It was exactly a quarter past ten as she rushed into the workshop, grabbed her card and shoved it into the clock.
“I thought you were on the ten to eight shift,” said Rick Cahill.
“Fuck off, Rick.” She swept past him and up the stairs to the monkey room where she opened her locker and pulled on a pair of oil-stained overalls.
“Hey, Bree, Christy is looking for you.” Mick Hempenstall threw a filthy rag at her. “He found this under the bonnet of the nintey-nine Romeo. Oh, and he mentioned that you were supposed to be here by ten.”
“I know that.” Bree did up the poppers on her overalls. “I’m late. I’ll stay late this evening.”
“Really?” Christy, the service manager, walked into the room and Bree groaned under her breath. “That’s very sweet of you, Bree, but I’d prefer if you were here when you were supposed to be here. I had you down for the red Punto this morning. I had to give it to Dave instead.”
“So what?”
“So it needed a hose replaced,” said Christy. “You’d be able to get at it better than Dave.”
“Sorry, Christy.” Bree knew there was no point in arguing with him. “Really I am. I slept late.”
“I gathered,” said Christy. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that to do a man’s job you’re supposed to have to work twice as hard?”
“Not when I’m three times as good,” retorted Bree.
Rick snorted with laughter and Christy glared at him.
“Get going,” said Christy. “The silver Alfa on ramp four. Full service.”
“Yes, sure,” said Bree. “Sorry again.”
She clattered down the stairs and picked up the job card for the Alfa. Then she pressed the button so that the hydraulics lifted the car to the correct height. She stood underneath it and sighed with relief.
In future she’d stick a piece of paper on her pillow to remind her to reset the alarm clock in the mornings. It was something that she tended to forget. She used to believe that her body was so in tune with the rhythm of the sun that she’d automatically wake up when it was bright outside. But it was a risky strategy when she’d been out until after three in the morning and had drunk more beer than was good for her.
It was just as well, she thought as she shook some powder into a pair of surgical gloves and slipped them onto her hands, that she really was twice as good as most of the other mechanics in the garage. Otherwise Christy would give her the push. He wasn’t exactly known for his compassion.
She flexed her fingers in the gloves. She always wore them when she was working—they were the only true way of preventing oil and grease taking grimy hold beneath her fingernails as well as supposedly preventing the possibility of cancer from waste oil products—but only half the men wore them.
Real men don’t need gloves, Rick had told her on her first day, and she’d laughed and told him that she wasn’t a real man so it didn’t matter. Bare hands were better for delicate work, he’d insisted, your sensitivity was compromised by wearing latex. She’d bought Rick a box of condoms for his birthday the following month. Everyone in the garage had got the joke except him.
She was gasping for a cup of coffee but Christy was standing beside the Cona machine and she didn’t dare go near it yet. She yawned and pulled the brake fluid drainage unit under the car. Then she removed the plug and allowed the oil to drain out.
“Hey, Bree!” Dave beckoned her. She left the Alfa and walked over to him. “I forgot to tell you, your sister phoned earlier.”
“Which one?” asked Bree.
“The nice one,” said Dave.
“The nice one?” But Bree grinned at him. She knew which sister he meant. To the blokes in the garage, Nessa was the nice one and Cate was the crabby one. They all knew Nessa because of her periodic trips to get Adam’s Alfa repaired and because she often popped into the garage when she was visiting her friend, Paula, who lived nearby. Cate, who also drove an Alfa, was a much less frequent visitor and, whenever she did call in, she simply dropped the keys at reception and asked them to phone her and tell her when the car was ready.
“Did Nessa say what she wanted?” Bree was keeping an eye on Christy who was talking to the manager of the parts department.
“She said it wasn’t urgent but it was the usual.”
“The usual!” Bree and Dave exchanged glances. “Don’t tell me he’s totalled it again.”
“A man like her husband shouldn’t have the top-of-the-range model,” said Dave in disgust. “That’s the car you should be driving, Bree.”
