Chapter 19
NINETEEN
‘Move your car, you twat!’ someone shouts at me.
I stare back blankly. ‘I would if I knew how!’ The man beeps his horn at me and I wave a fist at him like an angry old man.
What to do? I look down at my phone again.
These are the moments when I miss having a family the most – ride or die people you could call and they wouldn’t question a thing, they’d show up.
Mum and Dad are enjoying their retirement in Australia and I don’t deny them their fun, but at times it feels lonely not having them near.
In her prime, Nana would have shown up with a taxi and helped me deliver these books.
She’d have loved getting involved and swearing back at angry drivers.
I scroll through my phone list and hover over Old Nick’s name.
Are you that person now? It’d certainly be a test of our young relationship.
But he’ll be at work. I don’t want to drag him out of important finance things.
I see another name and smile, dialling it immediately.
‘What’s up, Kay Kay?’ the voice sounds.
‘Please say you might be free, Lucy?’ I ask, realising my bottom jaw might be chattering.
‘You sound cold. Are you OK? I’m at work, at the farm,’ she says.
‘Nah, it’s… Did I ever tell you about my book drive I was doing? I seem to be stuck. My car’s broken down in the middle of a main road. Are you mid-shift though? I need…’ I need help but I also need a friend.
‘Jump in a taxi, babes? Have you called recovery?’
‘I can’t leave my car. Recovery says they’ll be over an hour.’
She pauses for a moment. ‘Oh, love… look, leave it with me. I’ll sort it. Can you drop me a pin with your location?’ And I smile broadly because it’s the response you want, the sort that drops everything, without question.
‘Thank you, I love you.’
‘You soppy cow. Help is on the way, dear.’ I hear the jingle of bells in the background as she hangs up and I stand there by the roadside, just in time for someone to drive through a growing puddle and splash me. Seriously. Thanks.
There’s something about waiting that always gives me space with my thoughts, and as a consequence, I tend to think about life in too much detail.
Maybe my car breaking down is a sign that this book drive is a terrible idea.
I need to give up the ghost. This is time I could be spending with Nana.
It’s time I could be writing. It’s time I could be spending with Nick.
This is the universe telling me not to distract myself with other things.
Maybe people don’t want these books at all.
People don’t read anymore. They want iPhones and gift cards.
How silly to think any of this could make a difference.
The rain hasn’t stopped. It falls in diagonals so the parts of my onesie where my coat doesn’t cover my legs are soaked through.
Any make-up I was wearing has probably slicked off my face, from the rain but also my tears. This is not a winning moment.
I’ve been here for about twenty minutes when a truck suddenly pulls up behind my car.
I can’t take another person shouting at me so I try and hide behind the tree, watching as the two men in ponchos and work boots go over to my car and look through the windows.
One of them opens the driver door and checks inside.
Shit. Are they trying to steal it? Hold up. I know you.
‘Nick?’ I say, peering out from behind the trunk of the tree.
He looks up at me, squinting through the rain before climbing over the railing and heading over to me. ‘What are you doing behind that tree?’
‘Waiting for…’ Damn you, Lucy. I realise what she’s done here. ‘I always thought you shouldn’t wait in your car when you break down.’
‘But you’re… wet through. It’s raining.’
No shit, Sherlock. I don’t think my mood needs him to state the bleeding obvious right now.
‘Why are you in a jumpsuit?’
‘It’s a onesie. Why do you keep confusing these things?’
I don’t know why his inability to identify all-in-one clothing upsets me so much but he looks at me brusquely, and I frown despite how relieved I am to see him.
Another person emerges next to him, side-eyeing Nick curiously. ‘I’m Noah,’ he says, waving. There’s a softer shape to his face but he has the same eyes. He scans my bedraggled chic curiously.
‘He’s my brother,’ Nick clarifies. ‘We were doing a delivery and Lucy rang to tell us you were in trouble so…’
He came to the rescue. Of course he did. ‘Do you guys know anything about cars?’
Noah turns to me. ‘I know that one’s a bit dead. Maybe we push it into that lay-by ten yards up there and then at least it’s out of the way?’
Nick doesn’t look at me for permission. He heads over to the barrier, steps over it and almost has command of the traffic, the way cars slow down and part for him like Moses.
He then goes into the car to release the handbrake, steering and pushing as Noah pushes it from the back.
I should help but I stand there quietly to watch this manly show of help, embarrassed if immensely grateful.
They return to the grassy bank next to me. ‘Thank you,’ I say sheepishly. ‘I… I guess I should wait for the AA if you wanted to be on your way?’
‘Lucy said you were on your way to your book drive?’ Nick asks. The water drips off the hood of his poncho. Inside his face is perfectly dry, as if he hasn’t even broken a sweat.
‘Yeah, the car is packed with books.’
‘Then load them up in the truck and I’ll take you there,’ Nick says, as though it’s a very uncomplicated solution to this matter.
‘But… my car…’
‘Noah will stay with the car. Where do we have to drop the books?’ Nick asks me.
‘Isleworth.’
‘Literally down the road.’
‘But…’
‘Kay, it’s pissing it down. You need my help. I told you to get in touch if you needed my help. I am giving you my help.’
