Page 24

Macsen

I was not thinking of Hywel as I carefully restored his car to mint condition, replacing doors and wheels and everything else I’d done in a drunken rage.

I was not thinking of Hywel as I gave the car a full service in the garage, making it run better than it would have been even before he crashed it. I was entirely not thinking of…

So I was thinking about Hywel. A lot. And had for the six days of stir crazy isolation that the snow had imposed on me.

Even now, with the roads mostly safe to drive, I was hiding out here like fucking coward.

Partially because I hadn’t taken that time to fix his car, it had sat so embarrassingly as a reminder of my behaviour in the corner of the garage.

So that was my first job, my apology to Hywel for what I’d done.

To return this car to him in better condition than it had ever been.

I didn’t know why I was apologising, really.

I’d done much worse in my time. And I couldn’t even disagree with my own drunken disgrace.

I didn’t like him keeping secrets, and I didn’t like him holding such power over me.

But that was my problem to deal with. It wasn’t my job to go and fuck up a slowly developing… something by getting so angry.

And I’d had a week to sit on that anger, to refine it at first, to decide exactly what I would say to Hywel when I saw him next. And what had started off as a three-day long rant had ended in my mind as a simple ‘sorry’.

I turned the key and the engine purred into life.

I loved my bouncy little car, but this was like the difference between playing with a kitten and a tiger.

My car was energetic, ready to play and take whatever life threw at it.

The Aston was more refined, like it was gracing me with its presence the other way round.

The engine turned over quietly, ready to pounce on its prey the second I pulled my foot upward on the clutch. God, I fucking loved my job.

I rolled the car oh so gently out into the yard outside and parked it up next to my baby. There was still a thin and patchy layer of snow and ice on the ground and I wanted to check the country lanes had all been gritted and cleared before I dared to take the car down the lanes.

They’d been relatively clear for two days now though, and I worried at why Hywel hadn’t been back, if even to pick up his clothes, still in the suitcase next to the sofa.

I’d even bloody washed and folded them for him, waiting for his return.

And maybe hoovered, polished and dusted every part of the flat and garage as if to try and impress him.

I didn’t even know what I was expecting from my apology.

Hywel was off to London soon. Was I just hoping he’d give it all up and move in with a country mechanic with way too many tattoos and a serious chip on his shoulder?

Or hoping he’d beg me to go to London with him, live in the same shitty bedsit together?

I was snapped from my crabby mood by the sight of two further beautiful cars pulling into the yard.

I definitely didn’t have any high-end clients planned between now and New Year, so I was shocked to see them.

One was a glossy silver Porsche 911 and the other an Aston Martin Vanquish in a deep caramel brown.

I resisted the urge to wolf-whistle as I turned off the engine and stepped out of the car to meet them.

An older lady with a whiff of glamour that I kind of recognised got out of the Porsche and an elderly gentleman in a velvet suit and cravat got out of the Aston.

She looked like she had dirt under her nose as she looked at me, but he had kind eyes — though they slid away from me and lit up as soon as he saw the DB5.

“Can I help you?” I asked as politely as possible.

“I rather think you can,” said the older lady. “You see, my Porsche seems to have developed a fault.”

“What kind of fault?” I asked, immediately stepping forward to see if there were any issues on the outside, but aside from obvious clumsy scrapes on the back wheels there was nothing to me that might indicate an issue caused from the outside.

“You’re the mechanic, you fucking tell me,” the woman said flippantly. I felt my hackles rise but I was used to condescending talk from my more elite customers.

“Marjorie, give the man your keys and sit in the car,” the elderly gentleman said with much the same tone as she’d spoken to me. She huffed, threw the keys in my direction and flounced off toward the Aston.

“Sorry, she’s always been a diva in public. Deliberately, for her image. But she doesn’t seem to know when to let go.” The man gave me a wide smile as I turned to look at him. “Calvin Taylor, Mark’s long suffering husband.”

“Oh, she’s the one! From that show!” I said before I could stop myself. Tudor had told me all about her and her…unfortunate demands and fetishes up at the hotel.