“I like my bike,” she told him. “I’m too young for a car.”
Christy had finished talking to the parts manager and was turning back into the workshop. “I’ll call her later,” said Bree and she hurried back to the service job. She stood beneath the car again and checked the brake hoses, the tires and the driveshaft boots. It was only a year old. She would’ve been surprised if there had been any leaks or rips.
Then she pulled the air gun from the wall and removed the nuts from the tires. It was the simplest thing in the world to do and she did it every single day but each time it gave her a thrill. From the first time she’d seen the McLaren team doing it in a Formula One race on TV she’d decided that that’s what she wanted to do herself. And although she never made it onto a Formula One pit team, she’d loved every moment of the four-year apprenticeship she’d done to become a qualified mechanic. There’d only been one other female apprentice when she started, although Bree was sure that there’d be more soon. Since car engines had become more tightly packed and more dependent on electronics it wasn’t necessary to be able to lug heavy bits of equipment around the workshop anymore. In fact, being familiar with the diagnostic computer was more of an asset.
“Why were you late?” Dave watched as she lifted a wheel from the car.
“Out late last night,” said Bree. “Hit the sack around four. Not a good idea.”
“A new lover boy wearing you out?” asked Dave.
“I wish.” Bree grinned at him. “Maybe one day I’ll find a decent man!”
“I keep asking you but you keep rejecting me,” said Dave plaintively.
“I’ve no interest in sharing my life with another grease monkey.” The banter between them was regular and familiar. “We’d find fan belts in the bedroom.”
“I was kind of hoping for suspender belts,” said Dave and she made a face at him.
When she’d finished checking the wheels and the brake pads she peeled off her gloves and went to the phone.
“Dr. Hogan’s surgery.” Nessa had a sing-song voice when she answered the phone which was quite unlike her usual speaking voice.
“Hello, hello,” said Bree. “I’ve got suppurating sores all over my body and I think my leg has become disconnected from my hip.”
“Where were you earlier?” demanded Nessa. “You’re always telling me that you start at eight.”
“I usually start at eight,” said Bree. “I wasn’t due in until ten this morning.”
“I rang at ten past and there was no sign of you.”
“I was on the way,” said Bree.
“On the way isn’t exactly good enough, is it?” asked Nessa. “I mean, if you’re meant to be there at ten, being on the way ten minutes later isn’t what your employer wants. You could—”
“Shut up, Nessa.” Bree interrupted the tirade. “I know I’m the worst employee in the world but, guess what, they think I’m good at my job. They haven’t fired me yet.”
“Don’t bet on it,” muttered Christy as he walked by her.
“Why did you ring?” asked Bree.
“Two things,” said her older sister. “The first is that I wanted to remind you about tonight. I was hoping you’d be here by half seven.”
“I can’t,” said Bree. “I’m working till eight and I’ll probably have to stay a bit later because of my late start this morning.”
“That’s my point exactly,” said Nessa. “If you were more conscient
ious about getting to work on time then you wouldn’t have to stay late to compensate and you’d be able to fulfil your other obligations properly.”
“Nessa, it’s only Mum and Dad.”
“That doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t be here on time,” said Nessa.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” promised Bree.
“I’m cooking dinner,” said Nessa.
Bree sighed. She liked the idea of a cooked dinner because she hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks.
“I’ll be there by nine,” said Bree.
“You’re not on the bloody continent now,” snapped Nessa. “Nine is way too late.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Bree.
“OK.” Nessa sounded partially mollified. “Secondly I wanted to know when you could look at Adam’s car.”
“So he’s done it again,” said Bree.
“Very, very minor,” Nessa told her. “It’s just the light on the rear passenger side.”
“How good is your sex life?”
“What?!”
“With a husband like him I wonder that you ever manage to—”
“Bree!”
