She had always lusted after one.
The soft-topped sports coupe. The epitome of capitalist, materialistic, decadent independence.
When their upwardly mobile circumstances had allowed, he had mentioned the possibility in terms of the Company car but they could never agree on the make, let alone which model.
The banana yellow Audi TT described by the guys on Top Gear as a sheep in wolf’s clothing for its under-performance; the silver BMW Z8 Pierce Brosnan’s James Bond had driven were her favourites but he was a Jaguar man… or an Aston Martin. Big, heavy male speed machines as opposed to the delicate continental models.
They almost compromised on a Porsche until her practical side had fought its way to the fore with the question of whether it could accommodate their golf clubs or designer shopping bags, so they had gone for something bigger and more useful.
As time marched on and motherhood enveloped her in its all-encompassing embrace, the roofless sports convertible came to represent freedom in a Thelma and Louise, headscarved, sunglasses and sisterhood kind of way. The liberating possibility of a tussle with Brad Pitt in a secluded motel room and leaving this mundane mortal coil in a death-defying, electrifying blaze of glory.
Climbing into yet another family-friendly behemoth that spoke of play-dates, responsibility and the monster weekly shop at Sainsburys, she subjugated once again that tiny part of her that screamed out for emancipation and knuckled down to being the perfect wife and mother.
Until the day came when the children were grown and a landmark birthday and anniversary in the same year brought the gift. A set of keys lying on the table, a bright red girlie soft-top sitting on the drive.
Tears choked the back of her throat as her fingers reached out to touch, just once, the symbol of her independence.
And yet, to take the keys was to accept that she could endure another 25 years in a sterile vacuum of emotional repression and, for the first time ever, there was no doubt left in her mind that this was simply how it had to be.
So, a few hours later, with a heavy sigh, she scrunched the keys in her palm before jangling them from their loop and placing them, regretfully, on top of the signed papers.
Closing the door behind her, she walked away from the present and climbed into a waiting taxi.
She chose freedom.
Recent Bites