Sinbad
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Chapter 166: Driving Forward
🕑 Added 2025-04-04 16:00:22 +0000 UTCJune 25, 2015
..
“Are you okay, babe?” Tristan asked, one hand on the wheel, the other lazily draped over the center armrest. It was early morning as they headed for the DVSA testing centre.
“Yeah,” Barbara replied, adjusting her seatbelt even though it didn’t need adjusting. “I’m fine, maybe a little nervous, but I think I’ll be okay...”
"Don't be nervous," Tristan said, keeping his eyes on the road. "Just remember what John and I taught you - you'll pass the test easily. If you start to feel nervous, just think about what one of us would do."
Barbara laughed at that; honestly, the way John and Tristan taught how to drive was completely different; John had the patience of a saint while Tristan was Tristan.
Barbara smiled and looked out the window. The city blurred past in streaks of grey and green. Her heart was beginning to thump a little harder now — not panic yet, but close.
Tristan noticed her bounce her leg once.
“You’ve been nailing everything in practice,” he said. “Three-point turns, reverse parking, parallel parking under pressure. You even handled that nightmare roundabout near the university.”
“That roundabout’s a portal to hell,” she muttered.
“But you beat it,” Tristan grinned. “You’ve got this. John says you’re ready. I say you’re ready.”
Barbara glanced at him, then looked down at her hands.
“I cancelled Zurich,” she said quietly.
Tristan blinked. “What?”
“The shoot next week,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Told them I needed to stay here. Needed to be with you.”
He frowned. “Love…You already cancelled your trip to the US.”
“You don’t need to say anything. I didn’t do it because you asked. I did it because I know what you’re carrying right now.”
She turned toward him fully, voice steady despite the nerves bubbling under the surface.
“I know how much pressure you’re under—you’ve been trying to be strong for everyone. But I wanted to be here. For you.”
Tristan stayed quiet for a moment, watching the road, then pulled her hand gently into his lap.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I know,” she cut in. “But I wanted to.”
He squeezed her fingers. “I love you.”
Barbara smirked. “I know.”
“Did you just Han Solo me?” Tristan asked, laughing.
She tilted her head. “Too soon?”
“Lady, I bare my soul, and you drop a Star Wars quote on me.”
“Look,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You started the day by making me parallel park uphill on a slope with pedestrians. That was your romantic gesture.”
“That was training.”
Barbara grinned, finally letting herself relax.
..
The car slowed as they approached the DVSA building. It wasn’t glamorous — plain brick, a small sign, a handful of learners standing around nervously — but to Barbara, it looked like a boss battle.
Tristan pulled into a spot, shifted the gear into park, and looked over at her.
“Last chance to bail,” he teased.
Barbara exhaled through her nose, smiling faintly. “Not happening. I need this stupid license; I can’t have you and John drive me everywhere.”
Tristan leaned over, cupped her cheek, and kissed her.
Not a rushed peck — something slower. Calming. His way of saying I’ve got you.
When he pulled back, he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out two black masks. He handed one to her and tugged the other over his own face.
Barbara raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Unless you want to get mobbed by the postman and two teenage boys on scooters,” he muttered, adjusting it over his nose. “It’s like that lately.”
She smiled as she slipped hers on, tucking her hair behind her ears.
Tristan glanced at her. “I always hate it when you cover your face. Even if I get it.”
Barbara blinked, touched. “Why?”
“Because I still want to see you. At least with this,” he nodded at the mask, “I can see your eyes.”
Her fingers brushed his hand briefly before she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door.
..
Inside the DVSA building, the air was chilly and neutral, walls lined with posters about safe driving and test criteria. Tristan stayed close but let Barbara take the lead as they stepped up to the desk.
She filled out the check-in form quickly, her handwriting sharp, focused.
The receptionist barely looked up. “Barbara Palvin?”
“Yes.”
“Great. Take a seat, we’ll call you when your examiner’s ready.”
