Hazard had borrowed the minibus from Mummy’s Little Helper for the day. Monica had, he’d discovered, never learned to drive, having spent her life in London with its plethora of public transport options, and the village was miles away from any train station, so he was playing chauffeur. One of the mums had stuck a big sign on the back saying DRIVER HAZARD, which was hilarious. Not.
He pulled up on the double yellow lines outside Monica’s Café and hooted.
“Is that you with your hazards on, Hazard?” said Monica. He hadn’t heard that one before either. He did a slow wolf whistle.
“Monica, you look like a buttercup! A particularly sexy buttercup!” he said, as she climbed into the passenger seat wearing a bright-yellow shift dress and matching wide-brimmed hat. “I don’t think I’ve seen you wearing anything other than black, white, or navy before.”
“Well, I do like to make an effort sometimes,” she replied, looking rather chuffed, he thought. “And look at you, all dandy in a morning suit. You’ve even trimmed that beard, if I’m not mistaken.” She said “beard” in a way that implied ironic air quotes. “Here, I’ve got takeaway coffee for the journey. Yours is a large latte, full-fat milk. I know I’m right,” she said, gesturing at the brown paper bag she was holding.
“Bang on, thank you,” he said, oddly thrilled that she’d remembered his coffee order. “And I have Rowntree’s Fruit Gums. Help yourself. Don’t hold back—I bought a family pack, the ones shaped like little fruits. Always liked those.”
As they motored down the M3, they relaxed into an easy banter.
“Are you excited?” he asked.
“Not really. I find weddings rather depressing. Marriage—it’s only a piece of paper, and the divorce statistics are shocking. Waste of time and money, frankly.”
“Really?” he asked, surprised.
“No, of course not, really! You’ve read my story, haven’t you? Nothing I like better than a happy ending and a good old wedding.”
Then, apropos of nothing, Monica piped up with, “Hazard. I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time when you arrived. I was embarrassed. And I thought you were just some lazy, trust fund kid who liked meddling around in other people’s lives, feeling superior.”
“Ouch. No wonder you hated me,” Hazard said. “I’ve always earned my own money, actually. My parents are solidly middle class, but spent every penny of their savings sending me to a posh private school where I was teased mercilessly for being the only boy whose house had a number, not a name, and who turned right on an aeroplane, instead of left.”
“So what did you do before the gardening business?” asked Monica.
“I was in the City. Trading. I suspect now that I chose that career because I was fed up with always being the least rich person in the room. I guess you didn’t read my story in the book, did you? Riley didn’t tell you?”
“No, he’s quite sensitive like that, Riley. He’d leave it to you to tell me. So, what did you write, if you don’t mind me asking? You have read my story after all.”
“Er, I wrote about how I was done with the City, was taking some time off to get my head together, and wanted to find a career that was more rewarding and fulfilling,” he said, which was the absolute truth, but definitely not the whole truth. There was a huge great elephant in the minibus, sitting between them and crushing the gear stick. Monica was, however, the last person in the world he wanted to discuss his addiction with. She was so decent and clean and shiny, and talking about it all was so grubby. Monica made him feel like a better person, and he didn’t want to remind himself that he wasn’t. He suspected that she’d never so much as taken a toke on a joint. And good for her.
“And now you have! I swear that book works magic. Look at Julian, with all his hundreds of new friends, and you with a successful new business. I’m so impressed with how you’ve built it up so quickly. You’ve done a great job.”
Hazard glowed with pride. He wasn’t used to feeling good about himself, or other people complimenting him. “Well, I’ve been trying to do things properly, for once. Like you do. You’re a really good businessperson—creative, hardworking, and a great boss. Plus, you have principles.” Was he laying it on a bit thick? Hazard always found himself trying a bit too hard with Monica. He wasn’t sure why; it wasn’t like him at all.
“How do you mean?” asked Monica.
“Well, for example, if a customer really, really pisses you off, do you ever spit in their food? Just to get them back?” asked Hazard. Monica looked horrified.
