Page 74 of Crazy Spooky Love
We head out onto the deserted car park. Babs is resting in one corner, Fletch’s dark Saab menacing her from a few spaces away.
“Even your car looks like it’s stalking mine,” I say.
“He’s probably been dirty talking to her; he can’t help himself.”
“It won’t work, Babs is a classy lady,” I say. “She prefers subtlety to being hammered over the head with in-your-face sex words.”
Fletch side-eyes me. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” he says. “Tell me more.”
I ignore him, struggling to find the right key, my shopping bag in my other hand.
“Let me,” he says, taking them from me and finding the old van key easily. “You named your van Babs?”
“And?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs. “It’s just a very you thing to do.”
I roll my eyes as I heave the van door back on its sliders.
“Want a leg up?” he says.
“Piss off,” I say, used to clambering into Babs by now. She old-lady groans as I board her, and I breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of my phone on the bench.
“Babs is kind of hot,” Fletch says. “For an old girl.”
“Pervert,” I say.
He shrugs, and I shove the key in the ignition. It’s obvious from Babs’s almighty shudder that there’s something more than usual amiss.
“You have a flat tire,” he says, after stepping back to survey the van.
I yelp and fling myself out to check. Oh, crap, he’s right. Babs is always unsteady on her axles, but she’s pancake flat on her back tire.
“Have you got a spare? I’ve got a kit in my car to change it.”
“Do you think I have a bloody spare?” I say, starting to panic. “She’s over fifty years old.” I don’t tell him that the only thing I keep in the spare wheel well is an emergency biscuit stash, it felt like the right just-in-case place.
“Can you tow me home?”
“Melody, if I tie a rope to that thing, it’ll just pull the bumper off. It’s likely to fall into a heap of spare parts.”
“What else am I supposed to do?”
“Leave it here ’til morning. Phone Mick in town, he’ll come and sort it.”
“I can’t leave her here all night on her own,” I gasp. “She’ll be lonely.”
He sighs as if he knows what that feels like, and for a second, I think we have that much in common.
“Shall we have a sleepover in the Mystery Machine?” he says.
I ignore him, because something occurs to me and sends me into a spin.
“But I need her back on the road by sixa.m.,” I splutter. “Honestly, it’s an emergency, I have to be somewhere.”
He frowns, and I shake my head, defensive.
“Don’t ask me to explain it, because you wouldn’t believe it anyway.” I press my hands against my hot cheeks, stricken. “I don’t know what to do, Fletch.”
