The Best of Times by Penny Vincenzi

want to check the tyres,” said Barney. “The front offside’s a tad soft. Look, you go and pay, and get some more water, will you? Time you’ve done that I’ll be through.”
    “OK.”
    Toby went back into the building. He grabbed two bottles of water, and found himself behind an old lady in the queue. There were three people in front of her—Jesus, this was taking forever. He looked at his watch. It was OK. It was fine. Hours yet. Well, an hour …
    As he stood there, trying to keep calm, his phone rang.
    “Toby Weston.”
    “Where are you, you little shit?”
    It was Tamara’s father. Who doted on her to an absurd degree, who clearly considered Toby to be a most unworthy contender for her hand …
    “I’m … we’re just on the motorway now, George. Should be with you quite soon.”
    “And what the fuck are you doing on the motorway?”
    “Well, I—Sorry, I did phone Pete; you obviously didn’t get the message. Be there in no time. Just filled up, want to check the tyre pressures—”
    “The tyre pressures. What the fuck are you doing checking tyre pressures? An hour before your wedding, for Christ’s sake.”
    “Yes, George, I know, but one’s a bit down—”
    “Look, you just forget the fucking tyres. You get over here right now. This is the biggest day of my daughter’s life and I’m not having it wrecked for her. Now, you listen to me: I don’t care if the tyre’s right down on its rim; you just fucking well get here, you understand?”
    The phone went dead.
    Toby looked at the queue of people in front of him—now down to two, one nice-looking girl and the old lady—and said, easing his way forward, “Look, can I go first, do you mind? Emergency, must get away—”
    The girl stood aside at once; the old lady gave him the sort of look that he could remember his grandmother giving him when he was naughty and said, “I do mind, yes, as a matter of fact. We’re all trying to get somewhere important, and I have a plane to meet. You must wait your turn, like everyone else. I’m sorry.”
    And then she spent an inordinate amount of time counting out the exact money for her purchases.
    The other queues were all longer; Toby just had to wait.
    • • •
    Mary felt mildly remorseful, watching him haring towards a car parked up by the air line. And more so when she realised he was wearing the striped trousers and braces of a wedding guest. That hadn’t actually been very kind of her, and neither was it in character. But he had been rather arrogant. If he’d asked nicely she might have felt differently. Although … she knew why she’d reacted like that, really. It was because she was on edge herself …
    • • •
    “Barney, come on, come on, we have to get the fuck out of here. Just get in, for God’s sake. I’ll drive …”
    Toby threw himself into the driver’s seat, slammed the door.
    “But—”
    “I said get in. Look, I’m off. You can stay here if you want to.”
    Barney got in, telling himself you could only die once. And sending up the closest thing he knew to a prayer that it wouldn’t be today …
    • • •
    Laura frowned when she heard Jonathan’s message. It was all very well, him telling her not to call in that rather high-handed way, but she needed to know when he would be back. He did obsess over the mobile business; he could surely take a quick call—it would be over in a second. She’d just give him maybe another fifteen minutes and then …
    • • •
    “Give me some more of those jelly babies, would you?”
    Georgia looked at Patrick; his eyes were fixed on the road, oddlyunblinking. Was he sleepy? She felt sleepy herself, thundering along, the road shimmering in the heat haze. And was it her imagination—was it getting darker; were they losing the sun—
    “We’re running into a storm,” Patrick said, wide-awake suddenly. “Dear God, will you look at that—”
    And, in an odd yellow blackness, great sheets of rain came beating down on the road,