Dying to Know You Read Online Free

isn’t that far, surely? An hour’s drive, an hour and a half.”
    “Too far to cycle and have much time there. And with public transport on a Sunday, train and bus, then a bit of a walk, not to mention getting back …”
    He wasn’t hinting, just making a statement of fact.
    Now it was my turn to ponder. I knew that if we were to go on meeting, it shouldn’t always be at my place. Too restricting and a bit too formal. He was a guest, on his best behaviour. Besides I needed a change, wanted to get out, have some company, and not with old friends who knew me so well the conversation would be predictable and on a topic I wanted to avoid, but with someone who didn’t know me and was refreshing.
    But how to make a suggestion without having to explain this?
    I decided to take a chance and hoped it wouldn’t backfire.
    By then Karl was ready to go.
    “Look,” I said. “I had an attack of sciatica recently.”
    “My boss had that last year. Off work for a few weeks. Very painful, he said.”
    “Very. I’m on the mend, but it still hurts to drive. I’m OK as a passenger. But driving any distance isn’t on. You’re a learner driver, I think you said, and must need to practise, so why don’t we take my car, you driving?”
    “Do you fish?”
    “No.”
    “Won’t you be bored? When I’m fishing, I forget the time.”
    “I’ll read. Take a walk. And I like just sitting and looking at the view.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You’d be doing me a favour.”
    “Ah … I get it. One good turn.”
    “Quid pro quo.”
    “OK. If you’re certain.”
    “I’m certain.”
    “What if the weather’s bad? I’ll still fish.”
    “So the weather’s bad.”
    “You can’t drive to the river. You have to walk down some pretty steep tracks through the woods.”
    “Walking is good for sciatica.”
    He gave me one of his assessing looks.
    I said, “Range Rover Sports SE.”
    That clinched it.
    “Cool! But only if I pay for the petrol.”
    “Agreed. Think you can handle the Rover?”
    “No problem. I’m good at the practical. It’s the theory I fail.”
    “OK,” I said. “I’ll bring the food. A deal?”
    “See you Sunday.”
    “Would eight o’clock be too early?”
    “Earlier if you like. I’m always on the go by seven.”
    “Seven thirty?”
    “I’ll be ready.”

KARL HAD PRINTED OUT FROM THE INTERNET A SET OF large-scale maps, marking with highlighter our journey to the spot on the Wye where he wanted to fish.
    Meticulous, neat, well prepared, the pages inserted into the transparent envelopes of a presentation book.
    After the maps, a few pages on rainbow trout, the geography, geology and history of the river.
    A man after my own heart: preparation, order and information. The job neatly laid out before setting to.
    Karl gave me a quick smile:
    “Something for you to read if you get bored.”
    “Good of you to think of it.”
    “Well, if you don’t fish … And it’s an all-day job.”
    “I’ve brought my laptop.”
    “You’re writing a book?”
    I wasn’t, but didn’t want to explain why.
    “There’s some eBooks on it. I’ll not be bored.”
    “And if it rains?”
    “I’ll go back to the car.”
    We drove through Gloucester, over the Severn, and on towards Ross-on-Wye. In silence. Which suited me, as I’m never talkative early in the day, and Karl seemed content to concentrate on his driving, getting used to the Rover, judging speed and distance still not second nature. But I felt safe, the way you do instantly with some drivers, even when they’re learning.
    It was also a pleasure to be a passenger, able to shift about in my seat to ease the sciatica, and look at the countryside.
    Sunday morning early. Very little moving on the road once we were away from the city.
    I could sense Karl settling in, and driving with increasing confidence. Loving the car, its power and strength and robust sleekness.
    “You said you’d failed the theory part of the driving test?”
    “Four