They left York on a balmy July morning, just as the motorway was still quiet, the roadhouses only beginning to spread their plastic menus on the tables.
Helen gripped the steering wheel of her ageing Ford Fiesta as if the car might change its mind and roll back. In the passenger seat Olivia settled with a thermos of tea and a bag of sandwiches at her feet. In the glove compartment clinked a bottle of bloodpressure tablets, alongside the cars registration papers and a fresh MOT certificate.
Are you sure youre up for driving? Olivia asked, tugging at her seatbelt. If you need to, I can take over.
Im fine for now, Helen replied, easing the accelerator a touch. And you, with all that burnoutremember you swore youd give yourself a break.
Olivia rolled her eyes, but didnt take offense.
Its not a broken bone, its my nerves, she said. The counsellor told me a change of scenery would help. So Im officially on therapy.
The word counsellor still felt odd to Helen, who had only recently learned to say divorce without stumbling. After twenty years of marriage collapsed with a single slam of a judges gavel, she now travelled the M1 with a university friend shed known since freshman year, trying not to think that nobody waited for her at home any longer.
Where exactly are we heading? Olivia asked. I still dont know if you have a plan or youve just handed the wheel over to the universe.
Sort of a sketch, Helen shrugged. York, then Leeds, stay with my cousin there, then see how I feel. Look, she tapped the folded road atlas between the seats. Im not a fanatic, I just
She trailed off. Olivia understood what just meant: stepping out of a flattop apartment where every object whispered the name of a former husband, proving that life didnt end at the doors of the registry office.
I need a change of air, Olivia finished gently. And Im tired of flinching at every work email.
Olivia had quit her job at an advertising agency three months earlier. Before that shed spent nights in the office, sparring with clients and drafting strategies for brands she barely cared about. One day she realized she began to gasp on the commute and wept for no reason in the evenings. Her doctor called it burnout, gave her a sick note and quietly suggested a lifestyle overhaul.
Are you sure this isnt a runaway? Helen had once asked over the phone.
What if it is? Olivia replied. Maybe I do need to run.
Thus the idea of a road trip was born. Olivia craved open roads, freedom, spontaneity. Helen craved schedules, clear pitstops, clean restroom signs. They agreed to try to blend the two.
Outside the window, green fields and scattered hamlets flew by, punctuated by signs reading Homecooked and Barbecue. The radio crackled between oldtime ballads and news. Helen caught herself simply enjoying the motion. The road seemed to pull the scraps of courtroom arguments, divorce papers, and videocalls with adult children out of her mind.
More upbeat music, please, Olivia said. Otherwise the news will drown us again.
Helen switched stations. A nostalgic pop tune from their university graduation filled the car. Olivia laughed, sang along without shame, and something inside Helen began to thaw.
By lunchtime they pulled into a roadside eatery with a faded sign that read The Cosy Corner. Inside the air was heavy with fried chips and onion soup. A woman in an apron wiped glasses at the counter. Outside, two lorries and a few cars idled in the parking bay.
Two pies and a shepherds pie, please, Olivia said confidently. And a pot of tea.
Ill just have a salad and soup, Helen added, still gripping the wheel.
They sat by the window. Olivia spread out travel brochures, a notebook for impressions, and a pen.
Listen, she said, lets do this: one day we follow your plan, stay with relatives; the next day we improvise. If we see a sign for a lake, we turn. If we spot a flyer for a quirky museum, we go.
Helen frowned. I dont like improvise. We could end up in a deadend without a bed.
Then well find the best pie in that deadend, Olivia replied with a grin.
Helen wanted to argue, but the food arrived, and she set the debate aside, poking at her pie with a fork. Their lives had been a clash of opposite philosophies: Olivia always chased whatever seemed interesting, changing jobs, cities, partners; Helen built a house, saved for renovations, clung to stability.
After the meal they back on the road. The sun climbed higher, the cabin grew warm. Helen cracked the window, feeling a warm breeze kiss her cheek. The motorway stretched straight, with occasional overtakes and the occasional traffic warden post.
Look, Olivia pointed ahead, theres a sign for Riverbank Holiday Park. Want to stop for a dip?
Were still two hours from Leeds, Helen replied. I promised my cousin Id be there by evening.
Youll call, say youre delayed. This isnt work, its a holiday, Olivia said.
Helen tightened her grip on the wheel, irritated by the casualness.
People are waiting for us. Its rude to keep them waiting.
And whats rudeliving by a schedule that no longer fits you? Olivia whispered.
The words struck a chord. Helen fell silent. The sign for the holiday park faded behind them.
Half an hour later roadworks forced traffic onto a single lane. The asphalt was broken, wheels bouncing over the joints.
