The Driving Issue

The Driving Issue

'Why do you always have to drive?'

Bryan Sandford sat with his hands on the steering wheel and groaned. It was bad enough to be spending his precious Sunday making the ninety-minute drive to his parents-in-law without having this fight again. But once Becky had strapped their one-year-old daughter into the child seat in the back and then sat her butt down in the passenger seat, out it came, regular as clockwork. Bryan waited for his wife to secure her seatbelt, then started the engine.

'Didn't you hear me?' said Becky.

'I heard you.'

'Then why don't you answer?'

'Because there's no answer that will satisfy you.'

Bryan backed out of their small drive onto the street, then drove to the main road which would lead out of town. Becky stared out through the windscreen, shaking her head.

'I'm not asking for "satisfaction",' she said. 'I just want to understand why I never get to drive.'

'You drive the car all the time.'

'Only when it's just me and Tara! And what kind of message does that send her?'

'That both men and women can drive?'

'Yes, but when we're together it's always you. Come on, Bryan! Why are you so threatened by a woman driving the car?'

'Here we go. "Is your masculinity so fragile?" blah-blah-blah...'

'Well, if the shoe fits...'

Bryan checked his mirror. Tara was sucking her fist while staring out the windows with big eyes. Through the rear window, a car was visible behind them. Bryan clicked the indicator light and pulled into a layby at a bus stop.

'You can't park here,' said Becky.

'I'm not parking. I'm stopping.'

Bryan unclipped his seatbelt, the buckle whipping away to the side. He turned to Becky.

'Okay,' he said. 'You drive.'

'Are you sure?' said Becky. 'I mean, we don't want your balls dropping off, do we?'

'I'm sure.'

Bryan got out. Becky undid her seatbelt and shifted over to the driver's seat as Bryan walked around the car. She was just securing the seatbelt when the back door opened and Bryan got in next to Tara.

'What are you doing?' said Becky.

'Getting in the car.'

'You can't sit there!'

'Why not?'

'Bryan, I am not driving with you in the back! I'm your wife, not your mother!'

'Oh, come on! Is your womanhood so fragile that you can't be seen with a man sitting with the children?'

'Bryan!'

Bryan gave Tara a tickle on her belly, then leaned forward into the gap between the two front seats. When he spoke, he lowered his voice.

'Becky, you wanted the driver's seat,' he said. 'Well, now you've got it. But that doesn't mean I have to sit in the passenger seat.'

'I sit in the passenger seat all the bloody time!'

'Oh, so you felt humiliated and now you want to humiliate me?'

'No!'

'Well then. I'll stay here with our daughter and you can drive.' Bryan looked around. 'And you'd better get going--there's a bus coming up behind us.'

'Fuck!'

'Fok...' said Tara from the back.

'Shit!' said Becky, then clamped a hand over her mouth.

Bryan sat back smiling and secured his rear seatbelt. Becky clicked on the indicator light and pulled the car out into the road.

***

The ninety-minute drive took place in near silence, unless you count the radio. Tara dozed off in the child seat and Bryan soon followed her example, his head resting against the rear passenger window. Becky meanwhile sat in the driver's seat, eyes fixed on the road, hands fixed on the steering wheel, in a state of such nervous tension that she had a headache by the time they arrived at her parents' house. Becky's mother took her straight to the guest room for a lie-down while Bryan dealt with everything Tara related.

Bryan joined his father-in-law for a cup of tea as Tara sat playing with the toys her grandparents kept specially for her. After a while, Becky's mother joined them and she suggested they go for a walk in the park. Bryan fetched Tara's folded pushchair from the boot of the car, but after setting it up, his mother-in-law suggested he stay at the house.

'We'll be fine with Tara,' she said. 'Have some alone time with Becky.'

'I think she needs some alone time from me.'

'No, she doesn't.'

Becky's mother gave his arm a squeeze, then went off to prepare for the walk. As Bryan watched the older couple take his burbling little girl away, her finger pointing at this and that, he marvelled at how things had changed. Becky's parents used to hate leaving their daughter alone with him. Now they did it all the time. Bryan wondered what Becky had told them, especially her mother.

Virtually the entire house was carpeted, so Bryan left his shoes by the front door and went silently up the staircase. He stood before the closed door of the guest room and gave a soft double knock with the knuckle of his middle finger.

'Fuck off!'

