Breakdown Cover

As I drove home from picking the kids up after their day at school, about a mile from our house, the car just came to a standstill. I hadn't noticed any unusual noises nor were there any warning lights illuminated on the dashboard. And I also had at least a quarter of a tank of petrol; according to the gauge.

As it came to a standstill at the side of the road I turned the key and the engine wurred over with the usual noise; so from that I deduced it wasn't a flat battery; but more than that, I had no idea. Well as we live out in the sticks; in a small village. This meant any taxi would need to travel six miles just to get to where we were. So I decided to opt for walking the mile back home. I mean it was a sunny summer's day, and the exercise would do us all good.

So once I'd collected together all the kids bags, off we set. That is me, a thirty-two year old mother of two, my son, Jason who was ten, and my daughter, Emily who was eight. Well if I'd thought the moaning the kids did when being told it was bedtime, was bad, then that was nothing compared to the moaning and complaining they did on the walk home. But after around twenty minutes we arrived home.

Well once they'd been fed, I took them around to the next door neighbour, so that she could look after them whilst I sorted out what I was going to do about my car.

Now I guess most people wouldn't have thought twice about ringing for a taxi instead of walking, and in so doing, they'd have avoided all that moaning from the kids. But things in our household at the moment are running very close to the edge. I lost my job at the local library about four months ago, and jobs these days are getting harder to find every day.

My husband has accepted a roving position in the refrigeration repair company he works for, as this brings with it a ten percent increase in salary; to compensate for having to work away from home for up to three weeks at a time. And at the moment, we're at Wednesday of week two of one of these shifts.

I'm also aware that most people have breakdown cover on their cars, but again due to lack of money, I haven't. We almost didn't re-insure my car when the premium was due. But knowing that when it came to the winter months, I'd really struggle without my car, James agreed that we'd make sacrifices elsewhere. But added, "I hope the old girl keeps going, and gets through its next M.O.T. Cos once it chucks the towel in, I can't see us finding the money to get another car for you. Well not until things get back to normal and you get a job."

So, you can probably understand now, why I didn't follow the other thing that most people would have done when their car broke down; that is ring the garage and get them to tow it in for repair.

I had no idea what was wrong with my car, and I knew my James knew less than me about cars; so how was I proposing to sort the problem? Well across the road from us live two brothers, both in their mid to late forties. They both have fulltime jobs working for the local electricity company. But you'd quite often see them in the garage at the side of their house, mending cars, and mostly not cars belonging to them. I guess they had a reputation locally as Mr Fix-its. As it wouldn't only be cars, but lawn mowers, rotavators or just about anything with an engine in.

So I'm at their door and waiting for one of them to answer my knock. And I'm feeling more than a little nervous on two counts. The first is that I have no idea what I'm going to say when the door opens. I mean we only moved out to this village just over three years ago, so even though I know their names and a little about them; I can't really claim to know them or be their friend. The second and more important reason I'm nervous is Satan. No, I'm not talking about the devil; but to me he's almost as frightening. Satan is their big (and I do mean big), black and tan, long haired Alsatian. I know it always does everything either of the brothers tells it to do. But it's so big and so full of energy, and it bounds around at top speed.

The door opens, and it's Trevor who is standing there, but seconds later, Satan's head appears alongside his master's leg. I stutter out my words, "Oh, I...I'm Shirley. Shirley Tranter. I live across the road. Number twenty-five."

"Yes me duck. I've seen you about." The dog nudges his way forwards and I step back, my face must obviously show my fear. "Get back and lie yourself down. Sorry about that lass. But he wouldn't hurt you, he's just being nosey. What was it you wanted?"

"Well I know this is going to sound really cheeky. But you see, my husband is working away from home. And I wasn't sure who to turn to. And I know you and your brother are good with cars."

"Well we tinker. But what exactly is your problem?"

"Well in truth, I guess it's lack of money. Otherwise I'd just have rung the garage, and then I wouldn't be over here pestering you."

"Well lass, join the club. We could all use a bob or two more these days. Those buggers down in parliament seam to take more every year and give half of it away to bloody foreigners. But enough of my moaning, you didn't come here to hear my complaints. What is it that you think I can help you with? I hope it isn't a sub."

