you think there’s only one grown and normal woman in the world and she happens to be gorgeous, then the built-in need to impress tends to take over.
So I stood there and dithered until Jane’s small voice broke into my hesitation.
“What about that car there? It’s like a pickup truck.”
Turning round, I found myself facing her ponytail as
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she looked the other way, pointing across the road. I scanned the street.
“Where?”
“There.” Her finger stretched. She wasn’t pointing at the pavement, but behind it, at the small tucked-away piece of tarmac that served as the car park for The Plough, and I could see what had drawn her attention. Sticking out from the red brick rear wall of the deserted car park was a large shiny black tail end of a beast of a car.
“That looks perfect.” Grinning at the girl, I patted her firmly on the shoulder. “Well done, Jane.” She smiled back at me and it was good to see. “Let’s go and take a look.”
Re-crossing the deserted road, the girls waited on the other side of the low wall while I scouted round the side of the building. There were no signs of any widows and only two cars; the old battered Ford Escort with the tatty paintwork parked in front of the back door, which must have belonged to the landlord, and then the glistening silver and black bodywork of the imposing Mitsubishi Animal that cast its shadow far over the tarmac ground. The wheels were huge, raising it far up from the ground and the height of it appealed to me. Anything that would improve my viewing range seemed like a good idea to me. The rear pickup area was covered over with a hard black roof that looked easy enough to remove, but tough enough to protect the contents from whatever we had to face. At least I hoped it would be tough enough. If it wasn’t, then neither would anything else.
Peering through the tinted glass I could make out two large seats in the back and two in the front, and it seemed to have all the mod cons. The petrol gauge
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dimly pointed close to the full mark. As far as luck went, we couldn’t really have asked for more, apart from maybe having the keys sitting neatly in the ignition, and that they certainly weren’t. The number plate gleamed up at me. H5 SNK. Personalised. But meaningless now.
I trotted back to the others, and Katie pushed a few loose curls behind one ear, impatient as she spoke. “Well?”
“Yeah, it looks perfect. No keys, though. And I don’t have the first idea how to start a car without them.”
The sun glared at us from above, and Katie was still squinting, even with her hand shielding her eyes.
“Maybe whoever owns it is still inside.”
I weighed the likely outcomes of that scenario and wasn’t pleased with any of them. Getting my hand into the pocket of a cocooned man was not tops on my list of preferred actions and I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“Maybe, but maybe not. The bloke that runs this place is really tight on drunk driving. He’s known for taking keys from his customers when he thinks they’ve had too many. He’s been like that ever since one of them drove into a couple walking down London Road. Killed the man outright and left the woman in a wheelchair.”
I looked back at the building behind us. “It could be he’s just hung the keys behind the bar and sent the owner home on foot or in a cab.”
Katie sighed and shrugged. “I suppose there’s only one way we’re going to find out.”
“Correction. There’s only one way I’m going to find out. You two can wait out here.” Katie hadn’t been
98
forthcoming with her and Jane’s experiences of the widows, but I doubted they’d seen anything like I had in the cafe. And I didn’t want them to. Especially not Jane. She may not have brought out the paternal streak in Nigel Phelps, but I had a bank of building father feelings for my own never to be born child, and they were finding an exit in her.
“Oh right. Like we’re
So I stood there and dithered until Jane’s small voice broke into my hesitation.
“What about that car there? It’s like a pickup truck.”
Turning round, I found myself facing her ponytail as
96
she looked the other way, pointing across the road. I scanned the street.
“Where?”
“There.” Her finger stretched. She wasn’t pointing at the pavement, but behind it, at the small tucked-away piece of tarmac that served as the car park for The Plough, and I could see what had drawn her attention. Sticking out from the red brick rear wall of the deserted car park was a large shiny black tail end of a beast of a car.
“That looks perfect.” Grinning at the girl, I patted her firmly on the shoulder. “Well done, Jane.” She smiled back at me and it was good to see. “Let’s go and take a look.”
Re-crossing the deserted road, the girls waited on the other side of the low wall while I scouted round the side of the building. There were no signs of any widows and only two cars; the old battered Ford Escort with the tatty paintwork parked in front of the back door, which must have belonged to the landlord, and then the glistening silver and black bodywork of the imposing Mitsubishi Animal that cast its shadow far over the tarmac ground. The wheels were huge, raising it far up from the ground and the height of it appealed to me. Anything that would improve my viewing range seemed like a good idea to me. The rear pickup area was covered over with a hard black roof that looked easy enough to remove, but tough enough to protect the contents from whatever we had to face. At least I hoped it would be tough enough. If it wasn’t, then neither would anything else.
Peering through the tinted glass I could make out two large seats in the back and two in the front, and it seemed to have all the mod cons. The petrol gauge
97
dimly pointed close to the full mark. As far as luck went, we couldn’t really have asked for more, apart from maybe having the keys sitting neatly in the ignition, and that they certainly weren’t. The number plate gleamed up at me. H5 SNK. Personalised. But meaningless now.
I trotted back to the others, and Katie pushed a few loose curls behind one ear, impatient as she spoke. “Well?”
“Yeah, it looks perfect. No keys, though. And I don’t have the first idea how to start a car without them.”
The sun glared at us from above, and Katie was still squinting, even with her hand shielding her eyes.
“Maybe whoever owns it is still inside.”
I weighed the likely outcomes of that scenario and wasn’t pleased with any of them. Getting my hand into the pocket of a cocooned man was not tops on my list of preferred actions and I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“Maybe, but maybe not. The bloke that runs this place is really tight on drunk driving. He’s known for taking keys from his customers when he thinks they’ve had too many. He’s been like that ever since one of them drove into a couple walking down London Road. Killed the man outright and left the woman in a wheelchair.”
I looked back at the building behind us. “It could be he’s just hung the keys behind the bar and sent the owner home on foot or in a cab.”
Katie sighed and shrugged. “I suppose there’s only one way we’re going to find out.”
“Correction. There’s only one way I’m going to find out. You two can wait out here.” Katie hadn’t been
98
forthcoming with her and Jane’s experiences of the widows, but I doubted they’d seen anything like I had in the cafe. And I didn’t want them to. Especially not Jane. She may not have brought out the paternal streak in Nigel Phelps, but I had a bank of building father feelings for my own never to be born child, and they were finding an exit in her.
“Oh right. Like we’re
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