Reasons to be Cheerful by Nina Stibbe

Author:Nina Stibbe
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
ISBN: 9780241974995
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2019-03-28T00:00:00+00:00

Part Two

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17. Lessons

I was going to have to get my driving licence. It was the one qualification I could get, after all. In the unlikely event of my going to Massachusetts, I’d have to ferry my half-siblings around in a huge Cadillac, and equally, if I stayed in England, I’d need it for any of the positions advertised in the Lady magazine (that I’d have to take up in order to begin my writing career), all of which demanded a clean driving licence – and no clever words could make up for not being able to drive.

My sister had called round to get her teeth polished and afterwards we had coffee and honey buns while I leafed through the Yellow Pages. I couldn’t decide between Asquith’s School of Motoring – jolly-looking – and the Fosse School of Motoring – serious-looking but guaranteed to have you Test-ready in 12 weeks or your money back*. Their advert featured an L-plate ripped in half which was quite strong. We mulled it over. My sister had recently passed and was opinionated.

‘What about the Harry Janis School of Motoring?’ I said, tapping his tiny entry. ‘He’s never had a fail and he’s cheap.’

‘Harry Janis?’ said Tina. ‘God, no, that’s the bloke I had who got his penis out, remember?’

‘Oh, yes. I couldn’t have him.’

‘No, I reported him to the police,’ she remembered slowly, picturing it in her mind’s eye.

‘Was he arrested?’ I asked.

‘No, but he was warned that there’d been a complaint, though, so he might bear a grudge.’

Tina did the sums and told me how much it was going to cost, which was so ridiculous, I doubted her maths. Driving lessons were out of the question unless I asked for a pay rise, which was also out of the question, or moved back home and used my rent money, but that was out of the question too unless I was prepared to share my old bed with Andy Nicolello, which I wasn’t, even if he would, which he wouldn’t.

Later, on the phone, Melody suggested I ask my mother to teach me. This made sense to Melody because I’d repeatedly flagged her up as a great motor-woman compared with her own mother who used to abandon the vehicle if required to reverse.

Being taught by a relative wasn’t the way I wanted to learn – I’d had my heart set on proper lessons – but now, knowing the cost, I had to admit Melody was right. My mother was a good bet and the Flying Pea the perfect little car to learn in – highly visible, easy to park, and with a fitted radio-cassette. Plus, I assumed, my mother must long for an opportunity to make up for our awful childhood.

‘Or, even better,’ said Melody, ‘what about Mr Holt? He’s a super driver.’

That was true, he was an exceptionally good and careful driver – always used the handbrake and frequently checked the oil, and so forth – but I wasn’t planning on being that sort.

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