Barbara nodded and turned back to Tristan, who found a quiet corner near the vending machine. He gave her a small thumbs up, mask still on.
“Okay?” he asked softly as she sat beside him.
She nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m ready.”
“You are ready,” he replied. “You’ve got this. Just drive like you’re with me.”
“Meaning I don’t stop for yellow lights and I blast the radio?”
“I said drive like me, not be me,” he said, elbowing her gently.
Before she could answer, a DVSA examiner stepped out from the hallway. Middle-aged, polite smile, clipboard in hand.
“Barbara Palvin?”
She stood up quickly. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Hi there, I’m Keith. I’ll be your examiner today,” he said, glancing at his notes. “We’ll be using your own vehicle, yes?”
“Yes — the blue Range Rover outside.”
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
Tristan stood too, instinctively walking a few paces behind.
“Sorry,” Keith said, offering a quick shake of the head. “Only the driver’s allowed on the test. DVSA policy.”
Tristan stopped, held his hands up. “No worries. Just wanted to make sure she didn’t leave me behind.”
Barbara turned and gave him one last glance, her brows rising playfully above the mask.
He gave her a short salute.
“Show him how it’s done.”
And with that, she followed Keith out.
Tristan watched her go, then sat back down slowly, pulling out his phone and refreshing Twitter.
Still no announcement from Leicester.
But he knew it was coming.
Leicester was going to announce they were departing with Nigel Pearson and signed Ranieri all in one go as a way to distract people from the scandal.
..
Tristan scrolled through his phone, flicking past article headlines, football rumors. None of it was sticking. His thumb hovered over Twitter’s refresh button again. Still nothing from the club.
Fifteen minutes passed.
Then he heard it — the quiet creak of the entrance opening.
Barbara stepped back in, mask still on, her steps light but composed. Her eyes flicked toward him, and even from across the room, he could tell.
She was holding it in.
Tristan stood. “Well?”
Barbara slowly tugged off the mask, revealing a tight-lipped, unreadable expression.
He blinked. “Don’t mess with me.”
She said nothing… for two more seconds… then pulled the test certificate from her back pocket and waved it like a flag.
“Passed,” she grinned.
Tristan let out a full laugh, stepping forward and pulling her into a quick hug before remembering where they were. He settled for brushing a kiss against her temple instead.
“I knew you would,” he murmured. “But I was still ready to bribe the instructor.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade. “So… I’m officially legal on the road now.”
..
Back outside, the sky had cleared into a soft stretch of morning blue. Tristan handed her the keys. Barbara slid into the driver’s seat. Tristan buckled in beside her, watching her quietly for a moment before resting his hand on hers.
Once they were on the road, Barbara glanced over at him at a red light.
“So… anything from the club?”
Tristan shook his head, leaning his elbow on the window ledge. “Still nothing. Press is sniffing, but no official word yet.”
Barbara nodded slowly, drumming her fingers along the steering wheel. “It’s coming, though.”
“Yeah,” he exhaled. “It is.”
Then Tristan sat up slightly. “You know what? Let’s go car shopping.”
Barbara blinked. “What?”
“I want to spoil you,” he said, flashing a grin. “You passed. You deserve something nice, something fast—”
“No.”
Tristan raised a brow. “No?”
“I’m buying my own car,” she said firmly. “It’s mine, my license, my purchase. You can’t rob me of that joy.”
He slumped back against the seat, dramatically. “You really know how to ruin a man’s fun. I barely get to buy you anything.”
Barbara laughed. “You’ll live.”
Tristan folded his arms, pretending to pout. “Fine. No car shopping. But I’m still getting you something.”
“Tristan…”
“Not negotiable,” he said, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Actually…”
He turned to her slowly.
“…Let’s go adopt a dog.”
Barbara’s mouth parted slightly. “What?”