Bryan sighed. There were two kinds of 'fuck off' with Becky. The first meant 'Leave me alone!' and the second meant 'I'm angry with you and I want you to stick around so I can show you just how angry I am!' Bryan knew that this was the second kind of 'fuck off', but he resented Becky's expectation that he should know the difference, so he stood silent by the door and pretended not to know what she wanted.

'Bryan?!'

There was the shout, thought Bryan, regular as clockwork. Whoever came up with the idea that women were unpredictable had never been married to one. He counted to three, then turned the handle and went in.

Becky lay fully clothed on top of a made double bed, the curtains closed, a white flannel covering her eyes and forehead. She lifted the flannel a tad to peer at the man as he came in and quietly closed the door. She looked miserable and pissed off and Bryan had to hold back a sigh of satisfaction. Whenever Becky got her way, it was a point of pride to make her victory over him as unpleasant as possible; judging by her expression, he had certainly succeeded with the driving issue. As Becky looked at him from the gap under the flannel, Bryan had the feeling she knew it too.

'Why didn't you come in?' she said.

'You told me to fuck off.'

The moment he said it, he knew he'd gone too far. Becky's expression went from misery to contempt and she lowered the flannel back over her eyes.

'Fuck off,' she said quietly.

This was the first kind of 'fuck off'. It was unmistakeable. Bryan suddenly felt ashamed and he sat down on the bed.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'That was unnecessary.'

Becky lay on her back, unmoving, silent. Then her shoulders began to shake, her mouth stretched downwards and she began to cry. Bryan lay on the bed beside her and the moment she felt his arms take her into an embrace, her crying became full on sobbing. Bryan lay on his back as he held her, whispering, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry' into her ear. She had damp hair sticking to her forehead from the flannel and Bryan brushed it away and kissed the cool skin.

As he held his wife and rubbed her back, the emotional storm seemed to pass. Becky lay with her head on the soft place between his chest and his shoulder, and she let out a long, deep sigh.

'Oh, Bryan,' she said. 'Why do you have to be such a dick?'

'Why do you have to be so controlling?'

'I'm not controlling! I just want you to keep your promise!'

'When did I promise to sit in the passenger seat of the car?'

Becky let out a frustrated groan, as though Bryan was deliberately missing the point. She put a hand on the other side of his chest, fingers spread, as though extracting a memory from it.

'When you asked me to marry you,' said Becky, 'I made it very clear that I did not want to end up as the Little Woman at Home. That I wanted to be taken seriously as an equal partner.'

'You think I don't take you seriously?'

'Bryan, all I've done for an entire year is look after a baby!'

'Yes, our daughter! That's fucking important!'

'Don't do that, Bryan. Just don't.'

Becky pushed herself up and sat away from her husband. Bryan sat up himself and stared at her in confusion. Becky felt the flannel in her hand, then pressed it against the back of her neck. She looked at Bryan's expression and shook her head.

'Don't give me that look,' she said. 'We both know how much you like having me as a housewife, cooking all the bloody meals. The reason you keep telling me what a great job I'm doing as a mother is to try and keep me in my place.'

'That is not true!'

'Yeah, of course you'll deny it. But I'm warning you, Bryan, it's not going to work. As soon as Tara is old enough to go to a creche, I'm going to have a career too. And I expect you to keep your promise to do your fair share of the "woman's" work.'

Becky squeezed the flannel, then frowned at it. She held it out to her husband.

'Could you do me a favour and run this under a cold tap?' she said.

'Of course,' said Bryan, taking the flannel. 'And listen, I think that--'

'Bryan, please! I have a splitting headache! Don't I have the right to a little peace and quiet without having to listen to you all the time?'

Bryan glared at his wife, resisting the temptation to hurl the flannel against the wall. There were times when he couldn't take his eyes off Becky and there were times when he could barely stand the sight of her. This was one of those latter times. Without a word, he got off the bed and headed to the door. Becky lay back on the bed in the identical position she had been in when he entered.

'Bryan,' she said as he stood in the doorway.

'Yes?'

'Remember to wring it out properly. I need it damp, not dripping.'

'Yes, dear.'

'And fuck off with the sarcasm.'

'Of course, dear.'

Becky winced as though he were inflicting actual pain on her, one forearm over her eyes. Bryan looked down at her, his expression a mask of judgement, then he left the room and quietly closed the door.