"Oh no. I'd never be that brazen. It's my car that's broken down. I wondered if it was possible that you might be able to get it back home for me? You know, using a rope behind your Land Rover; like I've seen you do before."

"That depends. It's not on a motorway. Is it?"

"Oh no. It's out along Wreaking lane. About a mile away."

He turned and shouted up the stairs, "Hey Bill. There's a young damsel in distress down here. Shift your arse; I'll need your help."

And from the top of the stairs came the reply, "Be there in a mo. Just gotta finish watering the horse."

Trevor obviously saw my look of confusion, and explained, "He means he's taking a piss." And then without batting an eyelid, he stepped out of the front door, saying, "Come on then lass, we'll get the old jalopy backed out, and wait out on the road." Satan followed him, and I turned and did the same. As we reached his old Land Rover, he said, "Oh, have you got your car keys with you?"

"Oh god. No. I'll run back over home and get them. It's a good job you've got your brain working."

By the time I'd returned with my keys, their Land Rover was parked out on the road, with Trevor behind the wheel and Bill standing waiting by the passenger door. As I approached, he held the door open, as if ushering me in first. As I looked inside there only appeared to be two seats up front, and in the back sat Satan.

I asked nervously, "Do I have to climb over into the back with your dog?"

Trevor answered, "No lass. That place is in a mess back there, with his muddy clart, and dog hairs. You'd get shit up to high heaven. Just climb over Bill's seat, and squat yourself down on this box in the middle."

Well I climbed in, and positioned myself on the box in between the two front seats. And it wasn't that it was cramped on width (in fact modern Land Rovers of this type now have a seat of sorts in this very position).

But this was an ancient old wreck; I think it was that old its previous owner was Noah. He could have used it to drag his ark up onto dry land.

So as I sat up on the wooden box, I had my feet planted either side of the big long gear leaver. Which meant that they were up at about the same height as my bottom; which was on the box. This meant my knees were sticking up, and my skirt naturally wanted to drop; leaving my legs (and I guess my panties) exposed to their view.

So as I became aware of the situation, I immediately used my hands to pull and then hold the hem of my skirt up to my knees. But even this wouldn't restrict the view from in front of me.

By now Bill had climbed in, and Trevor said, "Right. Are we all fit?"

I quickly replied, "But I haven't got a seatbelt."

"You haven't got a seat. And if I was you, I'd use your hands to steady yourself. Without a seatback, you're likely to flip over backwards and end up on your arse in the back with Satan."

And then as if to demonstrate the point, he pulled off, and as the vehicle set in motion, I rocked over as he'd predicted. I'm not sure if it was his forewarning or just the fact I'd rolled back and collided with Satan, but I managed to grab the seat either side of me, and I didn't completely roll into the back.

But on catching hold of the backs of their seats and hauling myself up, I slid forwards on the box, and my crotch met Trevor's hand as he was pulling the big long gear-lever back to select second gear.

It was only a momentary contact, because as soon as he dropped the clutch in second gear, I slid again, this time away from his hand. But the slipperiness of my skirt on the painted top of the wooden box, meant I had to concentrate all my thoughts to the task of keeping upright and out of reach of the gear-lever. So the hem of my skirt dropped to the top of my legs, and for the whole journey my legs were naked.

And whereas Trevor's eyes stayed mainly on the road ahead (which was where they should be). Bill had his head turned my way, and I could feel the stare of his eyeballs burning a hole through the gusset of my panties.

Regardless of Bill's glaring, and Satan's hot breath on my neck, within a few minutes we'd arrived at the spot where my car had come to a halt. And once we'd all climbed out, they began a quick check of the basics, to see if they could get it started. But after ten minutes of checking various things (some of which I'd already checked), they came to the conclusion that a tow home was necessary. So then, they wasted no time in getting a tow-rope fastened.

Then Trevor asked, "Have you been towed before? Or shall I get Bill to drive your car?"

Well I'd heard my dad relate stories about being towed, and I remembered that it always sounded like a dangerous operation. So I declined, saying, "No. I've never done it, and I'd rather Bill do it. He's got more experience than me."