Slow down, Olivia warned. Looks like potholes.
I see them, Helen replied, eyes on the road. Her thoughts kept looping around Olivias remark about a schedule that didnt suit her. What schedule now suited her? Living alone in a threebedroom flat? Moving into a smaller place? Returning to a bookkeeping job or daring to switch fields?
Ahead, a gravel truck kicked stones onto the road, rattling the bonnet. Helen decided to overtake while the stretch was still clear.
Not now, Olivia said, noticing Helen flick the turn signal. Theres no road markings here.
The truck is going forty, we wont make it to Leeds tonight at that pace.
Helen drifted onto the oncoming lane. In the distance headlights glowed, but the gap seemed enough. She floored the accelerator, the Fiesta surged ahead of the truck. Suddenly the right wheel struck a deep rut.
A sharp jolt sent the car lurching. Helen managed to straighten the wheel, but a loud snap echoed and the Fiesta lurched hard to the right. She clutched the steering, slammed the brakes, heart hammering in her throat. The truck was already behind, an oncoming car flashed its lights and slowed.
They stopped on the hard shoulder, breathing heavily.
Alive? Helen rasped.
Seems so, Olivia replied, unbuckling. Lets see whats wrong.
They climbed out. The heat of the impact stung their faces. To the right stretched a field, to the left a rutted lane of slowmoving traffic. The right tyre was shredded almost to the rim.
Its flat, Olivia noted. Spare tyre?
I have one, Helen said, opening the boot, shoving bags aside, pulling out the jack, wrench, and spare. Her hands trembled.
Ill do it, Olivia offered. Ive done this before.
I can manage, Helen insisted stubbornly.
She placed the jack, tried to lift the car. The uneven ground made the jack wobble. Helen cursed, sweat beading on her brow.
Olivia watched, then stepped closer.
Nat, please, let me, she said. Youre on edge.
Youre on edge because you keep distracting me with your chatter, Helen snapped. Lets turn, lets call, lets not think about propriety.
I didnt force you to overtake, Olivia replied calmly. That was your choice.
Yes, my choice. Everything is my choicemy divorce, my flat tyre, my ruined life that Ive ruined myself. The words burst out louder than intended. A few passing cars glanced over. Olivias lips tightened.
You dont have to carry everything alone, she said. Not the tyre, not your life.
Its easy for someone whos always lived on her own terms, Helen retorted. You could quit your job because you knew youd land somewhere else. You could leave a man because you trusted youd find another. And I
She faltered, a flash of her exhusband packing a suitcase in their kitchen, his tired face, her endless promises, Ill change everything. Nothing changed.
What about you? Olivia asked softly. You always tried to make everything convenientfor the kids, the husband, the boss. Now everyones gone, and you dont even know what you want, except to reach Leeds on schedule.
Olivia sighed, crouching by the tyre, checking the jack.
How about we change the tyre together, then drive to the nearest garage, check the others, and then decide where to go? No shouting, no blame.
Freedom was supposed to be about spontaneous detours, Helen muttered bitterly. Now were stuck on the shoulder with a flat tyre.
Freedom isnt a smooth ride, Olivia replied. Its being able to choose how to respond when things go wrong.
The tone felt almost didactic, and Helens irritation softened into a reluctant relief. Olivia took the wrench, began loosening the bolts. Drivers passing occasionally honked in support; a gentleman in a tractor pulled over to ask if they needed help, and Olivia thanked him, saying they had it covered.
When the spare was on, they climbed back into the car. Helen sat in silence, hands hovering over the ignition.
Youre right, she whispered. That was my decision. I almost wrecked us.
But were still here, the car runs, Olivia said. Thats something.
I Im scared to drive now, Helen admitted.
Olivia met her eyes.
How about I take the wheel for a bit? I have a licence, some experience. You can rest.
Helen hesitated. The car had been her hardwon independenceshed saved for it, financed it, done every MOT herself. Handing over the wheel felt like admitting loss of control.
Fine, but only to the garage, she finally agreed.
They swapped seats. Olivia steered confidently onto the motorway. Helen watched the road from a new angle, tension easing into fatigue.
Twenty minutes later a sign read Garage Café Motel. Olivia turned off. A modest service station sat beside a lowrise building bearing the sign Café Birch.
A middleaged man in coveralls inspected the tyre, shook his head.
Its beyond repair, he said. The sidewalls cut. Youll need a new tyre.
Helen felt the familiar tick of mental calculations. A new tyre meant money she barely had after the divorce.
How much? she asked.
He quoted a price. She sighed.
Alright, just do it.
While the mechanic worked, they slipped into the café. Cool air hummed from the airconditioner. A family with children occupied a corner table; a cooking show flickered on the TV.