“You’ve been saying you wanted one for a while. And when I’m gone for away games, I don’t want you stuck home alone. Plus, you’d be a great dog mum.”
Barbara blinked again, this time slower, the idea settling in.
“You’re serious?”
“As a red card,” Tristan nodded. “Come on. We’ll go look today. Or at least start the search.”
She looked over at him, something warm sparking behind her eyes.
“Did I ever tell you how much I love you?”
“I try,” he shrugged, then smiled. “So what are you thinking? Big and lazy? Small and yappy? Something with floppy ears and trust issues?”
Barbara laughed, heart lighter now than it had been all morning. “Let’s just meet the dogs first.”
“Deal.”
As they drove off — Barbara behind the wheel, her hands steady, her heart still racing for different reasons now — Tristan glanced at his phone again, still no update.
..
They pulled into the shelter’s gravel lot a little past noon. It was tucked just outside the city — not flashy, just a long white fence and a sun-faded sign that read Leicester Animal Rescue Centre. But as Barbara stepped out of the car, she lit up like they were arriving at Disneyland.
Tristan followed, mask tucked low on his face again, hands in his pockets. He could already see two of the younger volunteers near the entrance whispering behind clipboards, eyes darting between them.
As soon as they stepped through the door, a middle-aged woman approached them, her eyes widening.
“You’re—” she started, smiling, then composed herself. “Sorry. Welcome! How can we help you today?”
“We’re looking to adopt,” Barbara said, her voice bright. “Something small-ish. Friendly. Maybe with curls.”
The woman laughed. “Right this way, then. You two caused quite a stir last time you posted about that cat cafe — we had people asking if we were related.”
Barbara covered a smile behind her hand. “We’ll try not to break your website this time.”
They were led through a quiet hallway lined with kennels and soft music playing overhead. Barbara was already leaning into the glass, cooing at every tail wag. A shaggy terrier with one eye. A Frenchie that barked at everything. A timid spaniel with sad, old-soul eyes.
Tristan trailed behind her, watching her light up more with every pen.
“You’re going to take every single one home if I don’t stop you,” he said.
“I’m allowed to look,” Barbara replied, crouching to wave at a dachshund pup with a crooked tail.
After a few minutes, they were taken to a playroom — a cozy space with soft mats, some toys, and an old couch in the corner.
“We’ll bring in a few for you to meet,” the woman said. “Just one at a time.”
First was a spunky Jack Russell that wouldn’t stop zooming in circles. Then a sleepy pug that melted into Tristan’s lap. Then a pair of rescue mutts that couldn’t sit still for a photo.
Then came the one.
The moment the door opened and a fuzzy cream-colored Maltipoo waddled in — a little under a year old, tail wagging slowly and sweet, a tuft of curly hair covering one eye — Barbara just… stopped.
“Oh,” she breathed.
The dog padded over and sat right in front of her, looking up like it had been waiting its whole life to meet her.
Tristan glanced at the staffer, then back at Barbara. “I think we’ve got a winner.”
Barbara dropped to her knees, scooping the dog into her arms. It curled into her instantly, small paws resting over her forearm, head tucked under her chin.
“Tristan,” she said softly, “I’m in love.”
He sat on the arm of the couch, watching them. “She’s perfect.”
“She?” Barbara asked, stroking behind the dog’s ears.
“I’m guessing,” he said. “But either way… she’s already got you.”
Barbara’s eyes were glassy now, though she blinked it away quickly. “Can we take her today?”
“I’ll sign the papers right now.”
Tristan reached for his phone — but paused as he got a Twitter notification.
Leicester City FC: The club and manager Nigel Pearson have mutually agreed to part ways with immediate effect. We thank Nigel for his contributions and leadership. Claudio Ranieri has been appointed as First Team Manager.
He stared at it for a beat too long. He didn’t even know what he was feeling right now.
Barbara noticed.
“What is it?” she asked.
He turned the screen so she could see.