Noah gives him a sharp glance at this point because there’s a sense of rebuke in his tone. I guess the rain doesn’t help but I look at him and exhale, exasperated by the events of the day and probably even more by this man telling me off. ‘Then I guess… thank you?’
We all move back to my car and take a plastic crate each, making two journeys to their truck to load the books in, trying to shield the books as best we can. As they are loaded up, I turn to Noah. ‘Seriously, you don’t mind waiting?’
‘Half an hour away from grumpy bollocks here won’t hurt,’ he says. ‘It’s all good, Kay.’
He smiles as he says my name and studies my face. I’m not entirely sure why but I hand him my car keys.
‘Thank you.’
‘When you’re both done having a social,’ Nick shouts from the truck, flashing his lights.
I run to the side of the truck and jump in, realising I’m going to leave great puddles of rainwater all over the seat and the floor of the vehicle.
I am appreciative of the help, but I can see where Nick gets his grumpy reputation from.
There is an efficiency there laced with a healthy dose of impatience.
He pulls the truck away carefully and we wave at Noah as we drive past.
‘Will he be OK?’ I ask Nick.
‘He’s a grown man with 4G. He’ll be fine. There’s a towel in that bag if you need it,’ he says. ‘You’re kinda…’ Please don’t say wet again. ‘Soaked.’
‘Kinda?’ I should tell him the rain has seeped into my knickers but I’ll keep that to myself. ‘Is this your towel?’
‘It’s my gym towel.’
‘Is it used?’
‘No,’ he says, apparently confused at why he would be offering me a sweaty towel.
‘I was going to the gym later.’ He goes to the gym.
Probably why he can push cars so easily.
I take off my coat and bury my face in the towel, drying my hair as much as I can, which collects water like a sponge.
The car is silent, bar the squeak of the window wipers.
Where’s his Christmas music? ‘That is a lot of books in the back there, Kay. Were you seriously going to deliver those yourself?’ he asks, as I try and rearrange my curls.
‘It was going to be a quick drop off at the women and children’s refuge. I can carry plastic crates very well on my own,’ I say.
‘Dressed like that?’
I pull at my onesie self-consciously. It was fun, fluffy and cute an hour ago but I guess Rudolph probably never had to wait by a flyover in the rain. ‘That was kinda rude,’ I tell him.
He seems taken aback at my retort. ‘I’m only saying that because you’re all matted and soggy.
You should plan better. Your car’s a bit of a crate too.
’ Well, now I’m deeply offended. That car’s done me well over the years; it’s survived university and numerous trips to beaches and suchlike.
It’s almost a part of my family. ‘We have vans at the farm. Let me help,’ he says.
‘But… I don’t want to impose…’
‘I’d say if you were imposing.’ I have a feeling that he would.
‘I saw you at the library, juggling all those books, wrapping them up. You’ve got an event at an old people’s home on Friday, yeah? I’ll drive you. I’ll do the Santa thing. Don’t do this alone.’
I still don’t care for his tone but there’s something there, a simple add-on at the end of that sentence that is affecting and humbling. Maybe since Nana went into the home I have been doing too much on my own. I write alone, I live alone and I haven’t known how to do things any other way.
‘I don’t get you,’ I tell him sullenly. He looks at me, confused. ‘You’re offering help but you’re also making digs at how I go about things.’
‘I’m not. All I’m saying is if you’re going out dressed like a sad wet bear then plan better. Pack an umbrella.’
‘I’m a reindeer,’ I say, pulling up my hood so he can see my antlers.
He says nothing but gives me a look that tells me he finds my need for fancy dress ridiculous. I even wore UGG slippers for authenticity. Some would applaud the commitment.
‘Well, even reindeers don’t do Christmas on their own. Santa needs a whole flock to pull his sleigh.’
‘A herd,’ I reply. ‘Reindeer herd. It’s a flock of sheep.’
‘Or seagulls.’
‘Mine-mine…’ I caw.
‘Finding Nemo.’ He got the reference. But he doesn’t laugh despite my rather brilliant impression of a sea bird.
I look over at him, hands firmly on the steering wheel, clenching it tightly.
Why are you so tense, so humourless? Because this is an inconvenience and I seem ungrateful?
Maybe I need to break the surliness and just accept his offers of help.
‘What are your trucks like? Are they roomy?’ I ask him.
‘We’ve got white vans with decent load dimensions,’ he says seriously.
‘Will it have this?’ I ask him, pointing to a Santa on the dashboard that wriggles his hips every time the truck stops.
‘That’s not mine, it’s Noah’s. He thinks it’s funny,’ he says.
‘It is, no?’
‘No.’
I look over at him. I am thankful you’re here, I really am but it’s supposed to be the happiest time of the year.
I grab his towel and unzip my onesie a little to expose my neck, drying as much rain as I can down to my cleavage.
However, as I do, the truck brakes suddenly and I feel the pull of the seatbelt against my shoulder.
‘Bloody wazzock!’ Nick shouts out angrily.
The combination of his volume and the sudden jolt of the brakes makes the hairs on my arm stand on end but there’s something about that word too.
I laugh. It’s something you don’t hear these days.
But when did I last hear it? On a phone.
A man. A man who delivered a Christmas tree to my nana.
A really big Christmas tree. Oh my. You?