***

When Becky's parents got back with Tara, the whole family sat around the oval dining table to have a kind of high tea with scones and homemade jam. Tara was being adorable, of course. Becky saw how much her parents loved being doting grandparents and she knew she should be happy about that, but she wasn't. She wanted to shout, 'What about me? I'm married to a dickhead and you don't even see it!' To make matters worse, Bryan seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. He had made such a fuss about losing his precious Sunday visiting her parents and now he was the one having a good time? It was so unfair!

When evening came and it was time to go home, Becky had a plan to give her infuriatingly cheerful husband a little well-deserved payback. She wanted her parents to see the real Bryan and she knew exactly what to target. Her parents were standing by the car, her mother holding Tara as Bryan put the folded pushchair back into the boot. Becky took the car-key from her pocket and dangled it from her middle finger.

'Oh, by the way...' she said to Bryan. 'I'll be driving us home.'

'Sure,' said Bryan with a shrug.

Becky stared at him. He had said it with such nonchalance, as though he let her drive all the time! Bryan opened the rear door and Becky's mother handed Tara over to him. Becky couldn't let it rest.

'And you're sitting in the passenger seat!' she said.

'Well, I won't fit in the boot, will I?' said Bryan.

Her parents laughed. Bryan disappeared into the car to strap Tara into her child seat and Becky realised that she was in danger of sounding like a crazy person. Worse, she still had a headache and didn't actually want to drive, but now she couldn't get out of it without looking like an idiot. Damn that man!

The final goodbyes were said, seatbelts were secured, and Becky turned on the engine and the headlights. She drove the car away, out of the village where her parents lived and onto the winding country roads that would eventually lead to the motorway and home. Tara fell asleep within minutes of leaving the village and Bryan pushed his seat all the way back for maximum legroom. It was dark in the car, but Becky could still see in her peripheral vision her husband folding his arms and settling back for a snooze.

'Typical man!' she said. 'You go to sleep while I do all the work!'

'You wanted to drive,' said Bryan.

'Yes, but that doesn't mean I want to do it alone!'

'What am I supposed to do?'

'You could keep me company!'

Becky heard a quiet but deeply heartfelt sigh from her husband. It felt like a stab to her emotions and tears sprang into her eyes. When she spoke, the sob was audible in her throat.

'Well, thank you, Bryan!' she said. 'It's nice to know that my husband thinks talking to me is a chore!'

'Talking to you is fine. Being nice to you is a chore.'

'Oh, being nice to me is a chore, is it?!'

'Not so loud, Becky.'

Becky tried to lower her voice and shout at the same time.

'Fuck you!' she hissed. 'You're the one who's a chore!'

'I know,' said Bryan. 'But at least I'm honest about it.'

'No, you're not!'

'Okay, fine. You're right, I'm wrong. I concede all arguments. Anything else?'

Becky wanted to rip the steering wheel out of its mount. This was one of Bryan's favourite arguing techniques and she hated it. It was like playing chess against someone who randomly resigns their king in the middle of a game. A tear from her previous upset ran down her face, but by this time she was angry rather than hurt.

'You're a coward, Bryan.'

'No, I'm a pragmatist.'

'How so?'

'Because I recognise that there is no point talking to someone who has zero interest in what I have to say.'

'That's not true!'

'Okay, fine. You're right, I'm wrong. I concede all--'

'Bryan, stop it!'

Bryan sat with jaw clenched, staring out into the darkness of the road. They passed a sign which showed two miles to the motorway, which meant that there was still roughly an hour left of this drive home. Could he sit for an hour in uncomfortable silence?

Damn right he could!

Bryan knew that he could get Becky out of her funk if he wanted to. He'd done it earlier in the guest room. But why should he? Why should he? If their situation were reversed and he was the one in a bad mood, Becky would just be saying, 'Snap out of it! Snap out of it!' over and over again. When Becky was pregnant, everyone kept saying how difficult it was to be a parent, but Bryan was finding it infinitely easier than being a husband.

The motorway approach signs gleamed in the darkness. Becky navigated a tricky roundabout, weaving amongst cars and lorries that were all trying to find the right lanes. Then they joined a motorway with reasonably light traffic and Becky drove along the second lane at speed. From now on, it was virtually a straight run to home. Becky cleared her throat.

'Are you just going to sit there?' she said.

'That's kind of what a passenger does.'

'Awww...' said Becky in her Mummy voice. 'Does Daddy's ego still hurt?'

