Dying to Know You Read Online Free Page A

times.”
    “But you don’t have to write anything, do you? Isn’t it all multiple choice questions or ticks in boxes?”
    “There’s more to it than that. Didn’t score enough marks. So I was failed.”
    “There was none of that stuff when I did my test. But that was fifty years ago! And you can’t take the practical test on the road till you’ve passed the theory?”
    “Right.”
    “Aren’t there theory tests on the internet for practice?”
    “Yes.”
    “Don’t you do them?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “Bloody-mindedness.”
    “What?”
    “It’s stupid. I don’t do them because I know I can pass the test. The trouble is I go to pieces when I know it’s a test. I hate tests. I always fail. So I don’t do the practice tests because I know I’d pass them easy. They’re not a proper test. And the examiner isn’t breathing down my neck.”
    I knew exactly what he meant because I was the same.
    I didn’t pursue the topic. The irritation in his voice was a warning, and I didn’t want to spoil the pleasure of the day.
    Silence again for a few miles before Karl said:
    “Can I ask you something?”
    “Sure.”
    “You said you’ve been married over forty years.”
    I said, “That’s right.” Adding quickly to avoid more questions, “Did you give Fiorella the letter we wrote?”
    He nodded, eyes firmly on the road.
    “And?”
    “She asked why I wrote about rugby first.”
    “And you said?”
    “Easiest to start with.”
    “Have you decided what to write about next?”
    “I haven’t. But Fiorella has.”
    “Which is?”
    “Love.”
    “Love!”
    “She wants to know what I think love is.”
    I couldn’t help a burst of laughter.
    “Sorry! But she certainly goes for the jugular.”
    Now Karl laughed.
    “What are you going to say?”
    “Dunno. Googled it to find out.”
    This time I managed to keep a straight face.
    “Any use?”
    “Pages of the stuff. Loads of sections with titles like ‘personal love,’ and ‘interpersonal love,’ and ‘cultural views,’ and ‘religious views,’ and ‘how to love.’ It even had one called ‘warnings.’”
    “Warnings like what?”
    “You must love yourself before you can love another. There’s always a risk of getting hurt. Don’t ask for love and don’t force love, and—”
    But he couldn’t go on because by now we were both bubbling with laughter.
    I managed to say, “Not much help, then?”
    “About the same as for plumbing a loo.”
    “How d’you mean?”
    “Easier to find out how to do it by doing it than by reading the manual. Every job is different. The instructions are too general. They don’t allow for the quirks.”
    When we’d calmed down, I said, “Must have been a bit of help, though.”
    “Nar! I mean, I already knew love is supposed to be like it said. A strong emotion. Feeling attached to somebody. Wanting to be with them all the time. But the bit I liked best was where it said it’s impossible to define love because it takes so many forms and is so complicated.”
    “Like plumbing a loo.”
    “Exactly.”
    “But,” I said, “when you think of all the books there are on the subject, and the thousands, probably millions, of stories there are about love, you’d think we would know everything there is to know.”
    “Can’t say I’ve read that many.”
    “No, but still, the fact is, at least this is how it seems to me, everybody has to learn about it from scratch for themselves. And we all make the same mistakes time and again while we’re learning.”
    “Like me learning to read.”
    “But not when you were learning to plumb a loo.”
    “No, I was pretty good at that from the off.”
    “Every man to his last.”
    “His what?”
    “His own trade. The thing he’s best at.”
    “Like you’re best at writing?”
    “I’m glad you think so.”
    “Not that I’ve read anything you’ve written.”
    “And I haven’t had the pleasure of your plumbing my loo.”
    “Anytime. You only have to