Half Broken Things by Morag Joss Page B

grinning, ‘They’ll sort it for you, but they’ll charge.’ He called underneath the car where the feet were squirming. ‘Terry! They still charging eighty-five for call-out, Corsham Breakdown? You know, whatsisname, that Steve at Corsham Breakdown. Still charges eighty-five, does he?’
    The legs shifted again and a muffled voice replied, ‘Oh yeah, think so. Eighty-five, mileage on top. Cash.’
    â€˜Yeah, well, there you go,’ said curtain-hair, with the slightest and first edge of sympathy in his voice. ‘Number’s in the shop, there’s a payphone if you ain’t got a mobile.’ Michael nodded his thanks, calculating. It would cost at least a hundred in the end just to get towed back to Bath, never mind the cost of getting the van fixed. He could just hitch a lift home and forget all about the van, just leave it to rust here. But he could hardly remove the licence plates in full view of the mechanics, and the registration number would lead them straight to him. Also it was an offence to abandon a vehicle and he was in enough trouble anyway.
    â€˜You going to Bath, by any chance?’
    The pregnant woman was no more than a shivering girl, with large, greenish eyes. She was trying to sound and look casual, standing with one knee bent and her arms crossed. But she had pulled her clothes tightly round herself and over the impertinent bump, which seemed to Michael oddly prominent. It was all out in front, as if the baby had not filled out her sides at all. There was little difference between the colour of her skin and hair, which, in a spectrum between olive and dark gold, might have been striking if she had been warmer and healthier. As it was, she looked yellow in the wrong places, across her forehead and round her mouth, and greenish at the roots of her hair and under the eyes. She was small-boned and long bodied; she brought to mind a snake that has swallowed a watermelon. He tried not to look at her stomach but found himself imagining that she would be very slim after the baby was born. And here she was offering him a lift. He could leave the van here and get them to fix it when they had time, surely in a few days. In the meantime it could be pushed round the back out of sight of the road. He beamed Jeff Stevenson’s smile at her.
    â€˜Yes! Yes, I am! You can give me a lift? How wonderful, thank you! Anywhere in Bath’s fine—drop me anywhere—how kind!’
    The girl was taken aback. ‘What, isn’t that your van? I thought that was your van. I thought you might be going to Bath, that’s all.
I’m
looking for a lift.’
    Michael stared at her and saw his own dismay in her face. ‘It is. It’s broken down. I thought you were offering
me
a lift. Is there something wrong with your car as well, then?’
    â€˜No. Anyway, it’s not mine.’ She did not pretend to find the confusion amusing, or try to dislodge the disappointment that now sat on her mouth. She motioned towards the garage shop, where the boyfriend, or whoever he was, was just emerging. ‘It’s his,’ she said. ‘Him over there.’
    â€˜Oh, I see. I see, you’re hitching, are you? That was your last lift? I thought you were
with
him.’
    â€˜I am, I was, I mean—I’m not hitching,’ she said, pushing her hair back behind her ears and shaking her head. ‘Mind you, maybe I am, now.’ She tried a smile that turned out to be more a wrinkle of her nose, which was red with cold. She sniffed. ‘I just thought you was going to Bath, that’s all.’
    â€˜Well, I am. Or I will be, but I’ve got to get the van towed back.’
    â€˜Oh, well. Never mind.’
    â€˜But
isn’t
that your car? I saw you getting out.’
    The boyfriend had stopped at the door of his car and was lighting a cigarette. The girl watched him and said dully, ‘No. It’s his.’ With his hands on his