust from the windscreen. He squinted through the gloom and followed the headlights as they washed over what was either the distant side of an old white house or, he suddenly realised, the dilapidated face of a one-time drive-in.

  ‘It’s still here,’ Elizabeth whispered. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  Rosie unclipped her seatbelt. ‘It’s like nothing ever changes in this place.’

  Elizabeth thought about that and then replied under her breath. ‘Just the people.’

  Less than an hour later their rudimentary campsite was set up. While they didn’t have much in the way of tents or other basic amenities, they at least had a few mattresses and some decent blankets that they had placed in a semicircle around a log fire. The idea was to keep the fire going through the first few hours until the moon set, after which they would extinguish the blaze. If, of course, it wasn’t already raining.

  Rosie looked up at the clouds as thunder bellowed around them. ‘Well, the important thing in a storm is to get to the top of a hill and strategically camp next to the most obvious lightning magnet for a hundred miles in any direction. A rusty drive-in screen, preferably. It’s in all the safety manuals.’

  And then, as if on cue, the rain began to fall.

  Forty-three

  The downpour lasted for hours. With little else to do, they sat swathed in blankets in the car, both together and alone, as the sound of the rain had rendered any conversation all but impossible. When the deluge had finally relented, Rosie shook herself awake and opened the door. Stepping out into the bracing night, she yawned once, and then again, before fully opening her eyes. The first thing she realised was how clean and fresh the air felt in her lungs. Her second observation seemed to trap that air in her throat. The night sky wasn’t merely different now. It was utterly transformed. The clouds were all but gone, and the stars that were visible were no longer stars at all. They were bright silver nail heads pinned to a black dome. As she slowly scanned the rest of the sky, a light appeared over her shoulder. Her first thought was that it was a flashlight.

  ‘Oh, that can’t be right,’ she heard herself say.

  The grey moon that had always reminded her of an insipid bowl of dry porridge was now something altogether different. It hung in the sky like a white sun whose glow was strong enough for her to see the fine hairs on her arms.

  Elizabeth, now standing beside her, gently took hold of her hand. ‘This,’ she whispered, ‘is nothing.’

  As the moon continued to slip imperceptibly towards the horizon, Rosie checked the time on her wristwatch. It was almost quarter to four. They had been lying on their plastic-coated mattresses for the better part of three hours already, submerged neck-deep in blankets that were just about fending off the cold. The fire had dwindled to a dense latticework of glowing embers, like a bird’s nest made of cinder and blue flame.

  Following a lull in the conversation, Sam rolled onto his side. ‘I feel like I’m in a car commercial.’

  ‘A car commercial?’ Jack repeated, his eyes closed.

  ‘You know the one I mean. A bunch of university kids go on a road trip in a brand-new car where they do all sorts of absurd shit that never happens in the real word. Like sleeping on the hood of their cars or playing football with homeless kids on the side of the road. If I was directing one of those bullshit commercials this is exactly the sort of thing I’d be filming.’

  ‘I h— hear you,’ Rosie agreed, shivering out her words. ‘Except if we were really in that advert my boobs would be hanging out and we’d be giving each other high fives every three seconds for no discernible reason.’

  ‘We would also be so moved by things that we would spontaneously break out into dance,’ Sam added. ‘And we’d never stop smiling. Ever.’

  ‘Do you know how I know we’re not in one of those adverts?’

  ‘How?’

  ‘My arse has been asleep for like half an hour. In Television Advert Land there are no lumpy mattresses,’ Rosie offered. ‘Or lumpy arses.’

  ‘I used to hate those damn commercials. They reminded me of how boring my life was. How I was leading this sort of mindless existence in which all I ever seemed to do was shuttle between my office and the courts.’

  ‘You realise, Sam, that most youngsters who go an actual road trips have to do without the brand-new SUV. They splutter around in some piece-of-shit, hand-me-down hatchback that sheds rust and smoke in about the same proportion. And even if they aren’t murdered in the face with a cleaver, chances are their trip ends in an explosion of diarrhoea and chlamydia.’

  ‘Still,’ Sam said, raising his eyebrows at Rosie. ‘It was the principle. Those adverts used to make me feel like I was wasting my life. Which, in hindsight, I was.’

  ‘That wasted life of yours made you a wealthy man.’

  Sam shrugged as though the money was meaningless. ‘It cost me too much. Far too much.’

