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A love letter to the dying art of arguing in the car

Growing up, a car meant freedom and independence. But for me, it's also always been the best place to have difficult conversations

By Rachel Cunliffe  

I checked my rearview mirror, indicated, and swung around roundabout number seven of infinity as we circled Milton Keyes, my question hanging in the air: “Do you still want to be with me?”

We were on a cross-country road trip to Cambridge, the car filled with our weekend-getaway bags and a week’s worth of pent-up frustration. The night before, we’d had screaming row, both goading…

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