For Better, For Worse

The letter had triggered it. She encouraged him to believe he had offered to drive her, in case she had a bad turn. 
More fool her when she’d opened her mouth and “Do you know where we’re going?” came out.
“Of course, I know.  I’m driving us there, aren’t I?”
“When the letter came you said you had no idea where it was.”
He harrumphed and muttered about fool women. She turned her head to the window and stared out at the blustery sky.
The crossing was choppy. The boat struggled to land, the chain winched tight before it was clamped and they were let off.
At the top of the road a police car blocked all exits, its blue lights flashing.  Her heart pulsed to its beat. Would he get fed up and turn around? He’d done that when the children were little, refusing to wait even ten minutes for a jam to clear. They’d returned home in tears.
She breathed again as the police cleared the blockage. They turned right at the top, following the road into Stonehouse. Her eyes searched for clues to their destination, desperate for a sign before he snarled at her.
A yellow notice told them to turn right and they were into new territory for them both. The sward of green on her left was welcome as were the town villas on her right.  A masked man waved them down and checked their papers before showing them to a parking spot.
At the barricades they were checked again by masked people.
“Waste of time,” he grumbled.
All too soon they were sat in opposite chairs with their sleeves rolled up.
“This won’t take long,” said another masked man.
A sharp prick and it was all over.
“Glad we got our COVID jabs together?”

© Liz Berg