The journey was tedious. Six long hours on an endless motorway and Reg refused to stop. Not even for the toilet! He’d just done a course on mindfulness and stubbornly believed that the only way to commit to an activity was to focus on it completely without straying for a moment, even for something as essential as a loo break.
But then he saw the writing. It was hard not to really. ‘The Pies’ was bold and brazen and scrawled on the bridge overhead. Reg speeded up slightly when we went underneath and his face changed.
‘What time is it?’ he said.
‘1.30.’ I didn’t need to look at my watch.
‘Hmm,’ he replied and kept on driving, but when he saw the next ‘Services’ sign, he indicated left.
‘I thought we were’t taking a break,’ I said.
‘Just a short one.’ His face was deadpan. ‘I’m rather peckish, aren’t you?’
I nodded, quietly delighted.
I picked up a sandwich in Costa, then watched in amazement as Reg strode over to a pasty shop where he stuffed a steak and kidney pie into his mouth.
‘I’d forgotten how much I loved them,’ he said between mouthfuls. Then he ordered another.
‘One for the road,’ he said.
This post was written for Sunday Photo Fiction