Alex hoped back in the car. He tucked Melanie into the caravan bed with a bucket by her side. He'd taken the corners too fast, and she begged him to stop after kilometres of a winding road that hugged the coast. The curling waves lapped in her peripheral vision.
The problem with the Great Ocean Road is that there is little room to pull over and very little patience from the cars and trucks behind. Alex thought the car and caravan were going to go over the edge. And Melanie's screams increased with each swerve. The honks from behind pushed her closer to the edge of a full-blown panic attack. And with each rise in the volume of her shrieks, Alex felt the inevitable moment when the wheels would slip off the side. First one wheel and then another would slide down. In a matter of moments later, the car would be airborne and then the smack before they submerge into the ocean.
There, finally, became somewhere where Alex could pull the caravan over. Melanie declared she needed to lie down.
Alex unhitched the caravan and merged into the traffic. Without the caravan, and without Melanie critiquing his every move, Alex can hug the corners and feel the wind in his hair.