"Ok, you climb back into the Landy, and we'll get going. Oh, do you want it at your place? Or shall we drop it off at ours, so we can try and suss out what's up with it?"

"Well I know I'm imposing, but if you drop it at my house, it won't move again until the scrap man arrives and hauls it up onto his wagon."

"It's a bit early to be talking scrap. It might be something simple. And by the look of the bodywork, there's plenty more miles of motoring left in it yet. So you're ok with us sticking it in our garage for the night?"

"Well yes, so long as it's not too much trouble."

"Nah. It'll give Bill something to do. Otherwise he'll only spend all night re-running his Benny Hill videos and wake up in the morning with a sore wrist again."

As I climbed into the passenger seat of the Land Rover, I slowly processed the last part of Trevor's remark, and began to blush at the inference therein. But I didn't have long to be embarrassed or even angry at him for making such a naughty quip, because as soon as Satan saw me climbing in, he got to his feet and instantly made his way towards the passenger seat.

But once he saw it was me, he just sauntered across to greet Trevor as he climbed into the driver's door and got behind the wheel. In the few minutes it took to drive home, I asked Trevor about the lack of functional seat belts, to which he replied he didn't believe in them (how he ever got his Land Rover through its annual M.O.T. test I have no idea).

And then he surprised me by saying, "I didn't mention it earlier, when it happened; as I didn't want to embarrass you in front of our Bill. But I'm sorry about nudging your fanny-ann. It wasn't intentional. I hope I didn't bruise it? I'm a thinking they're a bit on the dainty side."

I instantly coloured up red, and I struggled to find the words to reply, "That's alright. I could see it wasn't deliberate."

"I don't mind checking it for you; you know, to make sure it's not bruised or anything?"

I could hardly believe my ears at his off-hand manner in making such a crude suggestion. But I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, and put it down to simple country-bumpkin male naivety. And wanting to stem this topic of conversation, I said, "No. It's ok. Please forget it."

"That's easy for you to say. But for me, I'll be re-living that little encounter with your fanny-ann every night in bed for weeks to come."

Again the reality of what he meant by that took a few seconds to hit me, but when it did I shrunk back inside myself, as I sat silently blushing. Luckily for me, within seconds of him making his comment, we pulled up outside his house, and he got out, quickly followed by his dog.

And then a few seconds later he appeared at the passenger window and said, "Right lass. You get off home and look after your young'uns. Once we've checked it out, I'll come over and let you know the score."

It took all my resolve to get my voice working, and even then it started as a high pitched squeak; as I replied, "Thank you for what you've done. Oh, and thank Bill. I really am grateful to both of you."

"Don't you worry about Bill; he got more than his fair share of a reward gazing at your knickers. He'll not be short of inspiration for his nightly wrist exercises."

I couldn't answer, I turned on the spot and dashed into my next-door neighbours drive and quickly made my way to their front door; where I picked up the kids, and then went home.

Once I'd sorted them out and got them both into bed, I was sitting racking my brain to think where I'd find the number of any of the other mums that I knew in the area. That is mums who might be able to give my kids a lift to school along with their own. But whereas I knew and talked to lots of different mums at the school gates, I couldn't find one number.

It was then, at almost ten at night, that my door bell rang. It was Trevor, and I invited him in. I walked him down the hall into our back parlour, all the time trying to avoid him seeing my face. Because even though it was nearly three hours since he'd made those comments, just seeing his face as I opened the door, brought on another bout of blushing.

And as I gestured to offer him a seat, he said, "Don't take on so lass. I wasn't meaning to embarrass you earlier. I was paying you a compliment. But never mind that now; it's your car I've come about."

I did my best to rise above my embarrassment, "Is it good news? Please tell me it is?"

"It's good and bad. The bad is that your camshaft belt has snapped. The good is that you're lucky. Most cars, it all but destroys the engine. But your engine is what they call a safe one. So all it's done, is stop it working. Fit a new belt and it'll be back to where it was before."

"Does it cost much for a new belt?"

"Nah. About thirty quid."

"Oh my god, that sounds a lot. But at least I'll be able to squeeze that out of my household budget."