Bryan resisted the urge to swear at her. He took a deep breath and waited for his subconscious to deliver something with more bite.

'You know, to be honest, I do enjoy driving the car,' he said. 'To sit in the driver's seat with my wife by my side and my child in the back... yeah, it does make me feel like a man. And I honestly don't know what to do about the fact that I'm married to a woman whose main source of happiness is depriving me of that feeling.'

'That's a horrible thing to say!'

'What happened to "It's not true"?'

'Well, it's not true!'

'Try that again, Becky. And this time, with more conviction in your voice.'

Becky's mouth opened and shut as she stared at the road. She wanted to scream abuse but couldn't because Tara was in the back. Bryan took advantage of the moment.

'You always say you want equality,' he said. 'But whenever you get it, it never makes you happy. The only time I see the light of true happiness in your eyes is when something important has been taken from me.'

Becky snapped on the indicator light and simultaneously moved to the first lane. It was a sudden manoeuvre and the car she cut in front of blatted its horn. Bryan grabbed at the handle above the door.

'What the hell are you doing?' he cried.

'You win, Bryan.'

'You can't stop on the fucking motorway!'

'Don't be ridiculous,' said Becky. 'That's what the hard shoulder is for.'

'It's for breakdowns and emergencies!'

'Well, this qualifies as both.'

Becky drove the car onto the hard shoulder and slowed the car to a stop. She pressed the hazard lights--flash-flash, flash-flash--and unlocked her seatbelt, the buckle swishing off to the side. Cars whooshed past on the motorway at frightening speed, but she ignored them. Instead, Becky stared at Bryan, the red of the flashing light reflected in her eyes.

'You wanna be the "Man"?' she jeered. 'Fine! You can be the Ma-a-an!'

Becky reached for the door catch. Bryan lunged forward to grab her hand, was jerked back by his seatbelt, and a flailing hand caught his wife across the face. Becky cried out, both her hands going to her eye, as Bryan unclipped his seatbelt and pulled her as far away from the car door as he could manage.

'Let go, you bastard!' cried Becky.

'No!' said Bryan, pinning her to the seat.

'Get off me!'

'Not until you promise not to get out of the car!'

'I'm not fucking driving!'

'Okay! But I'll get out of the car and go around myself. You are not stepping out of a car on a motorway!'

As if to emphasize the point, a construction lorry thundered past, its wind making the car shudder. Bryan pressed his forehead against the side of Becky's head.

'You're a pain-in-the-arse, woman!' he said. 'But I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you.'

Becky stopped struggling. Traffic still whooshed past and yet there was a kind of peace in the car. Bryan felt Becky shift under his arms. When she spoke, the strident edge in her voice was gone.

'It's okay, Bryan,' she said. 'I'm not going anywhere.'

Bryan relaxed his grip and moved back. Becky looked up at him. Even in the faint light emanating from the dashboard, he could see the darkening bruise on the cheekbone near his wife's eye socket.

'Oh, Christ, Becky,' he said. 'I didn't mean to--'

'It was an accident,' said Becky, putting her fingertips over his lips. 'I know it was an accident.'

'Even so...'

'Bryan, are you worried that I'm going to hold it against you?'

'Well... that's what we do, isn't it?'

Bryan looked Becky in the eye. Becky looked right back. But for the first time that day--and maybe even several days--there was no judgement in either gaze. And softly, silently, like a change in the light, the man and the woman remembered that they loved each other. Bryan suddenly felt the desire to kiss Becky on the lips. Becky wanted to get home as soon as possible so they could take off their clothes and make love. Both of them seemed slightly abashed by this realisation. Then Bryan glanced past Becky and laughed.

'Oh, my god, look at that!' he said.

Becky turned her head. Tara was still fast asleep, sprawled in her seat, her mouth wide open and a line of drool joining the side of her mouth with her shoulder. Her little chest was gently going up and down, the very picture of unselfconsciousness. Becky took a tissue from her pocket and carefully wiped the toddler's mouth.

'So sweet,' murmured Becky.

'Yeah,' said Bryan. 'Hey, are you sure you don't want to drive?'

'I'm sure.'

'Because I really wouldn't--'

'Bryan, it's fine. I could use a break.'

'Okay.'

Bryan gave his wife a kiss on the forehead, then opened the car door on the side facing a metal barrier and a field.