Her phone pinged.
‘And thank you for being so understanding. I just wasn’t concentrating.’ He repeated the admission, then it was his turn to laugh in a way that she wondered if in hindsight might makehimcringe. ‘It’s been quite the day and I was singing, loudly!’
Bizarrely, she felt the need to stow away the facts she’d garnered about him so far, more than a little fazed by her interest in the stranger. He’d had quite the day, she wondered why? He owned a nice car, was easy-going, handsome and did not, apparently, have the brain capacity to both sing and concentrate.
‘What were you singing?’ She was curious.
‘The Mumbley Boys’ song... erm...’ he snapped his fingers, ‘no, what are they called? Erm...’ He tutted, looked skyward, and she felt unexpected flames of joy lick her consciousness. He was lovely. Lovely to look at, lovely company, and to interact with him at all was just – lovely.
It was surreal and surprising to realise that what she felt in that instant was desire, as a flame of want burned inside her that she had believed, prior to this strange encounter, to have been almost entirely extinguished. She felt her face blush at the silent recognition, wrestling with the mortification at the fact she felt this way at all. Her wedding band seemed to shine like a beacon.
‘It’s my car,’ he explained, ‘but my daughter’s playlist. It’s on my stereo and I don’t know how to change it. I’m far better with my hands than technology. When the clocks go forward, I don’t know how to adjust the one on the dashboard either, so for six months of the year I’m an hour out! Drives everyone crackers. Everyone apart from me,’ he clarified. Another insight, he had a daughter. ‘Her choice of music bothered me at first, every time I drove anywhere I was forced to listen, but I rather like it now. It makes me think of her, helps me understand her, actually. And I think it makes me trendy, and go-getting, in the way that she and her contemporaries are.’
‘I think you’ll find trendy is a word only used by those of us who are not.’
‘That’s actually probably very accurate. Were you ever trendy?’
‘Oh, none taken, and no. No, I don’t think I was. Or go-getting, come to think of it. Maybe once, for one night when I was seventeen.’
It was odd that she should think of that night now; she guessed it was because the feeling of desire, the thrill and the optimism were not dissimilar.
He laughed again; this time it was more natural. He leaned against his car and folded his arms across his chest, settling in, as if they were not in the short-stay car park at the airport and on a timer.
‘That is as oddly specific as it is intriguing.’
‘Mmm.’ She wasn’t about to impart the details of that fateful night to a stranger, no matter how attractive.
His phone rang.
‘Ooh, better get that.’ He took the call, and she shamelessly eavesdropped. ‘No, no, love, I’m in the short-stay at the back! Thought I’d park up in case of any hiccups. Your purse?’ He bent low and peered into his car. ‘Yep, I can see it on the front seat. What are you like? No, no, stay where you are and I’ll drive around and meet you at the front, there’s a drop-off lay-by. Yes, absolutely sure. I’m on my way, hold tight!’
He pulled a face as he ended the call and she smiled, feeling instantly and profoundly embarrassed – had she been overly familiar, too flirty? She felt shame at the mere possibility running through her veins, wondering whose purse he was about to deliver, a wife’s? A girlfriend’s?
‘Let me know what you decide about the insurance and whatnot,’ he called as he walked back to his car.
‘I will.’ She kept her head down.
‘And once again I’m so sorry! And even though I’m smiling, my apology is sincere, please don’t doubt it!’
‘I don’t.’
‘Better dash!’ He gave a loud sigh. ‘There’s always a disaster looming, seems this one has been narrowly averted. It’s been smashing talking to you.’
She looked up, noting how he seemed reluctant to look away, which was both exhilarating and confusing.
‘You too.’ She fumbled with the handle, also a little reticent to get in immediately, despite her reservation. Their first and last meeting she was quite certain, and something she would no doubt mull over at her leisure – if nothing else, to ponder the absurdity of it, yet there was no doubting the pull of attraction.
She was aware of him disappearing inside his Mercedes and as he wound the window down, the unmistakeable sound of Mumford & Sons’ ‘I Will Wait’ floated across the car park. It was a rousing, passionate tune that filled her up and made tears rise in her throat and nose. A beautiful, powerful song that moved her in the way music did when you were raw or alert or hurting, and the right words and melody managed to convey what your heart and mind struggled to express.
With her phone in her hand, she saw the text he’d sent, all rather perfunctory and no name. Moving her fingers quickly, she saved it into her phone under the name HCK – Handsome Car Klutz. It felt fitting.
Back in her car, she took deep breaths and tried to calm her flustered pulse, doing her best to get a grip and to present as casually as possible to any onlookers. The last thing she wanted was to give any clue that she had got into a tizz over a brief encounter with a stranger in a car park. It sounded stupid when she recounted it in this way.
She held her tears at bay until she reached the dual carriageway. A quick glance at the back seat and she could see Jonathan looking less than approving.
‘Don’t look at me like that.’ She sniffed. ‘What am I supposed to do, Jonathan?’
His response came loud and clear into her head. ‘Maybe stop crying and keep your eyes on the bloody road?’