"Ah well maybe not. You can phone around the garages. But the last person I heard of, who had one fitted at a dealer, it cost just shy of four hundred notes. There's a fair bit of work removing all kinds of stuff, before you even get to the belt. And it's all time consuming. And time is money, especially at a garage."

"Well that's it then."

"That's what? What does that mean?"

"The car is scrap. There is no way we can afford that kind of money."

"Scrap is it? I sometimes think you young'uns have money to burn."

"No. It's not that. It's the very opposite. We can neither afford to repair it, nor buy a replacement car; so I'll have to go without."

"How can you. Out here in the villages, with the local school closed down twenty years since. You'll have to have a car." I shrugged my shoulders. "Well how are you getting your kids to school tomorrow?"

"At the moment, the only way I can think of, is if we all use our bikes."

"Around these lanes! With the bloody idiots we've got driving today? You'd have to be mad. Right, as far as tomorrow is concerned, I'll phone my cousin. His wife takes their kids to the same school as yours go to."

"Do they live in the village?"

"No. But there farm is only two miles along the gated road."

"But she won't be coming down that road to get to school. It would be dragging her miles out of her way."

"Can I use your phone?"

Well three minutes later, he'd sorted out tomorrow's school run, and after he'd explained the details to me, I said, "Thank you for helping. And if you let me know how much we owe you, I'll get my husband to bring it across the weekend after next when he arrives home. Oh, and do mind if I ask you to push the car back over the road and park it in our drive."

"Don't be a silly girl; you don't owe me a penny."

"Oh no. We'll have to pay you. You've used your fuel to tow my car back. And spent all night working on it. We've got to pay you."

His attitude suddenly changed, and the tone in his voice was agitated and aggressive, "If you ever mention paying me in money again in return for neighbourly help, as big as you are, I'll put you over my knee, pull your pants down, and smack your bare arse."

At this I kind of smirked, thinking it was just a dirty meaningless threat.

But he snapped in a very brusque manner, "I mean it. Out here we help each other. And if you feel you're indebted, then you put yourself out by offering to repay the debt with some other kindness."

"I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"Well just think on next time." And then as his voice calmed down, he continued, "Now do you want us to get the belt and let you know how much it costs? Or do you want to shop around to see if you can get one cheap anywhere?"

"But. I mean. I've just said, I can't afford to pay a garage to fit it. And my husband wouldn't have a clue."

"And I've just told you. You're a villager now, one of us. We'll do the job. But if you think you can afford the belt, then that's alright, you can pay for it. But on the other hand, if you're really strapped for cash, I'm sure we could even sort that. It wouldn't break the bank to buy the belt for you."

I was about to say, I'd never be able to repay them, when I suddenly thought he might take that as meaning money. And I wasn't sure if he'd actually carry out his threat, and I'd end up having my naked bottom smacked.

So instead I said, "I'm sure I'll be able to squeeze the money for the belt out of my housekeeping. But as far as thinking what service I can do for you and your Bill, the only thing that comes to mind would be maybe some cleaning around your house or maybe washing."

"Bill wouldn't have anyone in there cleaning, and like as not he'd take it as an insult if you suggested it. And we've got an automatic washing machine; so that's sorted. But don't worry about that now, the point is, should we get the belt, so we can get started on the repair as soon as we get home from work tomorrow?"

"Well in that case, yes please. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No lass. You've got your hands full with the kids. And being as we're on shift, we'll be able to get started while there's plenty of daylight. So I'll come over tomorrow night, probably about this time. If that's not too late for you?"

"No. I rarely go to bed before eleven."

"Ok, half ten, to give you a progress report. Or if you're lucky and we get it finished earlier, you might even see it arrive back in your drive."

An unexplained surge welled up through my body, tears came to my eyes, and without even thinking what I was doing I pounced on him. I say pounced, because that is the nearest word I can find to describe my actions. I'd sprung up from my chair, and flung my arms around his neck. And with him still seated, I smothered his lips with kisses. I know it wasn't a sexual advance on my part. And gratitude doesn't usually surge in that way; well not in my experience. I'm assuming the feelings were a sudden release, as I realized that the bleak future I'd been expecting had now been avoided. So I'll put it down to relief.