‘I won’t do it again,’ I promised.
He inclined his head. ‘Glad to hear it.’
‘It wouldn’t hurt you to be a little more civil,’ I muttered.
I swear I heard him growl in response. ‘You need to stop talking now, so I can concentrate on driving, or you’re going to end up in another accident.’
It wasn’t the harshness of his words or the set of his jaw. It wasn’t even the frosty atmosphere inside his car, which was colder than the temperature outside. That wasn’t what brought the sting of tears to my eyes.
It was the contrast. Always the contrast.
The memory was right there; it had been since the moment my wheels had locked. Holding Adam’s dog in my arms, adrenaline from the crash still pumping through my veins, how could Inotbe thrown back into the past and another near miss.
Chapter Nine
Seven Years Earlier
It happened at the worst possible moment, although to be fair I’m not sure when agoodmoment would be to have a tyre blow out.
I remember checking my estimated arrival time and feeling pleased I was well ahead of schedule. The party wasn’t due to start for another two hours, which gave me plenty of time to travel the final twenty miles to the hotel to set up. The route on my map screen looked uncomplicated, and the roads were clear of traffic. In fact, I hadn’t seen another car for ages.
The bang sounded like a firework going off beneath my car and, for a mechanic’s daughter, I was embarrassingly slow to realise what had happened. One minute I’d been in total control of Betty, my old Ford Fiesta, and the next it felt as though an invisible giant had jerked the wheel out of my hands. The car veered sharply to the left, no longer under my control. Later I’d see the remnants of the front tyre that had been shredded to streamers as Betty slalomed whichever way she fancied towards the grassy verge and the unforgiving dry-stone wall running beside it.
I stood on the brakes, but the wall just kept getting closer and closer. With horrible clarity I could make out the shape and colourof the individual flat stones that were about to connect with Betty in the worst way possible. I braced myself for an impact that miraculously never happened as the car came to a stop just inches away from the wall. It took almost a full minute before I could persuade my fingers to unfurl themselves from around the steering wheel, and even longer before my heartbeat slowed down enough to stop deafening me.
It was the kind of near miss that makes you suddenly believe in guardian angels, and I instinctively glanced towards the wooden lucky mascot I’d had for years, which was still swaying back and forth from where it hung on my rear-view mirror. I steadied the tiny carved lily with shaking fingers and took a deep breath before reaching for the door handle.
The smell of burning rubber assaulted my senses as I stepped on to the grassy verge. Already fearing what I’d see, I rounded the front of my car and stared down in dismay at the shredded front tyre.
‘Shit! Fuck!’ I swore softly under my breath, although there was no one to offend except the skylarks, who were singing prettily from the top branches of a nearby tree.
It might have taken seven years, but my dad’s pessimistic prediction had finally come true.‘One day, Lily, you’ll find yourself stuck in the middle of nowhere with a flat tyre, and you’re going to be very grateful then that I taught you how to change it.’We’d had that conversation on the day I passed my driving test, and I smiled wryly now because he’d been absolutely right. Today was that day.
I headed towards the back of the car where the spare and the jack were lodged, knowing they’d both be in perfect order because Dad checked them every time I went home. My floaty summer dress wasn’t exactly suited for mechanic duties, but there wasn’t much I could do about that.
It was only when my hand reached for the button to spring open the boot that I realised a flat tyre might be the least of myproblems. How could I have forgotten the cargo Betty was carrying? I screwed up my eyes, convinced that all my hours of hard work had been reduced to culinary roadkill. Gingerly I opened first one eye and then the other, unable to believe my good luck had continued to hold. Despite Betty’s dramatic spell of off-roading, none of the cakes for the stag party had been damaged.
It took longer than I’d expected to empty the boot and transfer the cake boxes to the verge, where I stacked them against the dry-stone wall. It looked like I’d set up a roadside stand, and when I heard the sound of a car slowing down behind me, I fully expected they were in the market for a cake.
That thought quickly evaporated when I straightened up and saw four men, all a few years older than me, in the car. The passenger window rolled down and the aroma of cigarette smoke and alcohol wafted out.
‘Hey. You okay, babe? D’you need a hand?’ It would have been a more welcoming proposition if the hand the man was offering wasn’t already wrapped around a can of beer.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I said, remembering to tag a smile on to my words, because at least they’d stopped to offer help, even if it was unwanted.
I might as well have saved my breath because, one after another, all four car doors opened and the men, in various states of inebriation, climbed out. Thankfully, the driver at least appeared to be relatively sober.
‘Honestly, I’ve got it covered,’ I assured them, holding up my hands like King Canute. Like the tide, they ignored the gesture.
The driver had already walked all the way around Betty, pausing by her passenger side.
‘You’ve got a flat tyre there, love. You’ll need to get that changed.’
I smiled sweetly in the face of his mansplaining.
‘Yes, I know. Like I said, thank you for stopping, but really, it’s all under control.’
‘Nonsense. We’ve got time to help a damsel in distress, haven’t we, guys?’ asked the driver.