“Of course not! That would be horribly unhygienic and, most probably, illegal. If it isn’t illegal, it bloody well should be.”
“And if you drop some food on the floor in the kitchen, but it lands the right way up, do you just put it back on the plate, or would you throw it away?”
“You can’t put food that’s been on the floor back on the plate! Think of the bacteria,” said Monica.
“You see. You have standards.”
“Don’t you?” she asked.
“Oh yes, of course I do. But they’re low. Barely off the ground.”
“Hazard,” Monica said, glaring at the dashboard, “you’re going well over the speed limit.”
“Oops, sorry,” he replied, giving the brake pedal a token squeeze. “I’m afraid I have a tiny problem with rules. You show me a rule, I want to break it. I have never stayed within the speed limit—literally or metaphorically.”
“We really are total opposites, aren’t we?” said Monica. “I love a good rule, me.”
“Yellow car,” said Hazard, as he overtook a garish Peugeot 205. Monica stared at him, nonplussed.
“Didn’t your family ever play ‘yellow car’?” he asked her.
“Er, no. How do you play?”
“Well, whenever you see a yellow car, you say ‘yellow car,’” Hazard explained.
“And how do you win?” asked Monica.
“No one ever really wins,” he said, “because the game never ends. It just goes on forever.”
“It’s not exactly intellectually stimulating, is it?” said Monica.
“Well, how did you keep yourself amused on family car journeys then?” asked Hazard.
“I had a notebook and I’d write down the license plates of cars as we passed them,” she said.
“Why?” asked Hazard.
“In case I saw the same one again.”
“And did you?”
“No,” she said.
“Well, I think I’ll stick with yellow car, thanks. So, has The Authenticity Project worked its magic for you, too?”
“Well, yes,” she replied. “In a way, it’s saved my business. Setting up the art class led to lots of other weekly evening events, and then Alice and Julian keep featuring the café on Instagram and bringing in loads of new customers. I might even have to hire an extra barista. Before I found the book, I thought by now the bank would have pulled the plug and I’d have lost the café, and my life savings with it.”
“That’s amazing,” he said. Then, more tentatively, “And did the book sort out your love life, too? Is everything good now with you and Riley?” He hoped she didn’t think him too nosey.
“Well, we’re just playing it by ear. Going with the flow. Seeing what happens,” she said.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” said Hazard, “but I’d never have associated any of those expressions with you.”
“I know, right?” she said with a grin. “I’m trying to be more easygoing. I have to say, it’s a bit of a challenge.”
“But Riley’s leaving in a few months, isn’t he?” said Hazard. “Early June?”
“Yes, but he’s asked me to go with him,” she said.
“And are you going?” Hazard asked.
“You know, at the moment I have absolutely no idea, which is a most unusual situation to find myself in,” she replied.
“It must be so easy to be Riley,” said Hazard.
“Why?”
“You know, walking through life in such a happy-go-lucky way, seeing everything so simply and two-dimensionally,” said Hazard. “Yellow car.”
“I know you don’t mean to, but you make him sound like an imbecile,” said Monica. And he didn’t mean to, of course he didn’t.
Monica slipped off her high heels and rested her narrow feet on the dashboard. Just that one casual movement showed Hazard how much she’d changed.
“I’ve changed quite a lot since I met Riley,” she said, as if she’d read his mind.
“Well, don’t change too much, will you?” said Hazard. Monica said nothing.
They drove for another hour, the roads becoming narrower and less busy, and concrete giving way to nature.
“Hey, according to Google Maps we have reached our destination!” said Monica, as they drove into the kind of perfectly formed village that would give a Hollywood location scout paroxysms of excitement. Bells were ringing joyfully from the honey-colored stone church. “I didn’t think the Church did gay weddings yet.”
“They don’t, but they did the legal marriage yesterday at the town hall, and this is a blessing. I imagine it’ll look just like a traditional wedding, just slightly different words,” he replied.
They parked the car and followed the well-dressed crowd toward the church entrance.