Fifth Gear

Of course Megan went up to fifth gear. She did it out on the dual carriageway early one morning when there was nobody else around.

“But it was only for a minute,” she consoles me. “And it was only the once, I swear.”

I look back at her glumly. Fifth gear! Without me! I haven't ever gone over 60 kilometres an hour — even being in fourth gear feels a little reckless to me. I used to have to get the bus, now I just get overtaken by the bus.

“What was it like?” I ask, curious in spite of myself.

“Terrifying," she says. Although she doesn't look terrified. In fact, she looks quite excited.

“Well,” I say. “I hope you never do anything as foolish as that again.”

Megan looks at my cross face and laughs. “Oh, come on,” she says. “We can't spend the rest of our lives driving around like elderly people. Watch out, Granny Annie is on the road again!”

She rummages in her bag for a flyer and hands it to me. DRIVE LIKE A MANIAC, says the headline. ON OUR PURPOSE-BUILT RACE TRACK. Underneath, a picture of two young men leaning on a go-faster-striped Ford Fiesta grin at the camera.

“What do you think?” says Megan, her sudden enthusiasm for speed alarming me.

What do I think? Obviously what I think is that there is no way in hell that “Granny Annie” wants to “drive like a maniac” on a “purpose-built race track” with two young men wearing “baseball caps”. And so I say, in no uncertain terms: “Er, alright then.”

“Great,” says Megan. “I'll book us in.”