After Hours by Jenny Oldfield Read Free Book Online Page B

whole thing to blow up in my face. Your Rob’s got a temper. I’ll go; you won’t have to worry no more.’
    â€˜No!’ Once more she let herself down, gave herself away. ‘I mean to say, there’s no need. You’re wanted here to work on the cars.’
    Richie looked away. ‘You’d best get out of here. They’ll be back soon.’ The match would be over. He had several messages fromcustomers to hand over to his bosses when they returned. ‘You can have a lift if you want.’
    â€˜No.’ She darted out into the heavy downpour, careless of the huge, dirty puddles. ‘I can walk, thanks.’ And she ran off, her thoughts as ragged and confused as ever.
    Richie deposited her basket on the desk, squatted down, took hold of the front bumper of the old Bullnose and swung himself from view once more.
    Palace had lost two-nothing. The home crowd had sung ‘Abide with Me’ right through to the dying seconds, to no avail. Bertie Hill blamed the muddy conditions, Walter said that County were the best side on the day. Rob coughed the engine back into life as the other three flung open the doors and piled into the car. He swung his disappointment into the violent turning of the starter-handle, but he’d forgotten to retard the engine. The motor caught fire and turned at full speed, kicking back the handle, nearly taking his thumb with it. Rob cursed and climbed into the driver’s seat. They drove in subdued silence; only after they’d drowned their sorrows in a pint or two of best bitter would they be able to take their defeat philosophically. The inside of the car smelt of wet worsted and stale cigarette smoke. The windows steamed up, the old car refused to grip the wet road.
    â€˜Thanks for the lift, pal,’ Tommy said. Rob had stopped to drop Bertie and him off at the Duke. ‘Another day, another dollar, as they say.’ He shrugged and slammed the door shut.
    â€˜You been watching too many American pictures,’ Walter warned. But he knew Rob was anxious to get back to the depot. The rain would mean plenty of taxi business tonight; people didn’t like standing in a queue for the tram, getting soaked on their night out.
    But halfway down Meredith Court, the Morris started churning out steam from under the bonnet. The plugs had overheated and the car was losing water fast. ‘Bleeding thing!’ Rob cried, mouthing curses as Walter scrambled in the boot for the emergency canvas bucket. He filled it at a nearby standpipe while Rob lifted thebonnet and eased the cap off the radiator. Minutes ticked by. Richie would already have booked them in for jobs, expecting them back by now.
    Walter shook his head. ‘This old girl’s on her last legs, you know that?’ His race was serious as he refilled the radiator. ‘She ain’t reliable no more.’
    Rob sighed. He leaned against the door biting his thumbnail. ‘Got a spare three hundred and forty-one quid on you, pal?’
    Walter gave a hollow laugh. He felt in his pockets. ‘Well, it just so happens . . . no!’ He slammed down the bonnet and chucked the canvas bucket into the boot. ‘Things are a bit tight right now.’ He turned the starter-handle while Rob advanced the engine. They’d lost a good fifteen minutes waiting for it to cool.
    â€˜ We beat ’em on the Marne ,’ Rob growled, swinging the car back into the slow crawl of traffic. He chanted the old war song with savage irony.
‘ We beat ’em on the Aisne.
We gave them hell at Neuve Chapelle ...’
    He blew his horn furiously at a cyclist who had wobbled out from behind a crowded omnibus.
‘ And here we are again !’
    â€˜Steady on, Rob!’ Waiter warned. He made a grab for a hand-hold as the car swerved to one side. ‘Ain’t a thing we can do about it.’ He resigned himself to getting Richie to strip down the engine of the old car one