This is day 33 of @mydivathings' #365daysofwriting challenge
Every day @mydivathings invites you to write a short story based on the image she chooses. Today's image (below) is a Photo by Tanja Heffner on Unsplash
Find out more about the challenge (you can join anytime!) here @mydivathings/day-33-365-days-of-writing-challenge
"What do you think?" I said, smiling.
Sheila stared at the car. She was as in love with it as I was. I was sure of it.
"You..." she began. "You bought this?" she turned to me and I could see from her expression that perhaps she had a way to go before she was quite as in love with the car as much as I was.
"Well-" I said.
"You bought some old car?” Classic car, Sheila. Not old: classic. “What the hell were you thinking?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it again. And then thought, actually, I don't know what I was thinking. Well perhaps I did. But it kinda didn’t make much sense now. In the cold light of day. In the cold sober light of day.
"It's an investment," I said, quickly, as convincingly as I could.
"It's a bloody money pit, is what it is. Christ, Billy, what on earth were you thinking? It's not as if you are handy at all. You lack even the most basic maintenance skills. You only checked the oil in our old Vauxhall once, and that was under sufferance." I thought she might be exaggerating a tad, here, but I let her keep the floor. "How on earth are we going to afford the upkeep? Where are we going to keep it? We haven’t even got a garage!"
Sheila paused for a moment. She walked over to the car, taking long strides. She looks a bit like a very angry giraffe, I thought suppressing a giggle. She stalked around it taking in the flawless paintwork and the beautiful curves of the car. She marched back to my side and turned to look me in the eyes.
“Is this what a midlife crisis looks like, Billy?” she said, I could tell by her voice she was trying not to shout. “Because, to be honest, I wish you’d just have an affair, or something. At least, something that didn’t bankrupt us, or make us look like stupid twats.”
The car was attracting a bit of attention now. Mr Clarke from across the way had stopped clipping at that bloody ridiculous hedge of his, and had even put his shears down for a minute so he could take a proper look. The brats from number 22 had stopped kicking their football at the fence, and were peering over it at us. Even Margaret, the nice nurse from two doors down, was peeking out of her window. Thinking about what Sheila had said about an affair, I gave her a little wave.
Sheila, I noticed, was still looking at me. I coughed.
“Would you like to take it out for a ride?” I said, hoping that once her bony little bottom made contact with the plush white leather interior a little bit of magic might happen: she’d fall in love with the car, and perhaps even back in love with me. Just a bit.
“I’d like you to take it back, is all,” Sheila said, her arms now crossed in what I had come to understand as her you-will-never-change-my-mind-in-a-thousand-years-so-you-might-as-well-give-up-now stance.
Like a sulky child, I hung my head and I stared at my feet. They seemed to be shuffling, in a nervous way.
“That might not be strictly possible,” I said, quietly, still looking at my feet.
“Why?”
“Because the people I bought it off, don’t usually do returns,” I said.
“Oh for heaven's sake, Billy,” Sheila said. She uncrossed her arms and planted her hands firmly on her hips. “Tell me you didn’t buy this car from one of the McDougall brothers!”
The McDougall brothers were our little town’s very own homegrown mafia bosses. They owned half the town. And they reserved the right to take anything they wanted from the other half.
“I didn’t buy it from one of the McDougall brothers,” I said, looking up to catch a glimpse of her angry expression. I looked away again quickly.
“Billy?”
I made eye contact. Reluctantly.
“I bought the car from both the McDougall brothers,” I said, crumpling under her gaze.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sheila said. She held out her hand. “Give me the keys.”
I gave her the keys. She smiled. It was a grim, hard smile that made me shiver. But, I guess, at least it was a smile.
“Come on Billy,” she said. “We’re going to pay a little visit to the McDougall brothers.”
Oh.
Bollocks.