The Right Time (19 page)

Blake was her best friend. But already he seemed bored with the wedding. Emma had to be careful about how much she said in front of him, she didn't want him to get so thoroughly sick of it that he might . . .

What was she thinking? Might what? It wasn't as though Blake would pull out of it, or put his foot down. As long as his
life could hum along relatively unimpeded, he would go along with whatever Emma wanted to do. He just didn't need to hear about every little detail. Besides, letting him in on too much was like letting him watch her get ready for a date. As much as possible, Emma still tried to keep a little mystery. They lived together, so of course he'd seen her without her makeup, but she was very careful to make sure she always looked presentable. On her wedding day, of all days, she wanted to absolutely blow Blake's mind . . . so he wouldn't have a moment's doubt that he'd made the right choice.

But she had to admit, this thing she'd been waiting for her whole life didn't feel like it was supposed to. Somehow it was hollow if no one else was involved, or even the least bit interested. Like that saying about a tree falling in the forest; really, what was the point of making a big noise if no one was around to hear it?

‘You have been going about this totally the wrong way, Emma,' Isabelle was saying. ‘You're not used to being the star, are you?'

Hmm, that was an understatement.

‘You know what the problem is here,' she went on, ‘Your job is to worry about how other people look, to put them at their best. I've seen you in action and you're absolutely brilliant at it. Now you need to turn the spotlight on yourself for a change.'

She was right, that was so true.

‘Imagine for a moment that you're an image consultant for yourself on your wedding day,' said Isabelle. ‘If Emma was your primary client, would you be making such a fuss about the attendants? I don't think so. You would only be concerned with doing everything to enhance Emma.'

Emma liked the sound of that.

‘You see, your skin tone requires something in the ivory range. Not cream, but creamy. I know you were quite taken with the pewter, but you would have to dress in pure white against pewter, and pure whites have a blue undertone, which is just not right for you. And as for the cinnamon, no,' she sniffed distastefully, ‘I don't like it, it's too strong, it will overpower the bride. And everything must work to enhance the bride.'

‘But what if it doesn't suit the girls?' asked Emma.

‘Uh uh.' Isabelle wagged her finger. ‘This is not about the girls.
This is about Emma. So what if they don't look their best,
you
will . . . In ivory, offset by champagne, you will look striking, my dear.'

Yes, she would. She really would.

‘Then everything else falls into place,' Isabelle assured her. ‘The flowers – do you have any idea all the tones of cream roses, pale golds, or you could go to gardenias, even lilies, with the slightest hint of green. Gorgeous!'

Emma could hear the trees falling in the forest. She was going to be
gorgeous
on her wedding day. She would focus on herself for a change. She had been going about this the wrong way, worrying about everyone else. Well, enough of that.

‘No . . . I said I'd call you.'

Ellen looked blankly at . . . Mr Finn– . . . oh God, what was his name? Was it Finnegan? Or maybe Finnian? Or Flynn? She glanced around the desk for a hint, but the place was called Southside Auto Care, so that was no help. Well, she wasn't going to call him Finn, she didn't want to be that familiar. She needed to maintain a professional distance if she expected him to behave professionally.

‘Ms Cosgrove?' he prompted. ‘I was going to call you, remember?'

‘No,' she returned. ‘I don't remember that. I'm sure you said you'd look at it no later than Monday. I assumed the car would be ready for me to pick up today. I mean you have had it since Friday.'

Did he just clench his jaw for a second?

‘Friday doesn't really count, Ms Cosgrove, it was towed here after hours. And I said I wouldn't get the chance to look at it Saturday, and that I'd do my best to check it out and call you Monday or Tuesday.'

‘No, you said it would be ready Monday or Tuesday,' Ellen countered in her best teacher's voice, the one she used to interrogate students when they were making excuses about why they were late with an assignment. ‘And so when I heard nothing yesterday I assumed, by a process of elimination, that the car would have to be ready by today.'

