Chapter Six
Enya tried to sleep, figuring that if she faked it for long enough, the real thing might creep over her.
Eyes shut, arms by her sides, lying back on her pillow, she did her best to smother the sound of that drum and let the quiet wrap her, but it was no use, the sandman had apparently left her off his list. Again.
Angela’s words resonated; was she hiding in her ice cave? The question being whether she was indeed brave enough to do anything about it.
‘Ugh.’ She felt her stomach roll with sickness at the thought of speaking to him.
Her sister was right, there was only one way to crawl forward and that was to engage with Handsome Car Klutz directly, find out if he was married, interested, or was indeed just one of those people who was nice to everyone, or whether she was about to make a complete fool of herself.
Although even if he was single, what did that mean, what would she do with that information?
‘I’d do nothing, but at least it would be closure,’ she reasoned.
With the phone in her hand, she lifted her finger, hesitating before she pressed the icon that would connect her to HCK.
‘What should I say? I’ll be subtle of course, see what he says, how he reacts and go with that.
God, I feel sick! What if I make a monumental idiot of myself, what if I sound like a weirdo or desperado.
How do I even broach the topic that I might have felt a little sexy at the sight of his wrist!
’ She ran her hand over her face. ‘This is something I haven’t had to contend with for decades!
’ Pickle’s lack of response did nothing to settle her nerves.
‘I guess if he is curt or cool, I never have to speak to him or of him again. It’s not like I’m going to have to see him.
I can always block his number, delete the contact, it will be as if it never happened. ’ She talked herself into it.
Consoled by the option of deleting all mention of him entirely, she pressed the button and instantly regretted doing so. Hunched over with embarrassment, with her toes curled and her face contorted, physically reflecting the agonising regret of her action.
If she ended the call, however, he would still see that she had called and that was almost worse somehow!
She was unsure how something as basic as making a call to the person who had damaged her car could cause her this much angst. It was a huge relief when his answerphone kicked in.
What she should have done was end the call, allow him to call back if he wanted or needed, but instead she listened, smiling, quite enamoured by the sound of his voice, which had the same effect as it had in real life, as her heart jumped in her chest and the tingle of excitement ran along her limbs, sending a blush of desire over her skin. And finally, she discovered his name.
Hi, you’ve reached Dominic’s phone, leave me a message, and... you know the rest, I’ll return your call when I get the message, which is likely to be weeks and weeks after you’ve left it, so... apologies in advance...
Dominic! So intent was she on listening that she almost ignored the beep, aware suddenly that it was recording, and she was doing no more than breathing and smiling. He might think it a crank call!
‘Oh! Gosh! Yes, erm . . . it’s . . . it’s me . . . car park woman.’ She cringed, car park woman ? ‘Just thought I’d . . . you know . . . doing some . . . some admin, car stuff, erm, anyway, it’s me and so, yup.’
Hastily, she finished the call, threw her phone on to the bedside table, and wriggled down on the mattress, hiding her face under the duvet with her hand clamped over her mouth, breathing quickly through her nose, wanting to disappear forever. She felt Pickle readjust her position.
‘You absolute dipstick!’ she finally yelled at herself as she came up for air, ‘you sounded like a babbling teen! Angela’s right, when is the last time I stuck my head out of my ice den?
He’ll block your number! Delete all mention of you!
You’ll have to pay for the bloody door now, yourself, which is no more than you deserve. I’m dying of shame!’
Closing her eyes, she wished hard now for the escape of sleep, every muscle coiled, cringing at her entirely pointless and embarrassing message that Dominic would apparently not hear for weeks and weeks, and would by that stage probably have forgotten all about her!
But sleep, it seemed, was still not on the agenda, as her cogs turned, her thoughts whizzed, and her interior monologue screamed negative confidence-crushing words at her!
Idiot!
Moron!
Car Park Woman?
What were you thinking!
Poor Jonathan, did you forget about him?
The truth was that in that moment when Dominic’s voice had held her attention, she had in fact forgotten Jonathan for a second or two. With this realisation came the awful sense of failure, like she’d let her husband down, cheated, even.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.
Her brain noise was quieted by the sound of her phone buzzing.
The breath caught in her throat, and as she reached for it, the name flashed up on her screen, HCK.
Unsure if she should answer, she held the phone for a second or two.
It would be awkward, of that there was no doubt, embarrassing too – what would they have to talk about?
The initial fizz of excitement was now dulled when she pictured her lovely husband.
She felt like a child who’d been caught with her hand in the biscuit tin.
‘Hello?’ Her voice no more than a shaky whisper.
‘So, I’ve spent most of the day wondering what your name might be. I’d kind of settled on Maggie.’
‘Maggie?’ She laughed, as much with relief at the ease with which they had begun – that, and to be called Maggie was better than being called an Arctic fox or a penguin.
‘Yes, not sure why, it felt fitting somehow, but how foolish do I feel, now I know your name is in fact Car Park Woman. Is it French? Hungarian? Dutch? I’m not familiar with it, I’m assuming Woman is your surname and is Car Park double-barrelled?’
‘That’s correct. Most people shorten it to the initials CP.’
‘Ah, makes sense. So, CP, here we are.’
Enya smiled. ‘Yes, here we are.’
She felt some of her confidence restored, enjoying the warm feeling in her stomach, a reminder of what this felt like, whatever this was, wary of adding words or labels that would sound as frivolous and ridiculous as they sounded in her head.
She was a grown woman, not some teen hankering for company.
‘How’s the car, have you administered paracetamol, a bandage, spoken soft words of reassurance, offered sweet tea?’
‘All of the above.’
He made it easy. Easy to chat, easy to forget her loneliness, easy to mask her loss.
‘I see.’ There was a beat of companionable silence. ‘Well, that makes me very happy.’
‘How so?’ She sat up a little, all nerves withering, replaced with something that felt a lot like energy.
‘Because if your car is comfortable and doing as well as can be expected, that means you haven’t discovered any new or disastrous levels of damage that might necessitate the intervention of our insurance companies, which hopefully means you just wanted to talk to me.’
‘I did. I did just want to talk to you.’ Unsure of where this self-assuredness came from, in that instant she sounded as bold as she felt.
This, however, was underpinned with the rumble of unease that she still hadn’t established if he was free to be having this rather flirtatious chat at all, and that was before she could swallow the tang of shame at how she could say this at all – her, Enya Brown, Jonathan’s wife.
‘Well, I’m rather glad. I would have called this afternoon.’
‘I see. And what would prompt such a call to a stranger?’
‘Simple, really, I wanted to know about that one night, what happened? The night you thought you might have been trendy and a go-getter when you were seventeen.’
It was her turn to laugh. It was flattering and connecting, not only his interest but his recollection of that one brief conversation in the car park, seemingly as sharp as her own.
‘Well, that’s funny, as I wanted to know why you have had quite the day ?’ she quoted.
‘You first,’ he urged, and she could tell he was smiling.
‘Gosh, it was a very long time ago.’ Suddenly, she felt a little uneasy at being so candid with this man she knew nothing about, a complete stranger.
‘I’m interested,’ he stated, the words loaded.
‘You are?’
‘I am.’
There was something about the way he spoke that drew her to a place of safety. It smacked of promise, of connection.
‘Take your time.’
She breathed out slowly and, as instructed, took her time, as if they were old friends or old lovers or, at the very least, better acquainted to the point where to share with him tales of one night in her seventeenth year, spent on the island of Mallorca, was no big deal.
She turned her body towards the window, tilting her head away from the bathroom door where Jonathan stood.