Drive Me Crazy (11 page)

As Amy dashes off, I pick up the cup and examine the jet-black contents. I hold the mug to my nose and inhale but the smell turns my stomach. I think I’ll stick with the headache.

I grab my phone, only to see if I have any replies from Will, but I don’t. Surprise surprise. That’s when I hear Amy giggling with someone. My cool, tough, taken friend Amy is giggling like a teenage girl meeting One Direction.

I try to listen carefully but I can’t make out what she’s saying. Eventually she walks back into my room and closes the door behind her. She bites her lip theatrically.

‘Danny is here,’ she whispers.

‘What? Oh, no. I never texted him to call off the trip.’ I pull myself out of bed slowly. ‘I’ll go tell him now.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ Amy says sternly. ‘I think you should go.’

‘Why on earth would I do that?’

‘Because you deserve some time off, away from Will, and you might even have fun.’

‘That sounds very unlikely…but I could do with the break from Will, I suppose.’

I can’t stand the thought of having to face Will yet, and I can’t quit my job without having another one to go to. And I know it will drive Will crazy to know that I’m away with Danny. Maybe the break will do me good, and Danny might not be so annoying outside the office.

‘OK, go keep him distracted while I get ready.’

‘Gladly,’ Amy says with a wink.

I dash to the bathroom and take a long, hard look in the mirror. What a mess. And I’m not just talking about my situation, I’m talking about my appearance too.

I quickly pull my hair into a side plait and grab the outfit from the back of the door. It’s the one I had ready for leaving with Will, but it’s going to have to do – along with all of the other sensible clothing that I packed. I quickly apply my make-up with all the skill of a six-year-old who has found a way to reach her mummy’s make-up drawer, before heading into the living room.

‘Hey,’ Danny says with a big smile.

‘Hello,’ I reply. I look over at Amy who is all giggly and gooey over Danny. With his fashionable stubble and his stupid topknot, I should’ve known he’d be just Amy’s type.

‘We all set?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘OK, well I’ll take these to the car.’

Amy waits patiently for Danny to leave the room before squealing with joy.

‘That’s Danny,’ she squeaks.

‘You know it is,’ I reply, awkwardly.

‘Remind me why you turned down a date with him?’

‘Not my type.’

‘Not your type?’ Amy gasps. ‘He is fucking fit!’

Danny clears his throat in the doorway, alerting us to his presence before we can say anything else.

‘Forgot my keys,’ he says with a cheeky smile. He grabs them and then leaves again.

‘Seriously,’ Amy whispers. ‘That wanker you were seeing – he was taken, he was old and he was boring. But this guy! He’s young, he’s hot, he’s funny. Promise me you’ll give him a chance.’

‘Aims, it’s a business trip. And I’m heartbroken! The last thing I want is another man!’

‘Just think about it,’ she insists. ‘Anyway, you pretty much told Lea Danny would be going to my wedding with you, maybe if you get on well, he might come – even if it’s just out of pity.’

‘Wow, thanks.’

Amy laughs.

‘Right, I’d better go.’

She grabs me for another big hug, kissing me on the cheek.

‘Be careful, have fun – and try not to think about you-know-who. Just enjoy yourself.’

‘I’ll try,’ I tell her, although I doubt that’s going to be possible. ‘Gosh, I won’t see you until your wedding day. Sorry I won’t be around to help get things ready.’

‘So long as you’re back in time, and you’re happy. That’s all I care about.’

My friend hugs me one last time before leaving, giving me just enough time to say goodbye to Honey before Danny walks back in.

‘Of course you have a cat.’ Danny laughs.

‘What do you mean by that?’ I ask defensively.

‘I always find the kind of women who say no to dates with me have cats.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Just an observation.’ He smiles. ‘Nice place you got here, very…’ Danny visibly wracks his brains for the appropriate word ‘…clinical.’

‘Clinical?’ I squeak. ‘What the heck does that mean?’

‘Heck? Really?’ Danny shakes his head. ‘I just mean it’s very tidy, babe. Clean. Like maybe you murdered someone and then cleaned up – like, really cleaned up. You know?’

‘I really don’t know,’ I tell him. ‘Good work offending me though. Twice. And in such a short amount of time.’

‘You’re welcome, Candy. Now, let’s hit the road.’

Danny twirls his hands before pointing enthusiastically towards the door with both index fingers.

‘Let’s go,’ I reply.

‘Say goodbye to life as you know it,’ he tells me. ‘It’s going to be a roller coaster.’

I laugh to myself. Danny doesn’t know the half of it.