She exhaled slowly. “It’s done.”
Tristan nodded. “It’s done.”
Then he looked back at her — at the dog curled peacefully in her lap, at the softness in her face.
“We’ll name her later,” he said, standing to kiss Barbara’s forehead. “Right now… let’s take her home.”
..
Barbara sat at the front desk, pen gliding across the adoption paperwork, her brow lightly furrowed in focus. Beside her on the floor, Tristan sat cross-legged with the Maltipoo sprawled across his lap — one tiny paw resting on his forearm as he gently stroked her soft cream-colored fur.
“She’s chipped, vaccinated, spayed, and cleared health-wise,” the shelter rep said warmly, handing over the final form. “You’re all set once you sign this last bit.”
Barbara smiled, eyes darting down to the bottom section marked Gender:
“Good to know,” she said, lips curving as she glanced at Tristan. “Confirmed, it’s a she.”
Tristan beamed. “Knew it. She’s got too much grace to be anything else.”
“She’s also been in your lap the entire time,” Barbara noted. “I’m starting to think she chose you.”
“She’s just smart,” he said, brushing a tuft of fur away from the pup’s eye. “She knew I’d cave faster than you.”
Barbara shook her head fondly, flipping the page and scribbling her signature across the dotted line.
“I still get to be listed as owner,” she said, smiling.
“Yeah that's fine,” Tristan replied. “I’m just the emotional support human.”
He looked down at the Maltipoo curled up against him and let out a soft exhale. “She’s gonna be so spoiled.”
Barbara rose from the chair and came over, crouching beside them.
“Welcome to the family, little girl,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of the dog’s head.
Tristan watched them for a second, then leaned over and murmured, “We still haven’t named her.”
Barbara grinned. “Let’s give her a proper first day. The name’ll come.”
Tristan nodded, brushing his fingers gently along the pup’s ear.
..
The kitchen smelled amazing as they made it back home.
The windows were cracked open just enough to let the breeze in, and the house had the soft hum of comfort running through it — distant jazz on the speaker, pots clinking, and the occasional bark from the living room.
Well, not quite a bark. More like a squeaky yip.
“Is she chewing the blanket again?” Barbara asked, leaning on the kitchen island with a biscuit between her fingers.
From the living room, Biscuit launched into another high-pitched series of noises — “yrrp! arff! rrrrowf!” — her paws scrabbling as she tried to drag Tristan’s hoodie under the coffee table.
“She’s nesting,” Tristan called from the couch. “Or starting a revolution. Hard to say.”
Barbara laughed and took a bite of her biscuit. Then paused.
She looked down at it… then toward the small furball currently thumping her tail on the hardwood floor like she owned the place.
Tristan raised a brow when she walked over holding the half-eaten snack.
“What, you wanna feed her that?”
“No,” Barbara said, crouching beside the pup — who immediately flopped into her lap like it was instinct. “I just realized something.”
Tristan tilted his head. “Yeah?”
She held up the biscuit beside the puppy’s ear.
Same golden beige. Same slightly toasted, sweet energy.
“I think we just found her name.”
Tristan blinked. Then he laughed, short and warm. “Biscuit?”
“Biscuit,” Barbara repeated, scratching under the dog’s chin. “Look at her. She looks like a biscuit.”
The puppy let out a muffled sneeze, then licked Barbara’s wrist in apparent agreement.
“Well,” Tristan said, “there goes the naming committee.”
Barbara grinned. “Come on, it’s perfect.”
[ Biscuit > Image Here ]
He walked over and crouched beside them. Biscuit rolled to her back immediately, belly exposed like she was auditioning for affection.
“Alright, Biscuit,” he said, brushing her fur back. “You just got your first name and your first house on the same day.”
She responded with a tiny “rruff!” and pawed at his sleeve.
“Already developing attachment issues,” Barbara murmured with a fond smile.
