“Was Romilly happy?” I say curiously. “Is she happy?”
“I can’t ever tell,” says Gus honestly, and I can’t help laughing, half in despair.
“Gus, don’t you think you should be able to tell?”
“I guess.” He thinks for a moment. “I can tell when she’s pleased. But that’s different from happy. She has this amazing energy, Romilly, and for a while that carried us both along. It was like a white heat. It was dazzling. Invigorating. But then…” He shakes his head. “She’s pretty hard work.”
“Did you love her?”
“Love her?” Gus sounds flummoxed, which is all the answer I need. He signals and turns onto the A-road—then he frowns. “Hey, the guy behind is flashing me. Is one of our doors not shut properly?”
“Don’t think so.” I swivel in my seat and look around the car. “Wouldn’t it show up on the dashboard, anyway?”
“Weird.” Gus squints into his rearview mirror. “He’s still doing it. He’s trying to say something too.”
“And those people are waving at us,” I say, as a car passes us. “What’s up? Are we leaking? Should we stop?”
“We’ll be on the dual carriageway in a minute,” says Gus, sounding puzzled. “I’ll find a layby. This is all we need,” he adds with a sigh. “We’ll probably be shockingly late.”
“Gus, you’re doing Romilly a massive favor,” I remind him. “If we’re a bit late, then too bad. Anyway, maybe it’s nothing.”
But as we pull onto the dual carriageway, an entire carload of people in the next lane starts gesticulating violently. I undo my seatbelt, clamber into the backseat, and lean out of the window. The whole family seems to be watching us, agog, from their estate car.
“What?” I shout, and the rear window of the estate car descends.
“On the roof!” comes a disembodied shout. “Violins!”
For a moment I can’t move. Violins? Violins?
“Gus,” I say, in a trembling voice as I sit back down. “Did you by any chance leave the violins on the roof of the car?”
“What?” He jolts. “Shit. No! I…Shit! Did I?”
“You were pretty distracted,” I remind him.
“But I can’t have— Fuck!” He shoots me a wide-eyed look. “No!”
“That’s why everyone’s waving!”
“Oh God.” He’s silent, then swivels his head briefly. “OK, quick, Effie. You need to get them.”
“Do what?”
“Just climb out onto the roof and get them,” he says, almost impatiently. “Simple.”
Simple?
“You climb out on to the roof and get them!” I retort, glaring at him. Then, almost against my will, I lean out of the car again. I pull myself up, using the window frame as leverage, and catch a glimpse of violin case—then a Mercedes zooms past, making me scream and duck back in again.
“There’s not a chance in hell I’m climbing up there,” I say breathlessly. “You’ll have to stop the car.”
“I can’t! If I stop the car, they’ll fly off!”
A snort of laughter rises up through me before I can stop it.
“It’s not funny!” exclaims Gus hotly.
“I know.” I clap a hand over my mouth. “Sorry. It’s very bad. It’s a terrible situation. What do we do?”
“OK. I need to stop gradually,” he says, staring ahead tensely. “Decrease our momentum little by little. Yes. I should be able to work it out. If P is momentum and M is mass—”
“Gus, we’re not in a bloody maths problem!” I erupt, although to be fair, this is exactly like a maths problem. I can even see it on the exam paper: Gus and Effie are driving in a car with two violins balanced on top （see diagram）。
“I’m just trying to think it through!” he snaps back irascibly.
“Well, you’ve forgotten we’re on a dual carriageway! We can’t stop gradually.”
“Shit.” Gus screws up his face. “Shit! This is…OK. Let’s think. Maybe I can turn off at the next exit. Very gently. Before anything happens to them.”
“But how long are they going to balance on the roof for?” I demand. A bump answers my question and we both jump.
“Fuck! That was a violin!”
“Stop the car!”
As Gus frantically signals and pulls off the road onto the verge, there’s another bump. I scramble out of the car and see something black on the road, already meters behind us. As I watch, the tire of a passing lorry crushes it with ease, and I wince.