Page 17 of One More Day
This isn’t good.
I mean, I can tackle some basic mechanics when it comes to cars. I know my way around an engine, it’s in my blood, but this – this is way above my station.
‘Please, please,please…’ I beg, regretting instantly the basic insurance policy I took out, which doesn’t include roadside assistance.
I live in the city for goodness’ sake. It would have been a waste of money, even the broker said that. I barely need to take my car anywhere as it’s more hassle than it’s worth, not to mention expensive to pay for parking.
In Dublin I can walk to most places, or just jump on the DART, or hail a taxi if I ever need to go somewhere a bit further out. I don’t think they evenhavetaxis in this part of Donegal.
I slam the bonnet closed, resisting the urge to kick the tyre on my way past. I open the passenger door and George jumps up and out of the car to greet me.
‘I’ll sort this, George, don’t worry,’ I tell him, stroking his damp fur and trying to convince myself at the same time. ‘I can sort it. Plan B or C, or whatever plan comes next is only a thought away.’
I clip his lead to his collar, grab my purse from the dashboard and carefully cross the road to the village coffee shop where I plan to gather my thoughts and consider my next move.
It’s a pink building that says ‘Sean’s Scones and Bakes’ in swirling gold text above the door – a new owner since I was last here many moons ago. I push it open as an old-fashioned bell announces my arrival.
‘You look like you could do with a hot drink, and fast,’ says the white-haired, pink-cheeked man behind the counter, who I don’t like to assume but I’d place my bets might be Sean himself.
I shiver as the sticky warmth inside shakes me up against the cold. The place smells like hot-cross buns and chocolate which is enough to warm my soul, if only temporarily.
‘Yes, please.’
‘Car trouble?’ he asks and I nod. ‘I was watching you and wasjustabout to go out to see if I could help in any way when I saw you crossing the road towards me. Bet it’s freezing cold out there, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it’s freezing. Literally,’ I inform him with a polite smile. Talk about stating the obvious.
I don’t believe he was going to leave his warm café, not for one second, and nor could I blame him, but his gesture of assistance reminds me of how Charlie, the now very cosyand warm resident of Seaview Cottage, stopped to help me earlier and how I smugly shooed him away. I’m not so smart this time.
‘I’ll have a cinnamon latte, please,’ I tell the man who is now wiping condensation from the window. His hands make a squeaking sound, and he stares across the road at my car again with squinted eyes, his hands on his hips now as he shakes his head. I take off my coat which is already soaked through.
‘Have a seat and I’ll bring you your coffee. And some water for the dog too.’
I realise that George and I have just plodded our wet feet and paws inside his cute little café without even checking if it was dog-friendly, but so far the man seems pretty cool about my companion. I’m the only one here, after all, so it’s not like anyone else is going to complain.
‘One steaming hot cinnamon latte just for you, my dear,’ announces Sean moments later, and in true Donegal style, he pulls out the seat beside me and sits down for a chat. ‘So, can I help at all? Now, I must admit, though I bake great cakes and buns, I’ve absolutely no idea about cars, I’m afraid. However, I do know a man who knowseverythingabout cars, so I can call him if you like?’
‘Oh no, I don’t want to bother anyone in this weather,’ I reply, wishing he would just let me think for myself for a second, or at least enjoy my coffee before I tackle my pretty major problem of being stranded in rural Donegal.
Sean pulls a frown.
‘So you’re going to fix the car yourself, then?’ he asks.
I laugh at his tone. It’s like something my own father would say to me.
‘I wish I could fix it myself,’ I tell him, holding the tall glass of coffee with both hands. ‘I actually do know quite a bit about cars, but not at this level …’
‘So let me get my friend to look at it,’ he says, chuckling as he goes for the phone.
‘If he doesn’t mind … I’d be forever grateful.’
‘Enjoy your coffee and relax, love. We’ll get you sorted, don’t worry. Don’t worry at all,’ he says, holding his back as he shuffles off.
I watch him disappear towards the back of the shop, then I look at the time on the clock above the door and close my eyes in despair. It’s almost four in the afternoon. There’s no way a mechanic will even look at my car at this stage of the day, never mind get me back on the road by tonight.
I feel a wave of panic prick my skin and my breath shortens as Sean potters back and forth behind the counter, his words on the phone a muffled haze in the background against the hum in my ears that warns me a panic attack might be near.
I can’t let this happen. I won’t let this happen. I am in control. I’m a business owner, a homeowner, a successful city navigator. I’m not going to crumble just because I’m stuck in my own home county in the snow with nowhere to stay and a dog who is depending on me to find us a bed for the night. Am I?
