Beryl was sitting in the front passenger seat of a Volkswagen Up. It was small, powerless, but great for teaching.
Behind the steering wheel sat Mandy, a young-looking blonde with a shaky left hand and an even shakier foot. It wasn’t her first lesson, but by the way her hand shook, anyone would think it was.
Mandy gripped the hand brake; foot on the clutch, she turned on the ignition . . . and stalled the car.
“Jesus wept,” she hissed with a mild Australian twang.
Beryl, her face a mask of patience, said nothing.
In fact, so patient did she look that many on Planet Hy Man would have struggled to recognize her—apart, that is, from her hairdo.
A plastic co-op bag fluttered by, wedging itself between a windshield wiper and the windshield.
Beryl, with a sigh, jumped out to clear it.
Sh