  Rosie was about to reply when Elizabeth interrupted them. ‘It’s starting to happen.’

  Jack opened his eyes and noticed that the moon had been reduced to a chalky white glow on the horizon. As the darkness intensified, Jack peeled away his blankets and rose to his feet. ‘It’s like the sky’s on a dimmer switch,’ he said, his voice faint. ‘Would you look at that.’

  ‘Just hold on,’ Elizabeth replied.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Jack was trying to work out how the sky could possibly look any more extraordinary, when it happened. As the last of the moon’s glow faded to nothing, the stars came alive in a way that he had never imagined was possible. They changed from flat silver nails to pools of liquid crystal that glistened with colour. ‘Oh my God. That’s impossible,’ he said, his words hushed with awe. ‘Where are those colours coming from?’

  Elizabeth allowed herself a deep and satisfied breath. ‘It’s called scintillation. It happens as the starlight is refracted through the atmosphere. The darker the sky and the brighter the stars, the more they change colour. My father used to call it starworks … you know, like fireworks.’

  ‘It’s incredible,’ was all Jack could say, his fingers laced together behind his neck. ‘Look how they’re flickering. I didn’t know this was possible.’

  The deep black sky was now pulsing with colour, oscillating and twinkling like a jeweller’s mat daubed with gemstones.

  Sam, who had now stood up to join them, spoke as if in a trance. ‘I think it’s time.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Jack replied. ‘For what?’

  Sam did not respond right away. Instead, Jack heard his shoes shuffling on the gravel underfoot. As he turned to see what Sam was doing, a broad smile lit up his face.

  At 4 a.m. on the top of a rain-soaked hill at an abandoned drive-in just outside Sutherland, sixty-nine-year-old Samuel Lightfoot was doing for real what was so often faked in Television Advert Land.

  He was dancing for the pure goddamned joy of it.

  Forty-four

  Jack watched as Elizabeth stared out through the kitchen window, her eyes fixed on her father’s studio. ‘Morning, Lizzie. Did you get some sleep?’

  Elizabeth spun away from the window as if she had been caught doing something wrong. ‘Morning?’ she asked, recovering quickly. ‘It’s afternoon already, Jack.’

  ‘So it is,’ he said, glancing down at his watch. ‘That’s what happens when you screw with your body clock and stay up all night.’

  ‘Was it worth it?’

  He looked at her, his warm smile slipping a fraction. ‘Worth it? Lizzie, last night was one of the most remarkable evenings of my life. I’m sure the others feel the same way. In fact, I know they do.’

  ‘It’s really quite delightful, isn’t it? Especially when you’re not expecting the stars to do that.’

  ‘It wasn’t just the stars. It was that we were there together. All four of us. So few people get to do what we did last night.’

/>   All four of us, Elizabeth thought, thinking for a moment of Albert.

  She reached for her coffee. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘And you seemed to cope well.’

  ‘I’m starting to do a little better. With every hour that passes I’m feeling a little more positive about things. Less pathetic. Some of the good memories are coming back. That’s probably what I need to focus on. Right?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Can I make you some coffee?’

  ‘Actually, that’d be nice.’

  As Elizabeth switched on the kettle and reached into the cupboard for a clean mug, Jack moved towards the window and peered out at the studio. ‘Do you have the key?’

  ‘What? For the studio?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Joseph gave it to me yesterday.’

  ‘Been inside yet?’

  ‘No,’ she replied, biting her lip. ‘Whatever I feel for this house, Jack, I feel even more for the studio. I spent so many hours there with my father. He would set up an easel for me and we would paint together until it was dark. I was never happier.’

  ‘And that worries you.’

  ‘You saw what I was like when I came into the house. I don’t want a repeat of that. Or worse.’

  ‘I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit. You’re stronger now. I saw it in you last night.’

  ‘I don’t know, Jack. So much of what connects me to my father comes from inside that studio. I just don’t know if I’m up to it. I don’t want Rosie and Sam to see me break down like that again.’

  Her choice of words both surprised and flattered him. ‘You don’t mind if I see you like that?’

  A look of alarm flashed through her as she considered what she was implying. ‘Things just feel different with you …’

  Jack kept his eyes on her. ‘Would you like me to come in with you?’

  ‘Only if you wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Of course not. When do you want to do it?’