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“Oh, yes,” he says. “I know it well. It belonged to someone I used to know. An ex-girlfriend of sorts. You see this door? How it’s ever so slightly darker than the rest? That’s because she scraped it along the side of a lamp-post, and had to have it re-painted. God, she was a terrible driver! You don’t happen to have the keys on you, do you? I’d love to see how it runs these days?”
“It… it doesn’t,” I saw, swallowing hard as I try to make sense of this. “It’s got too much wrong with it. I was going to sell it for scrap. It doesn’t even start.”
“Oh, but you can’t scrap it,” he says, aghast. “This car has so many memories attached to it. Can I give it a try?”
The car key is attached to the keyring I’m still holding. I hand it over wordlessly, exchanging another quick look with Jett, who comes to take my hand as the man pops the bonnet of the car, and starts tinkering with the engine.
“Right! Let’s see if that worked.”
He straightens up, then opens the driver’s door and turns the key in the ignition. At first nothing happens, but then the car gives a reluctant cough, as if it’s being woken up against its will, and then splutters to life.
“There,” says our new friend delightedly. “You just have to know what you’re doing with this one. That’s always been the way of it.”
Jett’s fingers tighten around mine, and he nods at me, almost imperceptibly.
I’m here,says his touch.I’m with you.
“So, your daughter,” I say casually, even though my heart is hammering so loudly I can barely hear myself speak. “The one who told you where I lived? What was her name, again? Do I know her?”
“Gosh, I’m sorry,” says the man, putting his hand on his forehead as he turns to face us. “I didn’t even introduce myself, did I? Apologies. I’m Alexander — Alex. And yes, you do know my daughter, as it happens. Her name’s Scarlett; she works for the local newspaper?”
The world around me seems to tilt and shuffle, before carefully rearranging itself in a way that looks exactly the same as before, but which is nevertheless completely and utterly different.
Alexander.
Alex.
He’s Scarlett Scott’s father.
And I think he might be mine, too…