“We’re really busy at the moment.” Bree looked around the workshop. There were cars on all of the ramps with another dozen in the waiting area. They usually got through twelve to fifteen full services a day as well as some of the other maintenance jobs that they had to do. Repairing Adam’s car could take a few minutes or a few hours, depending on how bad the damage actually was.
“It’s only superficial damage, I think,” said Nessa. “But I want to be sure. In any event the cover for the brake light needs to be replaced. I wanted you to check that there wasn’t anything else.”
“I’ll bring a cover with me tonight,” said Bree. “And I’ll give it a quick look then see how long repairs would take.”
“Great.”
“So, I’ll see you tonight.”
“Yes. Fine. Oh, and listen, I told Cate about hers earlier because mine was so uncannily accurate but according to your horoscope you’re going to be showered with good fortune this week,” said Nessa.
“I hate to burst your bubble,” Bree said. “But so far the only thing I’ve been showered with this week is abuse.”
“If you were in on time you wouldn’t be,” Nessa told her. “All the same, it might be worthwhile buying a scratch card or something.”
“You’re my older sister,” said Bree. “You’re nine years older than me, in fact. But sometimes you act as if you’re a teenager. You don’t seriously believe all that star stuff, do you?”
“It works for me,” said Nessa. “And you know that it foretold—”
“I know, I know,” interrupted Bree. “Your massive Lottery win last month.”
“Absolutely,” said Nessa. “So you shouldn’t be skeptical or dismissive.”
“Right,” said Bree. “Now I’d better go before I really do get fired.”
She hung up and grabbed a cup of coffee, walking back to the Alfa with the Styrofoam cup in her hand.
The oil feed line was beside the air line on the wall. She pulled it toward the car and began filling the oil tank. She yawned again and wished that the coffee would kick in soon. She was still feeling terribly sleepy.
“Oh, fuck!”
Her words reverberated around the workshop and the other mechanics stopped to see what was the matter with her. Then they started to laugh as they saw the black, viscous puddle which had formed around her feet. She’d forgotten to replace the plug in the oil sump. The oil which she’d been pumping into the car had gone straight through the tank and onto the floor. It was a mistake that first-year apprentices didn’t even make. Her boots were ruined.
“Way to go, Driscoll!” Rick waved at her.
“Nice one, Bree,” said Dave.
“Shut up, shut up,” she said urgently. “If Christy sees this he’ll flip altogether. And I really can’t afford for him to fire me,” she muttered frantically. “Not when I’m paying back the loan on my new bike.”
She looked at the spreading oil slick in disgust and then smiled wryly. She’d been showered after all, although hardly with the good fortune that Nessa had predicted. She tore some paper towels from the dispenser and mopped ineffectually at her splattered clothes. Nessa would doubtless tell her that she should think laterally about horoscopes. But the only thing she could think of was that it was going to cost her a fortune to replace her damned boots!
4
Moon in Cancer
Very instinctive, emotional, affectionate.
It was amazing, thought Nessa as she watched her father and her husband chatting in the living room, how well they got on together given their totally opposite natures. Louis was a conservative man at heart who believed in keeping your head down and holding something in reserve for a rainy day. Adam liked showing off and enjoyed spending money on the latest gadget just so that he could say he owned it first. Louis watched Gaelic football. Adam was a rugby supporter. Louis was good with his hands. Adam was good with his brain. But both of them needed to feel wanted. Miriam had looked after Louis for forty years in such a way that he hardly realized he was being looked after at all. Nessa looked after Adam too. He worked very hard and she liked to think that his home was an oasis of peace for him.
Nessa knew that some people would see her as being hopelessly old fashioned. But she didn’t care. Women who said they wanted it all—women like Cate—just hadn’t got it yet. It was impossible to have it all. Life was about making choices. What those women needed to do was to make the decision that they’d be happy with. Only some of them didn’t know how.
“Jill and I will have to visit you during the summer.” Nessa turned from Louis and Adam’s discussion about tiling bathrooms (there was no way she was going to allow Adam to have a go at tiling the bathroom, they’d get in a proper, professional tiler like they always did) and smiled at her mother.
