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He’d just started to relax into enjoying himself, and now look. You took your eye off the ball for a second and—wham!—disaster struck.
Oliver turned and sprinted out the door.
“Stop!” he shouted, waving frantically as Felicity hopped into the driver’s side. “Do NOT turn it on.”
She smirked. “You sound like we’re about to blow up.”
“The engine will if you turn that key. You’ve just filled it up with diesel.”
“I filled it with petrol—I thought.” She turned and looked at the bowser and her face fell. “Oh dear! Is that a problem? I mean, it will still go, won’t it?”
It took all Oliver’s self-control not to whack his palm on his forehead.
“If you start the engine, the van will morph into a smoke machine and the spark plugs will blow.”
Her fingers crept to her mouth, eyes wide with apology. “I’m so sorry, Oliver.”
He reined in his temper. It was probably just as much his fault as hers. If he hadn’t been distracted by reading his phone messages, he would have noticed what pump she’d drawn up at.
“It’s okay, we’ll sort it,” he reassured her. “We just need to drain the tank.”
And how exactly, asked the rational part of his brain, was he supposed to do that in this fly-blown, godforsaken place?
He paced to the end of the tarmac. Resisted the urge to count to three before he turned around and saw the mechanic’s workshop attached to the back of the servo. Thank Christ!
By now, the woman who’d served them was outside, shouting, “Oi, Len,” and gesticulating to a guy wearing overalls with a face as gnarled as a paperbark tree.
Oliver marched over and explained the problem.
Len grunted. Yeah, he’d have something he could drain the engine with, for sure, but seeing as it was nearly five o’clock, it would have to wait till the morning. “You can leave it here overnight.”
“Can’t you do it now?”
Len shrugged. “Nah, closing time, mate.”
Oliver stared around the tarmac. What a horrible spot to spend their first night.
“Look, eghhh, I have a tent, but my friend, she needs somewhere—” He swallowed the word “nicer”. As for pitching his tent, there was nowhere for that either. Unless you counted the dry paddock next door with a bunch of scraggly-looking sheep in it.
“We can push it round the side of the workshop and your lady friend can sleep there,” Len said, then, obviously seeing Oliver’s wild-eyed look, his craggy features softened. “Tell you what, mate, we’ve got some rooms out the back. Nothing flash, mind, but Sue could likely sort you out one. Cost you a few dollars is all.”
Sue, who’d joined them, pursed her lips. “Guess I could give you a discount, seeing you’re in a bit of a pickle.”
“Two rooms,” Oliver demanded. “We’ll need two.”
“Only got one,” Sue said cheerily. “The rest are being done up.”
Oliver shook his head in disbelief. You had to wonder who for; they’d be lucky if more than two cars passed through here most days.
By now Felicity had wandered over. “Hello, there.” Smiling brightly at Sue and Len, she cocked her head. “What’s the plan?”
Ten minutes later, they both stood in the tiny prefab room at the back of the service station and looked around.
There was one—small—double bed, two side lockers, a linoleum floor and a tiny bathroom with a plastic curtain round the shower and a dripping tap in the sink, leaving a line of rust down the yellowed basin.
“Nice,” Felicity said.
“Do you realise there’s nowhere to get food?” Oliver hardly recognised his sulky tone.
