‘That’s the deal. My driving days are over.’

Pop examined the dash. ‘No gauges, leather’s gone, wiring’s shot.’ He stood back. ‘In fact, nothing’s any good.’

‘I guess not.’

‘And you want Clem, me, to …?’

‘Either that or I sell it for scrap. But it seems a shame.’

‘It’d cost thousands.’

‘I’ll pay,’ I said.

‘With what?’

‘I can help,’ Mum suggested.

‘Thousands! We could buy two new cars with what it’d cost us to do this up. All that lifting and bending and gettin’ down on the ground. Come on, Pete, I’ll give you a hand takin’ it back.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s mine!’

Everyone looked at me. I said to Pop, ‘If you couldn’t be bothered helping me …’

‘It’s not that—’

‘Then I’ll do it myself. It’s staying right here.’

Pop waited. ‘Righto, whatever you like.’ Before storming off.

Silence. Just the gal, expanding in the sun.

‘That coulda gone better,’ Peter said.

‘I can remember this,’ Vicky said.

‘No.’

‘I can. You and me used to come around.’

‘We did?’

We stood waiting for Don. He was taking a phone order, shouting down the line: How many? Salt? He finished, greeted us and I said, ‘Don, do you remember Vicky? She used to live round the corner.’

He shook his head. ‘What’ll it be?’

Minimum chips. Always. He should’ve known. Hated us, I guessed, because you couldn’t get rich making minimum chips.

As he worked, Vicky said, ‘He still doesn’t say much.’

I wanted to tell her about the wife and kid, the war, but now wasn’t the time.

‘Mum kept busy,’ she said.

‘How?’

‘His name was Frank, and he was a prick.’

She explained: the man who’d been coming in and out of their house since they moved north. Frank, with his PE teacher’s moustache, body hair and Ralph Lauren glow. ‘Every night: Frank’s coming over for tea.’

‘Bit of a wanker?’

‘Lots.’

Don stared at the cooking chips. He could’ve turned, asked what she’d been doing all these years, but didn’t. That was just him.

Vicky said, ‘When I was about eleven he’d say, Well, Vicks, what say we get you in the netball team? And I’d reply, What say we don’t?’

‘A PE teacher stepfather?’ I said. ‘That’d be about the worst thing of all.’

‘Well, Vicks, how about we go fishing next Saturdee?’

Don shook the chips and waited while the oil drained. His cleft was showing.

‘Then when I was in Year Nine Mum said, Me and Frank are thinking of getting engaged. I said, Over my dead body. And they sat me down for the talk.’

‘The talk?’

‘Mum said, Vicks (he’d got her started), me and Frank have grown quite close.’

‘Disgusting.’