The Summer Seekers Page 13

  She’d talked nonstop, while devouring the remains of Kathleen’s afternoon tea. Kathleen had found her breathless enthusiasm surprisingly invigorating. How could one feel flat and old around Martha, who seemed to exude not only youth but a certain naive innocence? It was as if she was seeing the world for the first time.

  Listening to her, Kathleen wasn’t sure that she’d ever felt quite the same level of enthusiasm for tall glass skyscrapers that Martha seemed to feel, but she gave what she hoped were suitably encouraging responses. Yes, it was an unbelievable amount of glass. No, it probably didn’t mean that everyone in the city liked looking at their own reflection. Yes, it really was true that the lake froze in winter—Kathleen had witnessed it. Yes, it most certainly was called the Windy City for a reason.

  Martha’s enthusiasm had continued unabated throughout their predinner cocktails and then through their meal. She ordered the lobster risotto for a second time because, as she informed Kathleen in a serious tone, she was never likely to get a chance to eat it again and anyway you could never have too much of a good thing.

  Was that true?

  Kathleen, who had turned down a third cocktail under the suspicion that she may indeed have had too much of a good thing, wasn’t so sure.

  Like a long-life battery, Martha had eventually run out of energy and taken her flagging self to bed where no doubt she had slept the enviably deep sleep of the young.

  Kathleen, to whom sleep never came easily, had turned and wriggled, plumped the unfamiliar pillow and eventually dozed, floating on a dream of past memories.

  Today was the first day of her longed-for road trip and she felt as if she was dragging every one of her eighty years along with her. Maybe it had been a mistake to indulge in cocktails. On the other hand it had been a memorable experience and she’d always believed in living in the present. When she’d been filming The Summer Seekers she and the crew had started each trip with a celebration.

  She felt a pang of nostalgia for those days.

  Traveling for the show had meant stepping into an alternate reality. There had been a sense of life suspended, their enjoyment intensified because they all knew it wasn’t going to last. Eventually they’d had to emerge from the bubble and return to real life and the collision between their carefully constructed temporary world and the real world had been jarring. It had always taken Kathleen a while to adjust. Liza would demand time and attention from the moment she stepped through the door, while part of her had still been inhabiting the other half of her life. She’d felt disconnected and disorientated as she’d made the change from one life to another, and frequently she’d missed a step.

  She was uncomfortably aware that she hadn’t been the best mother. She’d married late in life, and pregnancy had come as a surprise. Her first reaction when the midwife had put Liza into her arms had been one of terror. A baby was more than a baby. It was responsibility, a lifetime of worry and a love so huge it threatened to burst out of you at inconvenient moments.

  And there was no going back. It didn’t matter that she didn’t feel qualified, or that she knew she lacked the essential skills. Reliability, constancy and the ability to be present—that wasn’t who she was. If things had gone differently for her earlier in her twenties when she was still romantic and idealistic then maybe she would have slid more comfortably into the role, but life had shaped her differently. She’d navigated life alone successfully for almost four decades, so marriage had seemed like a big step which was why Brian had gone down on one knee three times before she’d said yes.

  And then Liza arrived.

  She’d felt as if her life, who she really was, had been permanently hijacked.

  Confident and in control in her working life, in the role of parent she’d felt like an imposter. She wasn’t good at sharing herself emotionally. Brian had understood that. He’d understood all of it and given her the space she needed. But with her daughter she’d kept a large part of herself locked away.

  Was that why Liza allowed her life to be consumed by the demands of her family? Was she compensating for Kathleen’s deficiencies?

  The thought added further discomfort to her already-throbbing head.

  She couldn’t forget that moment at the airport. Liza had hugged her so tightly she’d thought her ribs might crack. I love you.

  Kathleen had patted her, unable to shake the feeling that she was failing her daughter again.

  What was Liza doing now? She almost wished she hadn’t stayed with them before her trip because now her daughter was constantly on her mind. Liza was the one who put in the hard work maintaining a relationship with Kathleen too. Any deficiencies were not her fault.

  Kathleen reached into her bag for her sunglasses. It was a scorching day, the sun blazing through the glass into the cool car.

  Those cocktails were making her maudlin.

  Presumably Martha was suffering a similar attack of regret because yesterday’s chatter and enthusiasm had been replaced by tense silence.

  Her gaze was fixed intently on the road in front as if it were an enemy to be defeated. Her lips moved slightly, as she conducted a silent conversation with herself.

  Kathleen realized the girl hadn’t said a word aloud since they’d climbed into the car.

  Martha had checked Kathleen’s seat belt three times and would have checked it a fourth had Kathleen not pointed out calmly that they were going for a drive, not space travel, and that the heavy crush of traffic seemed to preclude any racing tendencies that might be built into their rather flashy vehicle.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Kathleen had welcomed Martha’s endless, bubbly chatter. It made her feel young again and gave her something to focus on other than her aching bones and unsettling thoughts. And it wasn’t as if their verbal exchanges were deep or probing. Apart from that one innocent query about whether Kathleen had visited California, there were no uncomfortable questions to deflect. It was Kathleen’s idea of perfect conversation. But from the moment Martha had helped Kathleen into the car, she’d stopped chattering and now her eyes—slightly wild, Kathleen thought—were fixed on the road as if she was braced for catastrophe.