And when she had mentioned it to Zoe at work, and she had said she was going to pass this way this very afternoon, Ellen had grabbed the opportunity of a lift. She hadn't had his card with her or she would have called first, of course. But she was absolutely sure he said it would be ready . . .

‘Well, the car's not ready,' he said plainly. ‘It's nowhere near ready. In fact I was just about to call you.' He paused to take a breath. ‘I'm afraid it's not good news.'

Ellen's heart sank. The weekend had been impossible without a car. She'd called Tim about borrowing his, but he'd refused. Point blank. He had ‘plans', apparently.

‘So?' she had returned. ‘Can't you find an alternative?'

‘Can't you?'

‘I have the children,' she reminded him.

‘They're not
children
, Len,' said Tim. ‘They're old enough to make their own way about. You run around after them too much.'

‘Excuse me?'

‘They are old enough to use public transport,' he restated. ‘Or else let them make alternative plans.'

Obviously she wasn't going to win this argument putting the kids first, Tim clearly didn't give a damn.

‘Well, what about me?' said Ellen. ‘I have . . . errands . . . grocery shopping . . . I need a car.'

‘So do I,' said Tim. ‘I have things I have to do as well. Why is it any easier for me to do without a car than it is for you?'

She gritted her teeth. ‘If the kids were with you, and for some reason you didn't have your car, I would let you use mine.'

‘Well, that's all very well, but it's hypothetical.'

Ellen was incensed. ‘So you think I'm just saying that?'

‘That's not what I meant.'

‘That's what you're implying.'

‘I didn't imply anything,' he sighed. ‘I'm just saying that I
would have as much trouble doing without my car as you're having doing without yours.'

‘Since when did it become “your” car and “my” car anyway?' she said. ‘They're
our
cars, so this is
our
problem.'

‘Listen, I have to go,' Tim had said suddenly. ‘Obviously if this drags on then we'll have to negotiate something.'

God she was beginning to hate that word.

‘. . . so I flushed out the radiator –' The mechanic had launched into a lengthy explanation of what was wrong with the car, ‘– though it's relatively new, maybe six months old, I'm estimating. But the hoses weren't replaced at the same time. Maybe they weren't as old as the previous radiator, but they still should have been changed, it's standard practice. So I checked all the hoses for leaks and the clamps for corrosion, then I tested the coolant reservoir for cracks, because that can cause all kinds of headaches. See if you get combustion gas in the coolant –'

‘I don't need a lecture in engine maintenance,' Ellen interrupted with mounting frustration. ‘Can you just tell me what's wrong with my car, and how much it's going to cost?'

He took a breath. ‘Basically, the entire cooling system is stuffed. Whoever's been servicing your car has been ripping you off. When they replaced your radiator they should have checked the whole system and started a schedule of repair before it got to this. But that didn't happen, and the engine's suffered major damage as a result. It's probably going to cost in the vicinity of a couple of thousand to fix it.'

Ellen gasped. ‘What? But it didn't even overheat! It just stopped.'

‘Exactly, the engine more or less seized because it was running dry. You're lucky you didn't crack the head, or blow a gasket.'

‘Lucky?' she almost shrieked. ‘You call this lucky?
Winning
a couple of thousand dollars might be considered lucky. Having to shell it out for something I can't even see is definitely
not
lucky. And now you're telling me it should have been fixed by my original mechanic? Well, fine, I'll just have to take it back to him and tell him it's his problem.'

‘You can try,' said Finn, Flynn, Flip, whatever his name was. ‘But he can just argue it's normal wear and tear, which it is. If he'd
charged you for any of the repairs I mentioned, then you'd have a case. But unfortunately you can't get him on neglect, or oversight, or just plain incompetence, which is what this is.'

‘But you don't understand!' Ellen cried. ‘I don't know how I'm going to pay for this. Seriously. It's been one thing after another lately – first the stove, then the microwave, the washing machine, they've all conspired to break down one after the other, ever since my husband and I separated. Yeah, that's right, I'm separated, that's why I don't have another car to use, and I've got two kids and I live on a teacher's salary. Four years at university and I bet I don't earn as much as you. And don't go telling me I get all those holidays because holidays don't pay the bills, even though I work through most of them, and I don't get paid any overtime. What am I supposed to do?'

