Miles Between Us
I can still picture William clutching the printed route in his hands, almost as if the paper alone could keep us from arguing. Four passports lay on the kitchen table, along with the car insurance, a first-aid kit, a sachet of blood pressure pills, and his mothers now-familiar dont forget list. My wife, Margaret, walked back and forth from cupboards to table, endlessly folding and refolding towels. My father, George, perched silently on a wooden stool, quietly watching William check over the documents.
Are you absolutely sure about all this? Margaret asked, eyes fixed on her hands. We could just as well
William cut her off before she could finish. He knew what was coming next: Its nice enough here at home, Anything can happen out there, What if the blood pressure acts up? Hed found himself mulling the same worries the night before.
Mum, its not the end of the world. First day is just Oxford to Shrewsbury, then up along the Severn. If you get tired, well stop. I’ve booked everything he gestured at his phone, but refrained from waving it under her nose.
Father coughed.
You booked it all, did you? Thought about where itd suit us, or just picked for yourself?
That familiar sting shot through William, like it always didlike when he came home with an A and dad would demand to know why not in every subject. He wanted to snap back but busied himself instead with the glovebox, searching for the satnav charger. It was emptyjust some old receipts and a tired torch with corroded batteries.
Dad, can you lend a hand? Can you check the tyres? I wont manage everything myself.
Father got up, slowly, as if to prove that no one was rushing him. Margaret sighed, at last tucking the towels into her bag.
Behind the wheel, William felt at easeuntil they reached the open road. The city had always made sense to him: traffic lights, roundabouts, familiar signboards. The dual carriageway belonged to another life, measured in patience instead of minutes. Margaret immediately settled herself in the back, belted in, and produced her trusty thermos from the plastic bag. Father sat up front, wordless, resting a folded paper map on his knee.
Youve got your satnav, he remarked, but this map wont lead you into a farmers field. Those gadgets are clever until theyre not.
William said nothing. He switched on his phones GPS, fixed it to the dashboard, and caught himself wanting to prove he had everything under control. In the rear-view, he saw Margaret watching the countryside slip by, as if she was storing up each hedge for later.
The first lay-by stop was less about need and more about easing the tension. William stepped out, opened the petrol cap, slid the pump in. His father joined him, crouching by the rear tyre.
Bit low, he commented, not meeting Williams eye.
Cant be. I checked them last night.
That was last night. On the road, things are different.
Frustration bubbled under Williams words. He nearly told his dad he always managed to undermine him. Instead, he remembered how, in the freezing cold long ago, his father had changed his first flat on the old Vauxhall with no sign of reproachjust quiet competence.
Lets pump it up then, William suggested.
Compressor in hand, they tackled the job in silence, the little engine growling like an angry wren. Margaret wandered over, voice low.
Try not to argue, you two. Were
She didnt finish, and William didnt prompt her. He knew she wanted this trip to look like the photos: easy grins, scenic stops, effortless chat. He wanted it toootherwise, why had he planned any of this?
The road evened out after that. They listened to the radio until it crackled into static and fell silent. Every so often, Father tried to steer him along some old bypass rather than the satnavs route. William found every, Id go another way, landed on him as criticism.
At a roadside cafe, they took a plastic table by the window. William ordered soup and a pie; Margaret chose tea and salad; Father, a hearty stew and apple juice. William caught his father scanning the menu price list before ordering, as he always did.
Ill get this, William declared.
Father arched a brow. Think we cant manage?
Its not that, William replied. Its justI invited you.
Margaret laid her hand flat between them, as if to still the waves.
Lets do it this way, she said. Tonight, William. Tomorrow, us. And thats that.
William nodded, though it soured his mouth. He hated the feeling of keeping score, but he knew money meant more than just notes to Fatherit was about holding on to his dignity.
That first night, they fetched up at a modest motel along the A-road. The room: two beds, a folding camp cot, a humming TV. William had booked triple accommodation, but the lad at reception simply shrugged.
We do things this way here. The cots fine.
William opened his mouth to object but caught the weariness in his fathers face, his mothers relief as she slipped off her coat.
I’ll take the cot, William said.
No, you wont, Father retorted.
William looked at him. He stood tall, but his eyes showed the days toll. Arguing would only shame him.
