sitting in a big cracked leather seat patched with duct tape.
The inside of the cab smelledânot unpleasantlyâof faded straw and distant grass. Nina turned around. It seemed huge to her, but she reminded herself yet again that it wasnât a truck. She didnât need a heavy-vehicle license; anyone could drive this thing. People did it all the time.
It felt a lot like a bus, though. And it was parked in such a very narrow street, the little stone cottages on either side of her almost touching the vehicle.
She swallowed, then turned back again and inspected the controls. It looked like a normal car, except everything was much farther away. She fumbled under the seat for the release, and moved a little closer to the huge steering wheel. The gearshift too was massive and unwieldy. There wasnât a rearview mirror, and the side mirrors just scared her sick.
She sat there for a moment in silence. Then she glanced toward the pub, where the men were standing staring at her, and felt a new wellspring of iron in her heart. Leaning forward, adjusting the mirrors and making sure at least five times that she was in neutral, she put the key in the ignition and turned it.
The noise it made was a huge growl, an awful lot louder than the Mini Metro. An awful lot louder than anything. Nina sawa flock of birds rise up over the houses and spiral into the air. Holding her breath and saying a silent prayer, she moved into first, put her foot very carefully on the accelerator and pushed down the heavy hand brake.
The van jumped forward and immediately stalled and stuttered to a halt. Nina thought she saw the men laughing outside the pub and narrowed her eyes. She turned the key back and tried again. This time it moved smoothly into gear and she took off into the square, bouncing on the cobbles.
Not knowing exactly where she was going, she turned left down the first wide street she came to, and within moments found herself rumbling up the hill toward the moors. The van was a lot nippier than it had first appeared. Nina changed down into second and held on for the ride. Sheâd never driven so high up before. She could see right out to sea over the crest of the hill; there were great tankers arrivingâfrom the Netherlands and Scandinavia and China, she imagined, bringing in toys and furniture and paper, and taking oil and whiskey back the other way.
A huge red truck drove past her and honked loudly. Nina jumped in her seat before realizing it was just a friendly greeting between trucks. As she rounded an unusually sharp bend, a tiny zippy sports car nipped in front of her and raced off, which also gave her a fright. Shaken, she parked up in the first turnoff she came to and gripped the steering wheel tightly. She noticed that her hands were shaking.
She wound down the window and gulped in several breaths of bracing fresh air until she felt a little better. Then she jumped out of the cab, scrambled down to the grounds and took a proper look around.
The problem was, Nina thought, kicking the tires, she didnât really know enough about vans to know if this one was any good. She wasnât even sure you were meant to kick the tires, although there was a certain satisfaction to it, especially when the tires were as big as these. They didnât seem bald, though. And she managed to open the hood, even though she didnât know what she was looking for. Nothing was rusty, and there was oil in it; even she could check oil.
Inside, the back needed a bit of a cleanup, mostly straw removed, but that was fine. It was easy to see how the shelving would go in, and how the little seating area could work at the back; and the side door opened perfectly, with the set of steps unfolding smoothly.
In fact, as Nina went on with her inspection, she started to get excited again. Suddenly she could see it all in her mindâs eye. Parking up somewhere like this beautiful turnoff. Well, maybe not a turnoff. Somewhere in town,
The inside of the cab smelledânot unpleasantlyâof faded straw and distant grass. Nina turned around. It seemed huge to her, but she reminded herself yet again that it wasnât a truck. She didnât need a heavy-vehicle license; anyone could drive this thing. People did it all the time.
It felt a lot like a bus, though. And it was parked in such a very narrow street, the little stone cottages on either side of her almost touching the vehicle.
She swallowed, then turned back again and inspected the controls. It looked like a normal car, except everything was much farther away. She fumbled under the seat for the release, and moved a little closer to the huge steering wheel. The gearshift too was massive and unwieldy. There wasnât a rearview mirror, and the side mirrors just scared her sick.
She sat there for a moment in silence. Then she glanced toward the pub, where the men were standing staring at her, and felt a new wellspring of iron in her heart. Leaning forward, adjusting the mirrors and making sure at least five times that she was in neutral, she put the key in the ignition and turned it.
The noise it made was a huge growl, an awful lot louder than the Mini Metro. An awful lot louder than anything. Nina sawa flock of birds rise up over the houses and spiral into the air. Holding her breath and saying a silent prayer, she moved into first, put her foot very carefully on the accelerator and pushed down the heavy hand brake.
The van jumped forward and immediately stalled and stuttered to a halt. Nina thought she saw the men laughing outside the pub and narrowed her eyes. She turned the key back and tried again. This time it moved smoothly into gear and she took off into the square, bouncing on the cobbles.
Not knowing exactly where she was going, she turned left down the first wide street she came to, and within moments found herself rumbling up the hill toward the moors. The van was a lot nippier than it had first appeared. Nina changed down into second and held on for the ride. Sheâd never driven so high up before. She could see right out to sea over the crest of the hill; there were great tankers arrivingâfrom the Netherlands and Scandinavia and China, she imagined, bringing in toys and furniture and paper, and taking oil and whiskey back the other way.
A huge red truck drove past her and honked loudly. Nina jumped in her seat before realizing it was just a friendly greeting between trucks. As she rounded an unusually sharp bend, a tiny zippy sports car nipped in front of her and raced off, which also gave her a fright. Shaken, she parked up in the first turnoff she came to and gripped the steering wheel tightly. She noticed that her hands were shaking.
She wound down the window and gulped in several breaths of bracing fresh air until she felt a little better. Then she jumped out of the cab, scrambled down to the grounds and took a proper look around.
The problem was, Nina thought, kicking the tires, she didnât really know enough about vans to know if this one was any good. She wasnât even sure you were meant to kick the tires, although there was a certain satisfaction to it, especially when the tires were as big as these. They didnât seem bald, though. And she managed to open the hood, even though she didnât know what she was looking for. Nothing was rusty, and there was oil in it; even she could check oil.
Inside, the back needed a bit of a cleanup, mostly straw removed, but that was fine. It was easy to see how the shelving would go in, and how the little seating area could work at the back; and the side door opened perfectly, with the set of steps unfolding smoothly.
In fact, as Nina went on with her inspection, she started to get excited again. Suddenly she could see it all in her mindâs eye. Parking up somewhere like this beautiful turnoff. Well, maybe not a turnoff. Somewhere in town,
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