Page 43 of Big Nick Energy
But I don’t finish my sentence. That’s way too soon. Instead, I wrap my arms around him and embrace him tightly. There is something here, isn’t there? A spark that was lit almost a decade ago, a familiarity there that means I can rest in his arms and feel safe. Maybe I need to give this a chance. I look up at Santa gazingat both of us, smiling. What do I want for Christmas? Maybe it starts with this.
NINETEEN
I believe that in my obituary they will write: Kay Redman, author, decent human being, over-achiever. Died on a trunk road near Brentford, next to her really shit red Renault 5 filled to the brim with books, dressed as a reindeer. Please little car, please start. I turn the key again and the engine emits a dying splutter, and a light shines on the dashboard. The book drive starts today; I’m supposed to give out the first of my books but ironically, I can’t drive anywhere. I admit defeat and put on my hazard warning lights, exit the car and head to a grassy bank behind a barrier to protect myself, watching as my breakdown seems to be creating traffic and people are starting to scowl and beep their horns. I look down at my phone and fill in the details of the breakdown on my app.We are experiencing a higher number of callouts than usual. Someone will aim to be with you in ninety minutes. Great. I don’t know what to do. Do I go on YouTube, open the bonnet and try and fix the fault myself? Do I try and get the books out of the car? But then, because life has a cruel sense of humour, it starts to rain. That horrible cold winter rain that makes the air feel sharper, more bitter. The books should stay in the dry. I, meanwhile, put my hood up, the antlers of my onesie pinging up, taking shelter under a nearbytree because my umbrella isn’t in the boot of my car. It’s at work in the staff room. Shit.
‘Move your car, you twat!’ someone shouts at me.
I stare back blankly. ‘I would if I knew how!’ The man beeps his horn at me and I wave a fist at him like an angry old man.
What to do? I look down at my phone again. These are the moments when I miss having a family the most – ride or die people you could call and they wouldn’t question a thing, they’d show up. Mum and Dad are enjoying their retirement in Australia and I don’t deny them their fun, but at times it feels lonely not having them near. In her prime, Nana would have shown up with a taxi and helped me deliver these books. She’d have loved getting involved and swearing back at angry drivers. I scroll through my phone list and hover over Old Nick’s name.Are you that person now?It’d certainly be a test of our young relationship. But he’ll be at work. I don’t want to drag him out of important finance things. I see another name and smile, dialling it immediately.
‘What’s up, Kay Kay?’ the voice sounds.
‘Please say you might be free, Lucy?’ I ask, realising my bottom jaw might be chattering.
‘You sound cold. Are you OK? I’m at work, at the farm,’ she says.
‘Nah, it’s… Did I ever tell you about my book drive I was doing? I seem to be stuck. My car’s broken down in the middle of a main road. Are you mid-shift though? I need…’ I need help but I also need a friend.
‘Jump in a taxi, babes? Have you called recovery?’
‘I can’t leave my car. Recovery says they’ll be over an hour.’
She pauses for a moment. ‘Oh, love… look, leave it with me. I’ll sort it. Can you drop me a pin with your location?’ And I smile broadly because it’s the response you want, the sort that drops everything, without question.
‘Thank you, I love you.’
‘You soppy cow. Help is on the way, dear.’ I hear the jingle of bells in the background as she hangs up and I stand there by the roadside, just in time for someone to drive through a growing puddle and splash me. Seriously. Thanks.
There’s something about waiting that always gives me space with my thoughts, and as a consequence, I tend to think about life in too much detail. Maybe my car breaking down is a sign that this book drive is a terrible idea. I need to give up the ghost. This is time I could be spending with Nana. It’s time I could be writing. It’s time I could be spending with Nick. This is the universe telling me not to distract myself with other things. Maybe people don’t want these books at all. People don’t read anymore. They want iPhones and gift cards. How silly to think any of this could make a difference. The rain hasn’t stopped. It falls in diagonals so the parts of my onesie where my coat doesn’t cover my legs are soaked through. Any make-up I was wearing has probably slicked off my face, from the rain but also my tears. This is not a winning moment.
I’ve been here for about twenty minutes when a truck suddenly pulls up behind my car. I can’t take another person shouting at me so I try and hide behind the tree, watching as the two men in ponchos and work boots go over to my car and look through the windows. One of them opens the driver door and checks inside. Shit. Are they trying to steal it?Hold up. I know you.
‘Nick?’ I say, peering out from behind the trunk of the tree.
He looks up at me, squinting through the rain before climbing over the railing and heading over to me. ‘What are you doing behind that tree?’
‘Waiting for…’ Damn you, Lucy. I realise what she’s done here. ‘I always thought you shouldn’t wait in your car when you break down.’
‘But you’re… wet through. It’s raining.’
No shit, Sherlock. I don’t think my mood needs him to state the bleeding obvious right now.
‘Why are you in a jumpsuit?’
‘It’s a onesie. Why do you keep confusing these things?’
I don’t know why his inability to identify all-in-one clothing upsets me so much but he looks at me brusquely, and I frown despite how relieved I am to see him.
Another person emerges next to him, side-eyeing Nick curiously. ‘I’m Noah,’ he says, waving. There’s a softer shape to his face but he has the same eyes. He scans my bedraggled chic curiously.
‘He’s my brother,’ Nick clarifies. ‘We were doing a delivery and Lucy rang to tell us you were in trouble so…’
He came to the rescue. Of course he did. ‘Do you guys know anything about cars?’
Noah turns to me. ‘I know that one’s a bit dead. Maybe we push it into that lay-by ten yards up there and then at least it’s out of the way?’
Nick doesn’t look at me for permission. He heads over to the barrier, steps over it and almost has command of the traffic, the way cars slow down and part for him like Moses. He then goes into the car to release the handbrake, steering and pushing as Noah pushes it from the back. I should help but I stand there quietly to watch this manly show of help, embarrassed if immensely grateful.