“Sure,” said Miriam easily. “We’ve plenty of room.”
The house they’d bought on their retirement was a three-bedroom dormer bungalow in Salthill. Miriam had been brought up in Salthill and she’d always wanted to go back.
“I liked being there last year,” said Jill who was sitting at Miriam’s feet. “You’ve a much nicer house than us, Nan.”
“Thanks a bunch, Jill.” Adam had heard her comments. “That’s the last time I waste money buying you all that Lara Croft stuff for your bedroom just so it’s exactly how you want it.”
“Dad!” Jill wailed and Nessa giggled.
“Don’t mind your father,” she told Jill. “He’s not in the best of humors today.”
“Because of the car.”
“What happened to the car?” asked Louis while Adam glared at both Jill and Nessa. He gave an edited version of events to Louis. He hated having to admit to his lack of prowess as a driver. Even though he joked about it to most of his friends, he wasn’t able to joke about it with Louis.
The doorbell rang and Nessa heaved a sigh of relief. The arrival of one of her sisters would deflect the conversation. She answered the door and returned to the living room followed by Cate and her boyfriend, Finn.
It’s not fair, thought Nessa, as her sister kissed both parents. We share the same genes. We have the same bone structure. But how the hell does she manage to look the way she does when I have to work so damned hard just to look average? And why is it that she’s still a size eight while I constantly fight with the twelves? Actually, Nessa mused as she continued to appraise her sister, Cate appeared even thinner than usual tonight with her dark hair pulled back from her face and her black linen dress emphasizing the slimness of her frame. She wasn’t sure that such leanness really suited her sister. She looked as though a puff of wind would blow her over. But nothing would blow her over because everyone knew that Cate was the tough one, the business one, the one who would one day be somebody. Who was somebody already only maybe not enough of a somebody in her own eyes. And, continued
Nessa to herself while she smiled at her sister in welcome, it might be hard to think of yourself as somebody wonderful in your own eyes when you’re constantly on the arm of a man like Finn.
“Hi, Nessa.” Cate sat elegantly on the sofa beside her mother while Finn accepted a glass of wine. “We’re a bit late. The phone went just as we were leaving. You know how it is. How’re you?”
“Great, thanks.”
Nessa was looking at Finn, not at Cate. It always took a couple of minutes for her to accustom herself to his good looks. If she looked at him for long enough she became used to the golden hair falling over the suntanned forehead, the high cheekbones and the warm, kissable lips. She didn’t fancy Finn, he was actually too good-looking to be true and besides she loved Adam far too much to fancy anyone else, but Finn was almost hypnotically attractive.
“How are things in the business world?” she asked him.
Finn smiled at her. “Who knows?”
“I thought you did,” said Nessa. “I thought that Finn-So-Cool and his early-morning topical radio show knew everything there was to know about what makes the country tick.”
“Oh, please.” He sighed. “I hate that tag. And I know as much as the next person. Not that it matters,” he looked around triumphantly, “because I’m changing jobs.”
“Changing jobs?” Miriam looked from him to Cate. Her daughter smiled faintly.
“Yes,” she told Miriam. “Finn has been lured away from doing the dry economic and business show in the mornings to the dog-eat-dog world of evening chat shows. On television, not radio.”
“Really?” Miriam looked at him in delight. “A chat show? That’s wonderful news, Finn.”
“Isn’t it?” said Cate. She was still in shock about it herself. Finn hadn’t told her that he’d been approached about the possibility of doing TV, he hadn’t mentioned the discussions he’d had with the TV producers, he hadn’t said a word, not even dropped a hint, about any of it. Until today when he’d phoned her to tell her it was a done deal. She’d clenched the receiver, listening to his excited tones spilling down the line as he told her how brilliant everything was going to be while a hollow feeling of jealousy and fear spread through her. Finn was going to be a TV star. He was going to be even more famous than he was already. And she was nothing at all.
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