‘I know, Mr Feeney,’ I said, knowing I probably never would. ‘That’s the hearse and the BM done, here’s the keys.’
He took both sets off me and then handed the BMW set back.
‘Hang on to those ones.’
I gave him a look.
‘Your da is goin’ to need them the’night to drive you and your “date” to the formal.’
‘What?’
‘That’s your transportation for this evening, it’s all arranged.’
‘Ah, Mr Feeney, that’s too much. I can’t let you do that – that’s your car and I don’t want to be troubling you, honestly, I’m heading back to sort my da’s car now.’
‘What are you talkin’ about?’ he said. ‘Sure the BM’s only goin’ to be sittin’ in the driveway till Monday.’
‘So it didn’t need cleaning today?’
‘It did. Foryou,’ he said, pointing his finger at my chest. ‘And maybe a wee bit for your da too. I’ve seen the way he eyes up that motor, he’s bustin’ for a spin in it.’
‘Have you seen my da’s driving, Mr Feeney?’
‘Ah your da’s a great driver, sure you know that; you’ve got the best drivin’ instructor in the town, Brendan.’
I had a flashback of my disastrous lesson the night before. Sometimes I wished I did have a proper driving instructor, maybe I would have had the confidence to drive on the roads if I did.
‘Ah, Mr Feeney, thanks very much, this is just brilliant! Will I phone my da and let him know?’
‘Him and me spoke yesterday mornin’ and arranged it all. He told me he’d say nothin’ to you till I did, so he’ll be here any second to pick it up and drive you home.’
I shook my head. My dad and Mr Feeney had plotted amongst themselves. All I could do was laugh.
As if on cue, the tyres of Dad’s Honda crunched on the gravel of the driveway and parked up in the yard.
‘Right there, Gerry,’ Dad said, getting out of the car looking pleased with himself.
‘Right there, Cathal, your Royal Highness Brendan is all set and informed and approved for carriage this evening to the ball in yon fine BMW,’ Mr Feeney said in what I think he thought was a posher version of his own Northern Irish accent.
‘Well, I suppose that makes me his footman,’ Dad said, bowing.
I was rubbing the back of my neck and squinting.
‘Thank you, Mr Feeney; thanks, Dad. You two are thick as thieves planning this.’
They slapped each other on the back.
‘I was winding him up last night,’ Dad said.
The anger I’d had towards him now made me feel guilty.
‘Enjoy yourself the’night, Brendan,’ said Mr Feeney. ‘Don’t do anythin’ I wouldn’t do.’
It was a rare thing for me to sit in the passenger seat ofMr Feeney’s BMW. It felt strange to be driven in it instead of polishing the windscreen or rubbing balm into the leather seats.
‘Brendan,’ Dad said as we drove smoothly along the roads to our house, ‘do you know the way you wanted me to drop you and Jennifer off at the bottom of the car park tonight so that you could walk up to the entrance from there?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, remembering the strict instructions I’d given him to avoid people seeing Jennifer and me arriving in the Honda.