  “I’m concentrating. It’s—busy.”

  It was a city, so of course it was busy. But Kathleen didn’t believe in stating the obvious, so she stayed silent and drank in the experience. Cars thronged bumper to bumper, crawling forward to a soundtrack of shouts and blaring horns. Drivers made sudden turns without giving any prior indication of their intentions. On top of that, navigating the route had proved challenging—a fact Kathleen considered to add an extra frisson of excitement, but which had caused Martha to breathe deeply several times and had no doubt added to her stress and punctured ebullience.

  And now they were creeping along the edge of Lake Michigan with the Chicago skyline towering above them.

  Kathleen felt she should say something reassuring. “I’m sure it will calm down once we leave Chicago.”

  “I hope so or I estimate it’s going to take us at least a year and a half to complete this road trip. Not that I’m in a hurry. Or that I don’t love driving in traffic! It’s great practice.” Martha snatched a breath. “I’m not saying I need practice. I don’t want you to be nervous. Are you nervous?”

  Someone in this car was nervous, Kathleen thought. And it wasn’t her.

  “Why would I be nervous? You’re an excellent driver.” She had no idea if Martha was indifferent or excellent, but after that encounter with Liza in the car on the way to the airport she’d learned that a little encouragement went a long way.

  “You think so?” Martha’s hands were locked around the wheel so tightly that if it had been a living thing it would have been long dead. “If you need me to slow down, tell me.”

  If they drove any slower they’d be stationary. “Drive at any pace you wish. I hope you’re finding this car enjoyable to drive?”

>   “Oh it’s—” Martha licked her lips. “It feels as if it would like to go fast.”

  As if the car had a mind and life of its own. “You’re the one in charge.”

  Martha sat up a little straighter. “Yes, I am.”

  Finally they left Lake Michigan and the buzz and bustle of Chicago behind them and headed southwest out of the city. Martha’s hands gradually relaxed on the wheel. Her mouth still moved occasionally, and Kathleen managed to work out by a determined effort at lip reading that she was saying, Drive on the right.

  Kathleen was reassured. A reminder was vastly preferable to a head-on collision.

  They drove through the towns of Joliet, Elwood and Wilmington before crossing over the Kankakee River and continuing the journey south toward St. Louis. Each town was studded with nostalgia and quirky attractions. They passed neon signs advertising hot dogs and hamburgers, vintage diners, historic buildings and restored gas stations where they stopped to take photos in front of the shiny red gas pumps.

  “I compiled a playlist,” Martha said. “But I’m thinking maybe I’ll get used to the car before adding music. Unless you’d like music. Some people hate silence.”

  “Silence is underrated.” Particularly after three cocktails. “But it was thoughtful of you to put together appropriate music.”

  “I’ve picked tracks for each place we’re visiting.” Martha’s focus on the road would have made a meerkat proud. Nothing escaped her attention. “Maybe later.”

  Kathleen had the guidebook open on her lap, and also a notebook where she scribbled thoughts and observations. Even now, after so many years, it was instinctive to plan how she would present a place to the public. Part of her skill had been to get straight to the heart of the locality, showing what made it unique and special, knowing what would appeal and draw people in.

  In her head she recorded a piece to camera.

  When you hear the words road trip what do you imagine? Established in 1926, Route 66 has become one of the most famous roads in North America. There’s a reason it’s on the bucket list of so many people around the world. Over the next couple of weeks we’ll be traveling the 2,448 miles from Chicago to Santa Monica, crossing eight states and three time zones. We’ll be tasting food in historic diners, admiring murals, taking a side trip to the Grand Canyon and driving through flat planes, deserts and mountains before finally ending up on the shores of the Pacific Ocean. So join us as we take you on a journey not just through a varied landscape, but through American history.

  At that point she’d smile at the camera, Dirk would yell “cut,” and they’d all celebrate with drinks in the nearest bar.

  She’d prided herself on rarely needing more than one take. It helped that she always wrote the words herself.

  “Are you feeling okay, Kathleen?” Martha glanced at her, the first time her eyes had left the road. “You’re quiet.”

  “I was imagining how I would introduce this place if I were recording the show.”

  “I’d love to see some of your shows. I’m going to see if I can find them on the internet.” Martha’s eyes were back on the road. “Do you need me to stop? Do you want a coffee?”

  Kathleen checked the guidebook. “There are a few recommended stops ahead, one of which includes a particularly interesting historic diner. I presume it’s the building itself that’s historic, and not the contents of their fridge.”

  The towns fell away, the road became quieter as drivers chose the faster route and each side of them were fields and farmland.

  They stopped for a delicious lunch of fried chicken and Martha ate while she studied the guidebook, tracing the route with her finger.

  “When we reach this point we have to decide which road to take.”

