A few acquaintances asked if they could join us on our road trip, promising to split the costs. Once we arrived, they simply said, You were driving there anyway.
It all began as just another round of planning our summer holiday. My wife and I, our trusty estate car, a route of over six hundred miles each way, and the sweet anticipation of the open road. Weve always loved travelling by car: setting our own pace, pulling over wherever we fancy, taking spontaneous detours. No rigid timetables, no screeching children in the next train compartment, and certainly no last-minute flight cancellations.
This time, though, we made a crucial blunderwe let our plans slip to the wrong company.
One evening, over drinks and a mishmash of nibbles at a friends flat in Bristol, I carelessly mentioned that wed be driving down south in a couple of weeks. With our own car, of course.
Oh? What dates? piped up a couple across the table.
That was Simon and Emily. We werent especially close, just occasional faces in larger gatherings.
We set off on the fifteenth, I replied, not suspecting a thing.
Thats perfect! Simon perked up, his fork forgotten. Were off from the sixteenth. We were meant to go by train, but all the decent tickets have sold, just those cramped seats by the loos left. Mind if we come with? Well split petrolitll be much more fun, and were easy going, promise.
I glanced at my wife, whose stare clearly said Absolutely not. I mumbled something about the boot being full, about how we like to travel slow and make frequent stops.
Oh, come off it, weve only got the one suitcase for the both of us! Simon pressed on. And think of the moneywell save loads, petrols a fortune these days. Help us out, were mates, arent we?
In the end, we agreed. The appeal to our wallets tipped the balance, and to be honest, it just felt awkward to say no outright. That soft streak cost us dearly over the next fortnight.
If you want a quiet life, never do favours unwillingly.
We arranged to meet at ours at five in the morning. My wife and I were on time, the boot neatly packed: our bags, water, a toolkit, a picnic blanket or two. Simon and Emily were nearly forty minutes late.
Taxi took ages, Emily breezed, not so much as a sorry, dragging a suitcase the size of a wardrobe and several bags stuffed with snacks.
We did agree on travelling light, I couldnt help pointing out.
Shes a girl, mateof course she needs outfits, Simon chuckled.
We played real-life Tetris to wedge it all in, shifting our own bags to squeeze in theirs.
An hour in, the ordeal truly began. Emily complained of feeling faint, so we had to blast the air con, then Simon protested it was too cold. My music didnt suit them. They barraged us with requests for stops: loo, coffee, to stretch their legs, for a cigarette.
The carefully timed route Id plannedto dodge bottlenecksfell apart. Instead of rare pitstops, we rattled along like a London bus route, always lurching to a halt.
The highlight came at a petrol station.
I filled the tank, £90 for the lot. When I got back to the car, Simon was tucking into a sausage roll.
So, shall we split that now? I asked, expecting a transfer.
Lets leave it til the endsort it all out in one go, no point faffing about, he waved me off.
I didnt like that, but my wife whispered, Leave itwell sort the money when we get there. I grumbled but nodded. I covered the toll roads toothey didnt so much as ask the cost.
They spent the whole journey eating sandwiches, dropping crumbs everywhere. When I asked them to be careful, they just smiled:
Dont worry, its only the car, give it a hoover later.
By the time we pulled up at our destination, it was well past midnight; we were worn out, less by travel than by the grating company.
We only came along for the ride
The next morning, after some sleep, we bumped into them in the guesthouse kitchen. I pulled out my notebook, where Id kept track.
Right, I said calmly. Petrol, £330. Toll roads, £70. Thats £400 altogether. Split in half, thats £200 from you.
Simon spluttered on his tea, Emilys eyes went wide.
Two hundred? Are you serious? she gasped.
As serious as can be, I replied. That was the agreement: we share the costs.
Simon set down his mug. Look, you were going anyway, mate. Youd have spent that with or without us. Its your car, youd have paid for the petrol regardless. We simply filled your spare seats.
Hold on, I protested, my patience wearing thin. We made the terms clear. I put up with inconvenience, shuffled extra bags, changed our pace for your stops. You owe us a fair share.
Oh, what inconvenience? Emily scoffed. It was fun, wasnt it? We had a laugh. We just thought you were helping friends out. If youd said wed have caught a much cheaper ride with someone else.
Any other driver wouldve left you on the hard shoulder for the crumbs and whinging, my wife cut in.
Look, Simon concluded, we can give you forty, maybe sixty quid. A little something, thats only fair, but half the costs is ridiculous. Weve budgeted for the trip.
I stood up. Forget it. Keep your money. Just dont expect a lift back.
What do you mean? Simon shot up. We havent booked tickets! You promised the way home too!
Nowe agreed to split costs evenly. You broke that. Have a nice holiday.
Departure parted, peace restored
The next ten days, we hardly saw them, though we stayed in the same seaside village. We bumped into them on the beach, but they turned away pointedly.
The night before we left, Simon texted: Alright, dont be stubborn. Well give you £80 each for the trip. Its hard for Emily on the bus, she gets sick. Come onlets go back together, please.
I didnt reply.
We packed our things, checked the oil, and drove off at sunrise. The return was bliss: our music, stops when we wanted, and blissful, well-earned silence.
Later, mutual friends relayed how awful Id beenabandoning mates in need over a bit of money. Simon and Emily struggled home on a string of coaches, paying much more and spending twice as long, and now tinge every conversation with our supposed villainy.
But we gained something gold-plated: experience. Now, if someone asks, Heading out of towncould you give us a lift? I just smile politely and say, Sorry, we prefer to travel just the two of us.
Because sometimes, firm boundaries are worth far more than even the biggest favour.