“The very same. Now, there seems to be a knocking coming from the engine…” Calvin led me through all the problems, and I sensed the car had been driven for a particularly long time before any of the problems were brought to light.

I offered to take the car, find the issues and give it a full service.

“Fantastic, thank you. We’ll be staying in Aberystwyth for a couple of weeks so there’s absolutely no rush.” Calvin’s eyes turned from his wife’s Porsche to the burgundy Aston Martin I’d been fixing up. “Is that one yours?”

“No, I’ve just been looking after it for my…a friend,” I said.

“What a beauty. Can I take a look inside? I’ve got quite the collection of vintage Aston Martins…Marjorie indulges me with that, of course. I’m a kept man.” As if in a trance, Calvin stepped toward the car with a reverence reserved for royalty and gods.

I opened the door for him and he gave me an inquiring glance. I nodded, and he sat inside, sinking into the leather seat and placing his hands on the wheel. He smiled at me, a perfect movie-star smile hidden within that age-lined face.

“She’s beautiful,” he said. One perfectly manicured nail traced down the contours of the radio and came to rest on the gearstick. Calvin stepped out with one final pat of the wooden steering wheel and something like regret on his face.

“I’d be willing to pay a good amount for a car like that,” he said. He took a card from his wallet and handed it to me. “Call me when you’re done with the Porsche…and pass my details on to that friend, if they’re not too attached.”

“Thanks,” I said idly as he walked away. I pocketed the card and watched them drive the much newer Aston Martin out of the yard. If he really had such a collection, I’d better do a bloody good job on the Porsche.

My thoughts had swung back to Hywel, and my head was a mix of conflicting thoughts and feelings. I wanted to talk to him, but I didn’t want to go back into town with an apology when I still didn’t know what that apology meant. What I wanted, and what he wanted.

“Fuck it,” I said to myself. I had to stop being such a fucking flake and see the man.

I ran to the flat to grab my car keys, locked up the flat and the garage and got in my own car.

In my current state, there was no way I would be getting behind the wheel of Hywel’s car.

If he wanted it, he could come back here and get it.

I fired up the engine and reversed, only to be stopped in my tracks by a postman rounding the corner and holding out a letter.

***

Was I angry? No. Sad? I had no fucking idea at this point. I just…

Hywel . Why was he such an enigma? As I drove into the village proper I couldn’t stop glancing over at the little letter that I’d gotten from the postman, sat innocently in the passenger seat. If I was confused about Hywel before, that letter had now completely and utterly discombobulated me.

I parked up opposite the cafe. There were Christmas lights in all the shop windows but the café particularly stood out as James had gone all out on the Christmas festivities.

I knew he’d be in there working just like he’d told me before.

And as I closed the car door behind me, letter in hand I could see him.

Just sat in the window typing away on the laptop like he didn’t have a care in the world.

I walked across the road and entered the cafe. If I’d been expecting a big entrance, I didn’t get one. The door shut silently behind me and Hywel didn’t even look up. Neither did many of the other patrons. Only James gave me a little wave from behind the counter.

“What the fuck is this?” I asked. I faced Hywel, letter still in hand and what I hoped was an imposing look on my face.

“A letter?” he didn’t look up at me, but I could see a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

“I know it’s a fucking letter, I just…” I stopped for a second, trying to consider my own thoughts. Trying to get something eloquent and sensible out. All I managed was… “Fucking why? ”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.” Finally Hywel looked up at me.

And I could have gotten lost in those gorgeous sea-green eyes.

I was conscious now that every coffee drinker was looking at us, many of whom had known me since I was a baby.

And They knew I had a reputation for doing stupid things, for flying off the handle and not dealing with things properly.

I gave Hywel a tight smile and walked over to the counter to order a coffee from James.

James poured out the latte with a little smirk on his face that I couldn’t quite place.

“What’s with the look?” I asked him as he passed over the steaming hot cup, a little biscuit placed jauntily on the saucer below.

“It’s happening again,” he said. “It just keeps bloody happening.”