All right, William assented quietly, Ill help pack it away in the morning.
That night, sleep would not come. William heard his mother quietly shifting, his fathers coughs subsiding. There in the darkness, he understood that he had brought them not just before it was too late, but because he was frightened of missing the chance to ask why it was always so tense between themand just as frightened of the answer.
Next morning, Father was more withdrawn than ever. He stepped out of the room first, pausing by the car with an unreadable expression, his hand to his lower back.
You all right, Dad?
Im fine. Lets get on.
Approaching Birmingham, the satnav detoured them through roadworks. William followed its directions and found themselves in a jam, sun beating on the windscreen, air con wheezing. Margaret asked him to lower a window.
Its stifling in here, she murmured.
Father tapped his finger impatiently on the map. Told youthe old road. At least youd be moving.
You did say, Dad. Williams voice was tight. But youre not the one driving.
The words leapt out unbidden. William regretted them instantly, but too late. Father turned, his voice quiet but sharp.
Are you saying I couldnt? That Im past it?
Williams chest tightened. Hed not meant that. He was just used to his father either commanding or retreating. For once, he wanted to feel in charge.
Thats not it. Im just responsible for the trip.
Margaret stared at them in the rear mirror, seeing not kin but distant men.
Youre both responsible. And both desperate to be right.
The jam cleared at last, but the strain had settled in Williams shoulders. He noticed Father massaging his temples more often.
At a service station, his father surprised him.
Toss us the keys. Ill drive awhile.
William hesitated. He could see his father was tired, but the request seemed like a dare. His gut rebelledhadnt he planned and arranged everything? Then he remembered how Father had yielded the bill to him the day before, how his mum had tried to keep the peace. William handed him the keys.
All right. But any problem, we swap right back. Deal?
Father nodded, set the seat, adjusted the mirrors. William relaxed beside him for the first time all day.
The first miles were smooth. Father drove with practised steadiness, overtaking no one. William felt, strangely, like a boy againbeing driven to the coast, every decision made above his head. The feeling was comforting and a little sad.
You always drove like this, he ventured.
Like what?
Calm. No sudden moves.
Father let out a small laugh. Calm when I had you and your mum aboard. No right to do otherwise.
William wanted to ask, What about now? but didnt.
Two hours on, the car jolteda warning light flickered. Father immediately eased up, hazards flashing, pulled onto the verge. Williams heart thudded.
What is it? Margaret called from the back.
Father got out without a word. William followed, the air ripe with hot rubber and dust. Together, they peered at belts and tanks.
Looks like the alternators failed. Could be the belts snapped.
William checked for a mobile signal, barely a bar. He called for breakdown assistance, fingers white on his phone.
One moment, sir. Closest recovery teams about an hour out. Where exactly are you?
William listed off the mile marker, his father silent beside him. Through the windscreen, he could see his mother clutching her medicines.
How long will it be? he pressed.
An hour, maybe an hour and a half.
Disconnecting, he turned to Father.
Well wait.
Dad nodded, but crouched, face suddenly wan.
Dad? William bent down.
Its nothing. Just a bitmy head.
Fear traced a line through William. His mind jumped to every lets not go too far conversation. He fetched water, handed it over. Margaret was quickly at his side, searching the bag.
Here, she murmured, pressing a tablet into Georges palm.
George accepted, water shaking in his grasp.
William sat with him in the dust, lorries gusting by.
We shouldnt have come, Margaret said, but there was no reproachonly fatigue.
Mum, dont, William replied gently. Were already here.
George lifted his eyes. Dont pretend youre doing all the heavy lifting on your own, he said, voice soft. Youre not alone.
A fissure opened in William. Part of him wanted to bring up every silent distancecollege choices made alone, decisions left to him, Fathers need for control, Margarets ceaseless smoothing over. But that man beside him was hurt, struggling not to reveal his frailty. William realised that, if he let it all loose now, it would only be a reckoning, not an honest conversation.
I didnt ask you out so youd feel like children again, being looked after, William managed. Thats not what I wanted.
Margaret studied him carefully. Then what is it you wanted?
William was silent. He couldnt admit out loud that hed needed to prove to himself that he could be a good son, that he could organise, could give them lasting memories. That hed longed for their approval, which had never come with the first flat, only a grunted Well done. That, most of all, he needed them to see he was grown.
