19
I drive as far as my old lockup. The narrow, cobbled alley still the same. The lock a little rusty but after a fiddle with the key, the door opens to reveal my trusty old Volvo 940. The front end long since fixed up, the engine replaced and a new set of everything.
It was a bugger to find the parts, but I’ve fond memories of the old 940.
My first date with my ex-wife. The conception of my daughter. My liberation from the Dwyer family. And that’s just to name a few.
I catch myself in a sentimental moment. So many memories. But I haven’t got time for that. I whip the cover of it and transfer the stuff from the Peugeot. I leave the hire car parked outside the lockup and steer the Volvo along the cobbles.
The 940 handles like a dream. A bad dream where I’m fighting to steer an oil tank
