West Neuk Farm
The wrench skidded on the nut, shredding skin from his knuckles. Richard hurled it across the floor and sucked blood from the cut.
‘You not done yet?’
‘This thing’s an antique!’
‘Cars just want to be rust, son.’
In a moment his father was beside him. They lay, side by side beneath the motor, gazing up at the engine. In another family, a happier one, this might have been a moment of intimacy – a father and son working together, sharing knowledge, laughing at each other’s jokes. Richard Kane and his father worked in silence.
After a while Richard slid free, wiping oil and blood on his overalls. The old man’s feet poked out from beneath the car. As he leaned against the bench Richard gazed down at the suede shoes, the grey socks and the green cords riding up to reveal his father’s bony shins.
The Jag was chocked with wooden blocks stout enough to take the weight should the jack fail. Richard watched, fascinated, as the rear axle hovered an inch or so above the block; the gap between wood and steel opening and closing as the car moved. He crouched, peering beneath the car to watch his father tighten the wrench.
‘Is it shifting?’
His father said nothing. He hated “stupid bloody questions.” Richard observed the familiar face, the firm set of the jaw. Metal groaned against metal as the Jag shifted; an ounce of steel tilting the balance one way then another. His father paused a moment to wipe his brow. Richard rested his palm on the Jag’s cool, sleek paintwork.
Whenever he looked back on those events he could recall no intent, one way or another. Perhaps it was curiosity rather than malice which led him to act as he did. It was as if someone else reached out a hand to nudge the block. Richard seemed to be watching the scene from above. A witness might have seen a dutiful son checking his father’s safety. He slid the block to the side, easing it free. His father, leaning on the wrench, grunted as he felt the nut loosen.
‘You have chocked this, Richard, haven’t you?’
‘Of course.’ Richard smiled. His father grunted as he put all his strength into one last heave. The wrench turned; the nut squealed as it surrendered.
‘Got it!’ There was a kind of sigh as the car swayed, the smoothness of the movement belying her weight. She slid away, like a ship leaving harbour. The jack sprang clear, clanging against the bench as the car crashed down.
Richard watched blood spread across the garage floor.
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