Tuesday,’ Soraya began,
knowing full well that she was heading blindly into a minefield, ‘did you see
him open a box kind of thing?’ Morton wanted the ground to open up and swallow
him whole; it was horrific. The poor kid’s bottom lip began to quiver, he
tightened his grip around Soraya’s arm as tears began to flood down his face
and he lost control and began to wail. Morton could only meet the child’s
despairing look, those dark eyes punishing Morton. Soraya pulled him in
closer, telling him it was alright. She shook her head at Morton – it was
more of a ‘ this isn’t happening tonight ’ look she gave rather than ‘ thanks
very much .’
‘Come on, let’s
get you back to bed,’ Soraya said soothingly. He nodded and the wailing
became more subdued as she led him by the hand out of the room.
Morton felt nauseous. Now what was he supposed to do? Just walk out of the front
door, or wait? She could be hours settling him back off to
sleep. He shouldn’t have come back. What was he thinking?
He should never have children, that much was certain. He slipped quietly
out of the house, vowing never to reproduce.
Outside, the
car was dead. Completely dead. Rigor mortis had even set in since
nothing happened at all when he turned the key. What a marvellous end to
a marvellous evening. If he’d just kept on driving home things would have
been a lot happier for everyone. It really was time to scrap the damned
car. Then he remembered the money. The money ! It would
be cleared any day now and he could walk into any car dealership and just pluck
a car from the forecourt – no need for finance options or drawn-out bank loans,
just grab the keys and drive away with the wind in his hair.
He turned the
key again, but it might as well have been for a different car for all the good
it did inside the ignition. There was no point in him lifting up the
bonnet, it was like a different planet under there and he was very unmanly when
it came to cars. He just had no interest in them apart from whether or
not they drove. And this car didn’t, so he’d lost all interest.
Hammering on Soraya’s door for a second time that evening wasn’t an
option. He had no choice but to phone Juliette and ask her to collect
him, which she reluctantly said she would do (‘Even though I’m in the middle of
watching EastEnders ’).
Juliette’s trusty Polo swooped in, her
headlights momentarily dazzling him through the windscreen. He was ready
to get into her car and head home but then she instructed him to ‘open her
up’. She’d only brought jump leads and a hi-vis jacket, for God’s
sake. In fact, she probably already had them stashed in her boot
along with the red triangle, a more comprehensive first-aid kit than is carried
by most paramedics, tools, spare wheel and all manner of other emergency
equipment. She really must have been a scout leader in a previous
existence , Morton thought.
Morton opened
the bonnet and watched silently from the pavement as Juliette, torch wedged
firmly in her mouth, carefully hooked a bundle of wires between the two
vehicles like an heroic doctor performing an emergency transfusion.
‘I’m going to
get a new car tomorrow, I can’t put up with this pile of junk anymore,’ Morton
moaned from the confines of the pavement. He secretly hoped that she
wouldn’t be able to fix it. Not just because he felt rather
emasculated but because she would more likely agree that he needed a new car if
even she couldn’t get it to start. But he knew she would be able
to fix it. She always could.
Juliette
ignored his comment and instructed him to try the key and keep his foot on the
accelerator. Predictably, the car sprang to life. After a moment of
delving into the engine, she shut the bonnet and told Morton she would see him
at home.
He had followed her back, matching her
religious obedience to the speed limit all the way.
knowing full well that she was heading blindly into a minefield, ‘did you see
him open a box kind of thing?’ Morton wanted the ground to open up and swallow
him whole; it was horrific. The poor kid’s bottom lip began to quiver, he
tightened his grip around Soraya’s arm as tears began to flood down his face
and he lost control and began to wail. Morton could only meet the child’s
despairing look, those dark eyes punishing Morton. Soraya pulled him in
closer, telling him it was alright. She shook her head at Morton – it was
more of a ‘ this isn’t happening tonight ’ look she gave rather than ‘ thanks
very much .’
‘Come on, let’s
get you back to bed,’ Soraya said soothingly. He nodded and the wailing
became more subdued as she led him by the hand out of the room.
Morton felt nauseous. Now what was he supposed to do? Just walk out of the front
door, or wait? She could be hours settling him back off to
sleep. He shouldn’t have come back. What was he thinking?
He should never have children, that much was certain. He slipped quietly
out of the house, vowing never to reproduce.
Outside, the
car was dead. Completely dead. Rigor mortis had even set in since
nothing happened at all when he turned the key. What a marvellous end to
a marvellous evening. If he’d just kept on driving home things would have
been a lot happier for everyone. It really was time to scrap the damned
car. Then he remembered the money. The money ! It would
be cleared any day now and he could walk into any car dealership and just pluck
a car from the forecourt – no need for finance options or drawn-out bank loans,
just grab the keys and drive away with the wind in his hair.
He turned the
key again, but it might as well have been for a different car for all the good
it did inside the ignition. There was no point in him lifting up the
bonnet, it was like a different planet under there and he was very unmanly when
it came to cars. He just had no interest in them apart from whether or
not they drove. And this car didn’t, so he’d lost all interest.
Hammering on Soraya’s door for a second time that evening wasn’t an
option. He had no choice but to phone Juliette and ask her to collect
him, which she reluctantly said she would do (‘Even though I’m in the middle of
watching EastEnders ’).
Juliette’s trusty Polo swooped in, her
headlights momentarily dazzling him through the windscreen. He was ready
to get into her car and head home but then she instructed him to ‘open her
up’. She’d only brought jump leads and a hi-vis jacket, for God’s
sake. In fact, she probably already had them stashed in her boot
along with the red triangle, a more comprehensive first-aid kit than is carried
by most paramedics, tools, spare wheel and all manner of other emergency
equipment. She really must have been a scout leader in a previous
existence , Morton thought.
Morton opened
the bonnet and watched silently from the pavement as Juliette, torch wedged
firmly in her mouth, carefully hooked a bundle of wires between the two
vehicles like an heroic doctor performing an emergency transfusion.
‘I’m going to
get a new car tomorrow, I can’t put up with this pile of junk anymore,’ Morton
moaned from the confines of the pavement. He secretly hoped that she
wouldn’t be able to fix it. Not just because he felt rather
emasculated but because she would more likely agree that he needed a new car if
even she couldn’t get it to start. But he knew she would be able
to fix it. She always could.
Juliette
ignored his comment and instructed him to try the key and keep his foot on the
accelerator. Predictably, the car sprang to life. After a moment of
delving into the engine, she shut the bonnet and told Morton she would see him
at home.
He had followed her back, matching her
religious obedience to the speed limit all the way.
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