From the kitchen, Felix peeked around the corner. “Lunches ready when you are. I made enough for three — not including Biscuit.”
“Noted,” Tristan said, standing. His smile dimmed slightly as he glanced at the phone still in his hand.
Barbara saw it. “You okay?”
He hesitated. “I should call him.”
“You sure?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I can’t not. I owe him that much.”
Barbara stood, kissed his cheek. “We’ll be here. I’ll keep Biscuit distracted.”
Tristan nodded and turned toward the hallway.
The moment he did, Biscuit let out a sharp little “rrruf!”
Barbara blinked. “Hey, hey — what was that?”
Biscuit backed up a step, tail wagging like a wind-up toy gone haywire. Then came another burst — “arff! yip! rrrrf!” — as she pounced at a pillow and slipped sideways.
“She’s barking,” Barbara whispered with mock shock. “That’s your voice?”
Tristan paused, one brow raised. “That’s not barking. That’s a wind-up toy having an identity crisis.”
“Rrrowf!” Biscuit yipped again, hopping like a bunny, ears flopping with each bounce.
Barbara giggled and crouched down. “You’ve been in this house for ten minutes and you’re already throwing tantrums.”
The puppy tripped over her paw, face-planted into the throw rug with a soft “mmpfh”… then lifted her head, blinked, and sneezed.
“Drama queen,” Tristan muttered.
“She’s learning from the best,” Barbara said, tossing him a look.
Another “arfff!” came from the floor as Biscuit flopped dramatically onto her back, tongue out, paw twitching in search of belly rubs.
“You’re gonna be a menace,” Barbara whispered, giving in.
He cleared his throat. “Alright. I’m making the call.”
Barbara nodded, scooping Biscuit into her lap. “Try to keep it short. She’s about to eat the chair leg.”
“No promises,” he said, his voice low.
As he stepped out of the living room, Biscuit let out one final parting “yrrrrrrowf!”
“Yeah,” Tristan murmured with a wry smile, thumb hovering over Pearson’s name, “definitely a drama queen.”
He stepped outside and hit call.
The ringing sounded too loud in his ear, even with the birds chirping faintly in the hedges. It rang once. Twice.
Then, finally—
“Tristan.”
Pearson’s voice was low-sounding and exhausted.
Tristan stopped pacing. “I just saw the announcement. I wanted to call you when I saw it but I was busy with some stuff.
“You didn’t have to,” Pearson replied.
“I know,” Tristan said, eyes fixed on the cracks between the stones. “But I wanted to.”
Another pause. Then: “…You alright? Boss?
Pearson exhaled softly on the other end. “Yeah. I’m as good as I could be with that son of mine.”
“I’m sorry,” Tristan said, and it came out rougher than he meant. “I wished youI—”
“Stop,” Pearson interrupted, not harsh but firm. “You don’t owe me an apology.”
“I’m grateful I got to coach you,” Pearson said after a pause. “Not just because of the player you are, but because I saw the work you put in when no one was watching. You never wasted the chances.”
“Ranieri’s a good manager,” he said finally. “You listen. Keep your head straight. Keep your circle tight. You'll be alright. Keep going and you be the greatest, do that for me okay.”
Tristan nodded, even though Pearson couldn’t see him. “I’ll do that.”
“Take care of yourself, son,” Pearson added. “Call if you need anything. Doesn’t matter what my title is.”
“I will,” Tristan said. “And… thank you.”
They hung up without ceremony. Just a quiet end.
Tristan stood still for a moment, the phone lowering slowly in his hand.
Back inside, through the window, he could hear Barbara laughing. Biscuit barked—more like squealed—at something on the rug. The scent of garlic and rosemary floated from the kitchen.
Life, somehow, was still moving.
..
End of chapter
There will be a few more slice of life chapters setting up for the Premier League
If you cant see the dog image, it’s in discord as well
Comments
Sicario_1011
Thank you
Xato
Ta bien👌