She was breathing hard, tears stinging her eyes as she stared at this man she barely knew, who was staring back at her, obviously a little stunned by her outburst. Bugger.

‘Can I get you some water?' he asked carefully.

Ellen swallowed. Her throat was dry. ‘No, it's okay,' she croaked.

‘I'll get you some water,' he said, crossing to the fridge and grabbing a bottle. He put it on the counter in front of her. ‘Go on, it's on the house.'

Ellen reached for the bottle, her hand shaking. ‘Thank you,' she said in a small voice, not looking at him. The phone rang and she breathed out as he turned away to answer it. Get a grip, you crazy woman. She took a couple of sips of the water and breathed steadily, calming herself. This was excruciating. She never carried on like this in front of complete strangers.

Apparently she did now.

When he hung up the phone he turned around to face her.

‘Are you okay?'

She nodded. ‘I'm sorry about that.'

‘No worries.'

‘It's just a difficult time right now,' she said, regaining her composure. ‘I'm going to have to discuss this with my hus- . . . my ex-husband.'

‘Sure,' he said. ‘Have you still got my card? Get him to give me a call and I'll go over it with him if he wants.'

That wasn't going to do any good, Tim wouldn't have a clue. He was absolutely hopeless with cars. Ellen had had suspicions about their mechanic for some time. The car never felt any different after services, and more than once they'd had to take it back when he'd missed something. But Tim was too coy, or too lazy, to take it to someone else. Well then, he was going to have to wear this as well. It was
their
car,
their
joint responsibility. He couldn't play the child support card this time.

‘Just give me a sec,' the mechanic was saying, ‘and I'll give you a lift home.'

Ellen stiffened. ‘No, you don't have to do that.'

‘It's part of the service,' he shrugged.

‘Really, it won't be necessary,' said Ellen. ‘I'll let you know what we've decided as soon as possible.'

She turned and walked quickly out of the office, picking up her pace as she crossed the tarmac to the road. She didn't know how she was going to get home, she probably should walk in the direction of Parramatta Road again, grab a taxi. Not that she could afford one. For now she just needed to walk. Clear her head. Calm down.

She was actually feeling mortified. She didn't know whether she could even go back to this mechanic now. Maybe she could get Tim to deal with it? Fat chance. He didn't give a flying fig about her problems any more.

Ellen crossed at the lights and started along the path in the direction of home, which had to be more than an hour away on foot. She would not be able to walk the distance, not in these shoes. She should have checked, should have rung first. But she hadn't been able to find the card in her purse, she must have left it at home; she vaguely remembered slipping it under a magnet on the fridge. And then when it occurred to her that she hadn't heard from the mechanic today, the simplest solution seemed to be to accept the lift from Zoe and get over here in person. It was stupid and short-sighted, she realised that now. Ellen was usually much more organised and rational. She planned, she didn't do things on impulse. In fact Ellen had been the responsible one all her life, amongst her siblings, at work, in the marriage.

Apparently not any more. Now she was someone capable of
flying off the handle at a complete stranger, embarrassing them both in the process. It was so unlike her. She had never even lost her temper with her students; no matter how atrociously they were behaving, Ellen always kept in control. Maybe she was finally cracking under the strain.

She was startled then by a car horn close behind her. She turned to see a green ute creeping along the road beside her. The mechanic dipped his head to look at her from the driver's seat.

‘Can I give you a ride?'

Ellen bristled. ‘I told you that wouldn't be necessary.'

‘Look, Ms Cosgrove, you can't walk the whole way.'

‘Yes, I can, it's not that far.' That was a lie.

‘It will be in those shoes.'

She looked down at her feet, trying to think of a response, while he stopped the engine and got out. He walked around in front of the ute.