  “Route 66.” Kathleen smiled her thanks as the waitress topped up their drinks.

  “It’s more complicated than that because the route deviates from the original road. According to this book, there have been improvements and realignments. And there are faster routes if we want them.”

  “We don’t.” Kathleen was determined to stick as closely as possible to the original historic Route 66. She wanted to savor every moment.

  “It says here that there are two choices. We can drive on the road as it was in 1926 or pick the route from 1930.” Martha abandoned the book and returned to her chicken. “This is delicious. I’ve decided this trip might be all about the food. I ate this amazing slice of pizza yesterday, by the lake.”

  “You mentioned it.” Five times.

  “We should take the route that has the best restaurants.” Martha turned her attention back to the guidebook.

  “That plan works for me. I’m enjoying myself tremendously.”

  Martha looked up. “You’re enjoying yourself?” A tentative smile formed. “You’re sure?”

  “It’s all thrilling.” Kathleen finished her chicken and wiped her fingers. “You have no idea how I’ve longed for this. I’m living the dream.”

  “As long as my driving hasn’t turned it into a nightmare.” Martha handed her the book. “You might need to give me instructions. It says here that SatNav tries to take you on the interstate, not the old route.”

  They headed back to the car and Martha eased her way cautiously from the parking lot to the road. Her lip was caught between her teeth and her knuckles were white on the wheel.

  Kathleen wondered what she could do to help the girl relax.

  “Tell me a little about yourself.”

  “Oh—” If anything the question seemed to add to Martha’s tension. “I’m pretty boring. Nothing to tell.”

  “You live with your parents?”

  “Yes.”

  “And is that a harmonious arrangement?”

  “Harmonious? Oh, you mean do we get on? Yes.” She slowed as they reached an intersection. “Actually no, not really.”

  Having discovered that Martha didn’t need much encouragement to talk, Kathleen shamelessly encouraged her. “It can’t be easy. A girl like you needs independence.”

  “Needing independence and being able to afford independence are unfortunately not the same thing. Do I go right up ahead?”

  Kathleen checked the map. “Yes.” She waited until Martha made the turn. “Are you close to your mother?”

  “No. Are you close to Liza?”

  Kathleen wished she hadn’t asked the question. “We have a satisfactory relationship.” That was true on her part. Probably not true for Liza, but she had no intention of discussing such an intimate topic with anyone. “Have you never been close to your mother?”

  “No. She prefers my older sister.”

  That humble confession startled Kathleen. She’d undoubtedly failed in many areas of parenting, but she was confident that if she’d had more than one child, she would have failed them equally. She wouldn’t have had a favorite.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. If I had money for every time she says Why can’t you be more like your sister, I would have been able to afford a more interesting life.”

  “What exactly does your sister do that makes her so worthy of your mother’s approval?”

  “She makes good choices.”

  “Choices, surely, are subjective and only the person who makes those choices can comment on the quality of those decisions, and usually with the benefit of hindsight?”

  “Not in my house.” The road opened up and Martha drove a little faster. “Commenting on choices is a free-for-all, providing it’s my choices we’re talking about and doing it in real time is considered normal. And she’s probably not wrong. I was doing English at college until Nanna got ill.”

  Became ill, Kathleen thought, but managed not to interrupt the conversation with the correction. It was the curse of being a presenter, and of being married to an English teacher.

  “What happened?”


  “I came home to look after her. My mother thought I’d lost it of course, but Nanna was like a mother to me. I adored her, and not only because she made the most spectacular chocolate cake and always encouraged me to be myself. She was kind. Not enough people are kind. She never once made me feel bad about myself and I miss her horribly, even after all this time.” There was a crack in her voice and Kathleen felt a flicker of alarm.

  She was interested in hearing more about Martha, but not if the revelations came with tears. She’d wanted to unlock facts, not emotions.

  She reached across and patted Martha’s leg awkwardly. “Your grandmother was lucky to have someone like you.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” Now that the roads were quieter, Martha seemed more relaxed. “I suppose in a way my mother isn’t wrong. I have struggled to get a job, although I don’t know for sure that finishing college would have helped. I probably would have ended up with even more debt and no salary to pay it off. It’s tough out there, whether you’re a graduate or not.”

  Kathleen was relieved to see that Martha was back in control. “What would you like to do if you had a choice?”

  “I loved working in the coffee shop, but it wasn’t the coffee part as much as the people. I liked chatting. I suppose if there was a job for a professional chatter I’d apply for that.” She grinned at Kathleen. “Vice President of Chatting. Does that exist? Hey—” she pointed “—that’s a pretty gas station by that Route 66 sign. We should stop and take your photo and send it to Liza.” She pulled over and Kathleen dutifully posed for a photograph.

  Martha, she thought, needed to get a job that paid enough for her to be able to afford her own place.

  “Where shall I stand?”

  “Right there is good. So if you were presenting a program from here, what would you say? I’ll video you—” Martha hit a couple of buttons on her phone and held it up. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Ready for whatever it is you do. Take one. Action. Rolling, rolling, rolling.”