***

‘I thought you said you had a car,’ I blurt out. We’re currently standing outside my flat. There’s a taxi bay, full of taxis as usual, but parked amongst them is what I can only describe as a clown car.

‘I do,’ he says proudly. ‘Meet the Love Bug.’

He gestures towards the clown car with both hands, as if to say ta-da. Then he does actually say ‘ta-da’, catching the attention of one of the cabbies.

‘Mate, this is drop off/pick up only,’ the driver tells him angrily.

‘I know. I’m picking her up.’

Danny nods towards me.

‘For taxis only,’ the driver adds angrily.

‘All right, all right, we’re going. Candy, get in.’

‘If you think I’m going on a road trip in that, then you’re out of your mind.’

‘What’s wrong with the Love Bug?’ Danny asks, defensively.

‘The name, for one. Also, it looks like Herbie.’

The taxi driver takes a brief moment from being angry to laugh at me, for teasing Danny over his car. The thing is though, I’m not joking. This thing looks like a death trap.

‘Fair enough, they’re both cream. I’ll give you that because you’re a chick and the extent of your car knowledge comes from shitty movies,’ Danny starts. ‘But Herbie is from the sixties. This car might share a name with the first Herbie movie, but that’s where the resemblance ends. What you’re looking at here is a fully restored 1978 VW Beetle 1300. It’s a classic.’

‘It’s a relic,’ the cabby laughs.

‘Mind your own business,’ Danny snaps at him, clearly offended on behalf of his precious car.

‘This
is
my business,’ the cabby yells. ‘I can’t get my fucking car out because you’re blocking the fucking way.’

‘I’m moving!’ Danny yells back. ‘Candy, get in the car.’

‘No. We can’t go in that. It won’t make it.’

‘Of course it will. I promise you, I’ve spent thousands doing it up.’

The cabby, who is back in his car, beeps his horn angrily.

‘Please just get in the car,’ Danny pleads. ‘We’ll drive around the block and see how you feel.’

‘Oh, fine, fine. Can you put this in the boot, please?’ I ask, heading for the back of the car with my holdall.

‘The engine is in the boot,’ he informs me. ‘This goes under the bonnet.’

‘Of course it does,’ I reply, heading towards the passenger side. I pull on the handle but nothing happens, so I try again using a little more force this time.

‘Whoa, gently, gently.’ Danny winces as he places his hands on my shoulders and steers me towards the driver’s side. ‘That door doesn’t work, so you’ve got to get in this side and climb over.’

‘Death trap,’ I mutter to myself quietly.

As I clamber over the driver’s seat of Danny’s car, or the Love Bug as he calls it, I notice it has a very distinctive smell that I cannot place. I’d imagine this was that ‘new car smell’ everyone talks about, were it not for the fact this car is so very, very old. To give Danny his due though, it does look like he’s spent a lot of money doing the car up. The inside is all new and shiny, with a stereo system that looks like it’s worth more than the car itself. It might look like a hunk of junk from the outside, but the inside has had a typical boy racer makeover.

As the cab drivers continue to honk their horns, Danny eventually hops in the driver’s seat.

‘And we’re off,’ he says as he pulls out. ‘Well, babe, what do you think?’

I scoff. ‘I don’t know what’s worse,’ I tell him. ‘When you call me Candy or when you call me babe.’

‘Why do you hate being called Candy so much? I think it’s cute.’

‘My surname is Hart. Candy Hart – sounds like a name that a stripper would choose for herself,’ I tell him. ‘And I hate being called babe. Babe, love, doll, darling, beautiful – that’s all I hear, all day long at work. They’re all empty compliments.’

‘Wow, that’s depressing,’ Danny says. ‘Tell you what then, if you’re sick of compliments, how about I call you bro? Nothing special, you’re just one of the guys.’

‘Oh, lovely, thank you,’ I reply sarcastically.

‘You’re welcome, bro.’

I roll my eyes. Something I seem to do a lot around Danny.

Despite promising to drive me around the block, I can tell that Danny is definitely headed for Liverpool so that we can catch the ferry. I feel like a child who’s being manipulated by her parents into doing something she doesn’t want to do. I suppose Danny’s car isn’t that bad. I think the problem might just be that I don’t want to go anywhere at all, and I’m looking for an excuse.

‘So, we’re all good to go in the Love Bug?’ Danny asks, reading my mind.

‘I suppose we’ll have to be,’ I tell him with a deep sigh. ‘Why on earth do you call it the Love Bug?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ he asks.

‘Well, yeah, I guess – because it’s a Beetle.’

