The Boat House

THIRTY-THREE

Pete was working late that night; he'd stayed on at the yard to clear up a few small jobs, which included taking a look at Diane's Toyota after Frank Lowry had gone home. Alina wasn't working, but was up at the house; after their last serious conversation Pete felt a certain awkwardness when he was around her, and so it had been no tough decision to keep going. Instead of heading for the Step, he'd run the pickup onto the hoist and reached for the air spanner.

Ted joined him after a while. He came in through the side door, and he was carrying something that Pete recognised after a moment's lag; it was Wayne's radio-cassette player, Pete's present to him of two Christmases back.

"I came to give you a hand," Ted said. "It's too damn quiet over in the house." And he placed the ghettoblaster on the workbench, pulled out the FM aerial, and switched it on. It put out a lot of sound for such a small unit.

"Yeah," Pete said, wincing. "That ought to cure it."

Ted lowered the volume. He hitched up onto the bench beside the radio and watched for a while and then said, "Any problem?"

"Not for a mere expert."

Ted watched for a while longer. Then he said, "I've heard of enthusiasm, but this is ridiculous."

"Just a little after-hours special," Pete said, tossing the offending brake shoe onto the bench beside Ted. "I assumed you wouldn't mind."

"Mind?" Ted said. "Why should I mind? That's Diane Jackson's car, isn't it?"

"The man has brains as well as eyes."

"This has got to be the weirdest courtship in the history of sexual relations."

"Oh, no," Pete said. "Don't start that. I'm thinking of jacking it all in and becoming a monk."

"Why?"

"Diane won't come anywhere near me while Alina's around, but then every time Alina talks about leaving I get this strange feeling that I won't know what I'll do if she goes. Now, what would you call that?"

"A mess," Ted said.

"Exactly. So I'm going to be a monk. I'm going to wear a sack, and I'm going to shave the top of my head."

"Yeah," Ted said, leaning over to peer at the crown of Pete's hair. "I can see you've made a start."

He picked up the damaged pad and inspected it, turning it over like a valuer with some not-so-rare antique. The radio thumped away in the background.

And then he looked up and said, "Beer would help."

"Back in the seat, please, Jed," his mother told him as she indicated to pull off the road onto the forecourt of the last late opening petrol station before civilisation ran out and darkness began, and Jed did as he'd been ordered. He'd been standing up and hanging himself forward over the backrest of the passenger seat, swinging his arms like a monkey. This was great. Bedtime was sliding past, and no one had said a word about it. He was out on strange roads, at night, in the safety of an unfamiliar car; the world seemed to have lots of exciting new edges to it, and he was in no hurry to get home.

He looked out of the window. The forecourt was like a piece of a neon city, bright as day and utterly deserted. He could see the late night cashier in his booth, in the last lighted corner of one of those shops where they sold a few dozen things that had to do with cars and a few hundred that didn't. Sometimes his mother would let him go with her and browse around while she was waiting to get her credit card back. She never let him buy anything, but it was always interesting to look. There was no point in him even asking tonight; at this time the shop was all closed, the cashier sealed in behind a teller's window and a cheap intercom system. He was reading a magazine.

"Stay here," his mother said.

She got out and went over to unhook the pump nozzle. It looked like a weird kind of gun and she carried it two-handed, it was so heavy. Then she hunted around for the Zodiac's filler cap, located it, and a few seconds later the car started to hum with the transmitted vibration of the pump. Jed looked up at her through the rear window, but she was staring off into space across the roof of the car. Armed now with the knowledge that she wasn't watching, he squeezed forward between the seat backs and clambered into the forbidden passenger seat.

She'd now said exactly eight words to him since she'd returned from the big boat. Jed would have liked to have gone onto the big boat as well, but she'd told him that it was like a bar, no children allowed. They could always go on a different boat, another time.

No children allowed. The number of things they promised you, and always for when you got older.

Something was worrying her, which meant that Jed was uneasy as well. But at least she knew what she was worrying about, whereas for Jed it was just like some vague feeling that was in the air that he breathed and could do nothing to resolve. He could watch her for reassurance, and that was all. From the back of the car he'd been able to see her eyes in the mirror whenever she'd checked the road behind them; but she'd seemed to be looking directly at him, as if catching him out in his concern, and so he'd glanced away.

He liked the big Hi-Lux, especially on those rare occasions when his mother let him ride around the back in the open pickup area, but the Zodiac was even better because it was black and it looked mean. With that tape and stuff around the front, it was like a battle wagon straight out of Mad Max. Maybe he could have a crack at driving it, one day, somewhere around the estate roads where it wouldn't matter that he didn't have a license.

One day.

When he got older.

He heard the klunk of the nozzle being withdrawn. His mother hung it back on the pump and headed off to pay; from here it looked as if she had about an acre of empty, oil stained concrete to cross, stepping up and over one of the other raised islands when she was about halfway.

Jed turned around and looked back toward the road. There was another car entering the forecourt. It was newer than the Zodiac, but it didn't look in much better shape; it was so dusty that even from here you could see the Smiley faces that someone had drawn onto one of its doors, while vision through the windscreen must have been restricted to a couple of overlapping arcs where the washers and wipers had cleared it. He was expecting the vehicle to carry on across to one of the other islands, but it didn't; it made a sudden, tighter turn, and came in alongside so close to the Zodiac that there was less than an arm's length between them.

It stopped level.

Quickly, Jed hit the door locking button. It was something that his mother had drilled into him so often that he barely thought about it, the response was so automatic. He could see the face of the other car's driver. He was a strange looking character, but he was smiling. He raised his hand and made a finger twirling gesture, and Jed supposed that the stranger meant for him to open his window.

Conflicting impulses fought within Jed. There was Don't talk to any strangers, but then there was Always be polite. He glanced back across the forecourt; his mother was at the cashier's window, her back toward him, seeing none of this. No help from there.

But where was the harm? He was safe in the car.

He turned the handle to wind down the window. Nothing happened, and then the glass dropped halfway all at once.

The other car's driver was still smiling.

"A fine set of wheels," he said.

He sounded strange. Jed supposed he was a foreigner. He didn't know what he ought to say in reply.

Getting no answer the man said, "That's Pete's car, isn't it?"

This changed everything. The man was no stranger after all.

Jed said, "Yes, it is. We're borrowing it."

"From Peter Shakespeare, yes?"

"No," Jed said, puzzled, "Peter McCarthy."

"My mistake," the man said. "Sorry," and his car revved and suddenly he was gone. He didn't stop for petrol or anything, just swung off into the night and disappeared.

Nonplussed, Jed started to wind up the window again. He wondered if he'd said something wrong.

He looked across the forecourt, toward the pay window. His mother was just starting to turn around. Knowing her, she'd probably demand to hear the conversation word for word and then rebuke him for being unable to remember most of it.

Better not to say anything, he thought.

And so, when she came back, he didn't.