Page 44 of Big Nick Energy
They return to the grassy bank next to me. ‘Thank you,’ I say sheepishly. ‘I… I guess I should wait for the AA if you wanted to be on your way?’
‘Lucy said you were on your way to your book drive?’ Nick asks. The water drips off the hood of his poncho. Inside his face is perfectly dry, as if he hasn’t even broken a sweat.
‘Yeah, the car is packed with books.’
‘Then load them up in the truck and I’ll take you there,’ Nick says, as though it’s a very uncomplicated solution to this matter.
‘But… my car…’
‘Noah will stay with the car. Where do we have to drop the books?’ Nick asks me.
‘Isleworth.’
‘Literally down the road.’
‘But…’
‘Kay, it’s pissing it down. You need my help. I told you to get in touch if you needed my help. I am giving you my help.’
Noah gives him a sharp glance at this point because there’s a sense of rebuke in his tone. I guess the rain doesn’t help but I look at him and exhale, exasperated by the events of the day and probably even more by this man telling me off. ‘Then I guess… thank you?’
We all move back to my car and take a plastic crate each, making two journeys to their truck to load the books in, trying to shield the books as best we can. As they are loaded up, I turn to Noah. ‘Seriously, you don’t mind waiting?’
‘Half an hour away from grumpy bollocks here won’t hurt,’ he says. ‘It’s all good, Kay.’
He smiles as he says my name and studies my face. I’m not entirely sure why but I hand him my car keys.
‘Thank you.’
‘When you’re both done having a social,’ Nick shouts from the truck, flashing his lights. I run to the side of the truck and jump in, realising I’m going to leave great puddles of rainwater all over the seat and the floor of the vehicle. I am appreciative of the help, but I can see where Nick gets his grumpy reputationfrom. There is an efficiency there laced with a healthy dose of impatience. He pulls the truck away carefully and we wave at Noah as we drive past.
‘Will he be OK?’ I ask Nick.
‘He’s a grown man with 4G. He’ll be fine. There’s a towel in that bag if you need it,’ he says. ‘You’re kinda…’Please don’t say wet again.‘Soaked.’
‘Kinda?’ I should tell him the rain has seeped into my knickers but I’ll keep that to myself. ‘Is this your towel?’
‘It’s my gym towel.’
‘Is it used?’
‘No,’ he says, apparently confused at why he would be offering me a sweaty towel. ‘I was going to the gym later.’ He goes to the gym. Probably why he can push cars so easily. I take off my coat and bury my face in the towel, drying my hair as much as I can, which collects water like a sponge. The car is silent, bar the squeak of the window wipers. Where’s his Christmas music? ‘That is a lot of books in the back there, Kay. Were you seriously going to deliver those yourself?’ he asks, as I try and rearrange my curls.
‘It was going to be a quick drop off at the women and children’s refuge. I can carry plastic crates very well on my own,’ I say.
‘Dressed like that?’
I pull at my onesie self-consciously. It was fun, fluffy and cute an hour ago but I guess Rudolph probably never had to wait by a flyover in the rain. ‘That was kinda rude,’ I tell him.
He seems taken aback at my retort. ‘I’m only saying that because you’re all matted and soggy. You should plan better. Your car’s a bit of a crate too.’ Well, now I’m deeply offended. That car’s done me well over the years; it’s survived university and numerous trips to beaches and suchlike. It’s almost a part of my family. ‘We have vans at the farm. Let me help,’ he says.
‘But… I don’t want to impose…’
‘I’d say if you were imposing.’ I have a feeling that he would.
‘I saw you at the library, juggling all those books, wrapping them up. You’ve got an event at an old people’s home on Friday, yeah? I’ll drive you. I’ll do the Santa thing. Don’t do this alone.’
I still don’t care for his tone but there’s something there, a simple add-on at the end of that sentence that is affecting and humbling. Maybe since Nana went into the home I have been doing too much on my own. I write alone, I live alone and I haven’t known how to do things any other way.