‘Let’s just say that back seat has seen some things that, if it were a person, it would require a lot of therapy to sleep at night.’

‘Ew! Remind me not to get in the back.’

‘Hey, if you’re squeamish about that stuff you’re not going to want to sit there either.’ He laughs. ‘Or the driver’s seat. Or the bonnet. I think something might have happened on the roof one time, but I was drunk so… Jesus, look at your face!’

‘What’s wrong with my face?’

‘You’re looking at me like you’ve never got wasted and had sex on a car before,’ he says, like it’s an everyday thing.

‘And you’re talking to me about this stuff like it’s standard procedure.’

‘How do you know it isn’t?’ he asks, side-glancing at me as he drives. ‘Maybe you’re just uptight.’

‘I am not uptight,’ I protest. ‘You don’t even know me so you can’t make judgements like that.’

‘You’re right, I don’t know you that well, but I’m a very perceptive person, and you are uptight.’

I shrug my shoulders.

‘Do you not get tired of it?’ he asks.

‘Of what?’

‘Being so perfect,’ he tells me.

‘Thank you.’

‘Candy, that wasn’t a compliment.’ Danny pauses for a second, clearly battling with whether or not to continue sharing his opinion. ‘It doesn’t matter, I’ll shut up.’

‘Go on…’

‘No, you’ll get upset.’

‘Do your worst,’ I insist. ‘I want to know what you think.’

‘We’re going on a road trip, and you’re dressed like the prime minister’s wife. You’re sitting in a car with your legs crossed at the knees – who does that? In fact, whenever I see you sitting, you always have your legs crossed. Your posture is exhausting to look at. I just want you to slouch, even if it’s just for a minute. You say things like “gosh” and “what on earth” and…even my nana dropped a few F-bombs now and then, you know what I mean?’

‘Listen to yourself,’ I start. ‘If not swearing, not sitting with my legs open and keeping my back straight means I’m being perfect, then I’m happy to be perfect. What do you want me to do? Sit like a bloke with my hand down my pants and be like “eff this, eff that”?’

‘But no one is perfect,’ Danny insists, the debate getting more heated. ‘That means you’re pretending to be perfect and pretending to be perfect doesn’t make you perfect, it makes you crazy.’

‘Keep your eyes on the road,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t feel safe in this thing as it is.’

‘It’s a great car and I’m an excellent driver, don’t worry so much.’

‘So, tell me, Danny, what do you suggest I do?’ I ask curiously. Not that I give a shit what he thinks, but I’m fascinated to see where I’m going wrong. The thing he doesn’t realise is that while I might not be the kind of girl he would go for, he isn’t the kind of guy I would go for either. What he sees as crazy behaviour is the reason Will loves me. Well, said he loved me. He couldn’t love me and hurt me so spectacularly, could he? I check my phone to see if he has replied to any of my texts but no such luck.

‘I want to hear you swear. I want you to put your feet up on the dashboard so I can yell at you to get your fucking feet off my fucking dashboard. I want you to let your hair down for once.’

‘I often let my hair down,’ I insist.

‘No, I mean literally let your hair down. No bloke is going to want to fuck you on the bonnet of his car with that weird blonde-chick-from-
Frozen
side thing you’ve got going on.’

I can’t help but laugh, but it’s an infuriated laugh, the kind that is born of anger and not amusement.

‘Well, thanks for that,’ I tell him sarcastically. ‘So rude.’

‘I’m not rude,’ he replies. ‘I just have the balls to say what everyone else is too scared to. It isn’t rude if it’s true.’

I glance at my phone again. Still nothing from Will and I feel the anger surge up inside me again.

‘Christ, you’re in a mood today,’ he observes. ‘I mean, you’re always grumpy, but you’re especially grumpy today. Is it Shark Week or something?’

‘Shark Week?’ I ask, confused.

‘Yeah, you know…Shark Week.’

It takes me a few seconds to realise he’s referring to the time of the month.

‘You’re thoroughly disgusting, do you know that?’ I ask.

‘Thank you,’ he replies.

That wasn’t a compliment. ‘Can we have the radio on or something, please?’ I snap, unable to take a second more of his ‘banter’ – a term that I hate, because it’s pretty much just a blanket excuse for being a wanker.

‘Sure,’ he replies, hitting a few buttons.

As his ridiculous stereo system booms some ridiculous dubstep tune, as much as I hate it, and as much as it’s making my hangover worse, I realise the dreadful wub-wub-wub sound is preferable to Danny’s character analysis of me. One thing is for certain, it’s going to be a long week.