Page 3 of The Reno
It’s fine.Don’t fly off the handle, Kat. Use your words.
“I really need that spot. Today is—” A little voice told me if I mentioned it was my dad’s funeral, that I would start welling up. And I was not wasting tears on this dickhead. “Today is a big day for me. A significant day. And I know you’ll do the gentlemanly thing”—the man glanced up from his phone, his eyes glimmered with humour—“and park at the rectory car park over there.” I gestured to the auxiliary car park down the road from the church.
He huffed a laugh, and then his phone blared a loud ringtone, making me jump.
“No can do, I’m afraid.” He picked up the phone, answering it softly. “Hey, sweetie.”
I could feel my face heat with fury. This guy was speaking to his girlfriend while I was negotiating a parking space for my dad’s fucking funeral. He didn’t give a shit about the panic on my face or the plea in my voice.
“Hey, dickhead.” Fuck negotiation. I was never destined for the UN. “Can you just move your fucking van?”
The man cocked an eyebrow. His eyes did that scanning thing again, and the side of his lips lifted. Was he… was he finding this funny? No way.
How was he so fucking calm when I could barely contain my rage?
It made me want to say somethingreallyoutrageous.
He returned to the phone. “Sweetie, can I call you back? Okay. Love you.”
I made a vomiting noise as he put the phone down, and then he changed. He went bolt upright, and he was… tall. He had to be over six feet.
He placed his hands on my window, leaning. “No can do, Red. You’ll have to park at the rectory yourself.”
“I amnotcalled Red. Why on earth—” The penny dropped. “Right. Ginger. Red. Very creative.”
The man’s lips twitched. “Actually, it was more a comment on the colour of your cheeks right now.”
“You’re a prick.” I don’t think I’d ever called anyone a prick. Or at least not to their face. I started the car, preparing to roll the tyre over his foot. “Can you get your hand off my fucking car?”
He leaned forward. “What’s your name?”
“If I tell you, will you give me the parkingspace?”
“Probably not. You’re not from around here, are you?”
Fury boiled, and I made a very unladylike noise between a grunt and a scream. I followed it up with a “fuck you” and shifted the car into gear, leaving him standing there. I watched as his face broke into a smile, as he shook his head, and then walked off into whatever pit of hell he’d appeared from. I was forced to mount Mum’s car on the grass verge of the church graveyard and figured Mum and the vicar could shout at me later.
My dress got caught in the door as I climbed out of the car, and I made that frustrated noise again.
“For fuck’s sake.”
I ran into the little room at the front of the church where Mum and Graham were waiting for me, relief crossing their faces.
“All okay?” Mum asked.
You can’t say she doesn’t have a strong brand.
“All good. I got them.”
“Then chop, chop.” Her face was drawn and tense. “Your uncle saved us a spot at the front of the church. We held off as long as possible, but the vicar has to start soon. Really, Katherine. Of all days to be forgetful.”
I squeezed my eyes shut as self-hatred flooded my system. My mother hated nothing more than being late or being perceived as a nuisance. Funnily enough, I was often both.
I pushed open the arched door, and my mouth fell open. The church was full. And it wasn’t a small church. Every single pew was full of people, most I didn’t recognise. I halted, but Mum bumped into me, pushing me forward. As I shuffled towards the front of the church, my gaze snagged to the front row, lockingeyes with my cousin, Lydia, who wore a form-fitting black dress and smart black trainers. Even for formal events, you couldn’t get Lydia out of trainers. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had been born with them bonded to her feet.
“Hey,” I said, relieved to see a friendly face. We weren’t close, but at least I knew Lydia.
“Alright, mate?” Lydia asked, nudging my elbow, a small sad smile on her face. That was all I needed for the tears to well. Christ, we were so repressed in this country.
