"Don't worry about all that stuff Mum, we'll sort everything out for you. Doug'll get all the money side organised, I'll go through Dad's clothes and stuff with you, and Doug can sell the car."
"Leave the car please."
"Why? When either of us come back we'll have our own cars with us."
"I know. I just want you to leave it for now. No, you can help me get the ownership transferred into my name, is that difficult?"
"No, it's not difficult, but why would you want to? You don't drive so it's just going to be sat there as a drain on your money."
"I'm going to learn." Susan and Doug looked at each other, and turned back to their mother with carefully composed expressions of concerned patience.
Doug spoke slowly, as if he were addressing a particularly dim brexshiteer. "Why do you want to learn now, after all this time? We think it might be a bit risky... you know?"
"At my time of life?" snapped Sheila.
"Yes, well no, well, it is quite ... late..." His voice trailed away. When his mum looked at him like that he felt about six again.
"Mum..." Susan tried to add her voice, but was swiftly cut off.
"I've thought about this and I know what I want to do. Stop treating me as if I'm senile and decrepit."
"But it's so soon after..." She was cut off almost immediately.
"And I'm still in shock from Rob's death? Of course I am, but this is something I decided a long time ago. When he was gone, if he went before me, I'd finally get the freedom I've wanted." Her forty-something children looked at her with a mixture of surprise, sympathy and sheepishness. "You probably don't even know that I took lessons long before either of you appeared. But your father rubbished my attempts to the point where I lost all my confidence and gave up. Never tried again. He was always there to take me where I needed to go, or at least to the places he said I needed to go. I'm going to be able to make my own decisions now. I have plans."
Any further objections were firmly suppressed and her children knew they were beaten. They'd do what they could to help and advise, but there was no doubt about who was in charge.
Three weeks after the funeral Sheila had her first lesson. Hamish, the instructor, was an old friend so he'd been able to slot her in early. Between lessons she pestered everyone she knew to ride shotgun while she learned to take charge of Rob's old Alfa. And even she wondered why she felt so confident, so determined, so capable. Friends and family had to get to grips with this new Sheila, who had opinions of her own and goals in her life.
She passed. First time. Hamish beamed. Almost as much as Sheila. After the first outings he'd never doubted her, had seen how quickly she took to driving, how much she'd absorbed in all those decades in the passenger seat.
Back home she wanted to go out in the Alfa. Was tempted by the idea of going it alone, going solo. But there was another temptation too. Art Baker, a widower who lived a few doors down on the other side, had been one of her most enthusiastic shotgun riders. Maybe he'd like to go for a spin? She savoured the cliche in her mind.
He would. They did. And together they planned a road trip. Rob had hated the idea of road trips, so they'd never gone. She looked forward to telling Susan and Doug.
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