They ordered bowls of cold cucumber soup and tea. Olivia stared at her spoon, the silence between them taut.
I was harsh earlier, Helen began. I said things about you crudely.
You were scared, Olivia replied. Id have shouted too.
I truly think you always manage to live for yourself. I cant. And now, when you suggest sudden changes, I feel everything inside me tighten.
Olivia set her spoon down.
You think it looks like Im living for myself, but inside its often chaos, she said. I did many things not from freedom but from fearfear of being stuck like my parents, fear of being the first to be left. So I quit, I overworked. I even begged for a break until I literally ran out of breath on the tube. The counsellor asked what I wanted; I couldnt answer, just cried. Freedom isnt sprinting to a lake at whim. Its finally admitting to yourself what you truly want, not just fulfilling others expectations.
Helens mind replayed her exhusbands lines: Youre overcomplicating, Lets not discuss this now, You know its hard for me. She realised shed spent years adapting.
What if I dont know what I want? she asked quietly.
Start small, Olivia suggested. Decide how youd like to spend today. Not what you ought to, not whats proper, but what feels easier now.
Helen looked out the window. The mechanic was fitting the new tyre; the sun slipped toward evening, yet Leeds was still hours away.
I promised my cousin a night there, she said. I really want a familiar shower and proper bed. Im exhausted.
Then we go to her, Olivia agreed. Thatll be your choice.
What about you? You wanted to follow every sign.
I wanted to break free from other peoples scripts. But I didnt come alone. If todays script is a clean bed and a chat with my cousin, Ill fit into that.
Helen felt the knot in her throat loosen a little.
What about tomorrow? she ventured. Can we do your spontaneous day?
Agreed, Olivia smiled. Tomorrows my day of chance.
They finished their tea, paid, and returned to the car. The mechanic explained the best way around the roadwork, pointed out a few minor cracks on the other tyres. Helen listened, asked questions. Olivia stood nearby, silent.
Will you drive? Olivia asked as they prepared to leave the garage.
Helen glanced at the wheel, at her hands.
I will, she said. But if I start panicking, we switch again. Deal?
Deal, Olivia nodded.
The first kilometres after the garage were tentative; Helen drove slowly, every sound seemed suspect, every bump a threat. Olivia only glanced occasionally, offering a supportive eye.
Gradually the fear receded. The road became a familiar ribbon, the cars just cars, not omens. Helen even turned the radio on.
You know, she said as they passed a small village, Ive never asked for help. I always thought itd make me look weak.
Ive always feared asking and being denied, Olivia replied. So I did everything myself to avoid that.
Its funny, Helen laughed. We both ended up carrying more than we could.
At least now we can talk about it.
The sun dipped, painting the sky a soft rose. Inside Helen a quiet agreement settlednot with the whole of her life, but with the present moment: they were moving forward, not pretending everything was fine, but acknowledging it.
Yorks outskirts greeted them in twilight, lanterns flickering over the bridges, a few late pedestrians. Helens cousin lived in a block of council flats on the edge of town. They found the right entrance, climbed to the fourth floor.
Her cousin welcomed them with cheers, the smell of roast chicken, and endless questions. Helen introduced Olivia, offered her a coat, set their bags down. Over dinner the conversation swirled around children, jobs, grocery prices. Olivia shared a humorous anecdote from the ad agency, and laughter filled the table.
Later, the three of them retired to separate rooms. In the kitchen, the lights dimmed, a distant dog barked.
How are you? Olivia asked, pouring tea.
Tired, Helen answered honestly. But oddly calm.
I was scared too today, Olivia admitted. Not just about the tyre. I feared wed argue and never be able to speak properly again.
Helen recalled her own bitter outburst about a life shed ruined, feeling a flush of shame.
I dont want to fight you, she said. Sometimes it feels like you push me toward places Im not ready for.
Then tell me, Olivia urged. If Im overstepping, I can pull back. Ive always dragged people along; you can brake.
Helen nodded.
Tomorrow, if its your day of chance, lets set limits. No more than a hundred miles off the main route, and a proper bed, not a tent, she suggested.
Fair, Olivia smiled. And Ill ask you to say yes to a turn that isnt on the map at least once.
One time, Helen agreed, thinking it over.
They finished their tea, retreated to their rooms. Helen lay on her cousins sofa, staring at the ceiling, fragments of the road, Olivias face, the broken tyre replaying in her mind.
She realised the journey wasnt about towns or miles. It was about learning to be near each other without dissolving, without pushing each other away.
Morning found them not too early. The cousin handed them a plateAs they eased onto the winding country lane, Helen felt a quiet surge of genuine freedom while Olivia laughed, both knowing that tomorrow would bring another strange, shared adventure.