I wanted us together, he said at last. Not just around the kitchen table, bickering out of habit. On the road, where we have to pull as a team.
Father offered a rueful grin, all sting gone.
More people quarrel on the motorway than anywhere, he observed.
True, William laughed. But you see who does what, when it matters.
Recovery arrived in a battered lorry an hour and twenty later. The driver, a man of about forty, assessed the damage, said the nearest garage was twenty-five miles off, offered them a ride in the cabin or a call for a taxi.
Were all coming, William replied. Carefully, though.
Father tried to protest, but Williams look silenced him. Margaret climbed in beside her husband, William taking the passenger side. As the car was winched up, William watched the trembling of his plans, his sense of control, chained to the flatbed behind them.
At the garage, a young mechanic with greasy hands had soon determined the alternator belt had gone.
It happens. Ill match up a replacement, he told them.
Relief swept through William, though time had been lost and the day was broken apart. In the waiting room, they sat amid the whir of a coffee machine and hard plastic chairs. Father was mute, Margaret cradled her phone without scrolling.
William realised that, with enforced waiting, he could finally say the things they never had time to express. Yet he hesitated, fearing words might become weapons.
Dad, he began. I think we need to make a deal. Sort a fewrules. So we dont get at each other. Who drives when, how far, stops, the money. And about silence.
Margaret perked up.
Silence?
William nodded. Sometimes I just need not to talk. Doesnt mean Im cross. Just tired. I think you both do too. Lets not mistake quiet for sulking.
Father stared, William braced for ridicule. But Father only said, All right. In the morning, Ill driveyou after lunch. If Im not up to it, Ill say sono playing the hero. And you too, if youve had enough.
A weight lifted in William. Not because Father had yielded, but because he acknowledged things could go wrong.
The money, Father went on, we split down the middle. No making a fuss. But if you want to treat usjust say. Dont go round the houses. Then I wont take it wrong.
William laughed softly. Deal.
Margaret added, And no marathons. I cant do ten hours run. Every couple of hours, we stop for a stretcheven just for five minutes.
Agreed, William said. And if you want to see something, say early on, not as were passing the turn.
Father nodded. And dont assume for us whats too much. Ask. Well say.
Heat prickled at Williams eyes. He looked away, out at their car on the gravel, bonnet up but mended now. It struck him this was their family: something always breaking, always needing to be fixed, but if you do it together, it moves.
By the time the car was ready, night had fallen. William suggested carrying on, but Margaret declined.
I cant go on tonight, she confessed.
Father looked spent.
Well stay local, William said.
They found a guesthouse in a market town, a small room up creaky stairs with no lift. William hauled the bags, first one, then another. Father wanted to help, but William held him back.
Dad, leave ityouve done enough.
Father met his eye, and William realised he must avoid implying weakness, but simply offer partnership.
How about this? William grinned. Ill take the heavy bits, you the small ones. Quicker that way.
Father collected the water and medicine bag. Margaret carried her own. They climbed the stairs in silencenot strained, but companionable.
Inside the room, William checked for sockets, started charging his phone, placed the car keys on the nightstand. Margaret lined up her tablets by a glass of water. Father sat heavily on the bed, easing off his shoes.
William, said Margaret, as he laid out the camp bed, thank you.
He was about to wave it away but saw that she meant not for the trip or the innbut for holding his tongue by the roadside, for not giving in to blame.
Im not easy either, William replied.
Father grunted. No one is. But you stuck at itand didnt just turn the car around.
William glanced his fathers way. The words held no thunderous praise, but a rare, terse acknowledgementFathers way of expressing pride.
Before bed, William slipped onto the balcony. Beside the lamp-lit square, their car rested below, dark and dusty. He mused that, come morning, they would head off again, and yes, likely argue and tire each other once more. There would be no perfect reconciliation, and the old wounds would not fade. But that evening, they had managed something simple: a true agreement, adults at last, recognising one anothers limits.
Back inside, William turned out the light. In the darkness, Margaret spoke up:
Tomorrow Id like to stop by the riverbank. Just to sit. No photos.
William grinned in the shadow. Well stop.
Father said nothing, but William heard his deep, relieved sigha quiet truce, and enough to make the miles between them that little bit shorter.
