14October
I still hear my mothers hissed warning as we settle into the battered blue Mini that has been our familys reluctant chariot for years. Youve seen everything, havent you? she snaps, eyes flicking to the roadside. Do you think Im blind? You spent the whole evening twirling around that blonde in the red coat!
Tommy and I exchange a glance. I hadnt noticed anything odd, and later Tommy swore that Father was merely being polite to a guest.
That night has stayed with me like a scar. We were driving back from a birthday party for Fathers old university mate, and night had already slipped into full command. The stars scattered across the black velvet sky like silver confetti. Father, who is usually cracking jokes behind the wheel, was silent this timehed taken medication that forbids even a drop of alcohol. Yet, according to Mother, his forced sobriety didnt stop him from making eyes at some young woman.
Emma, stop dreaming up stories, Father said wearily, turning the key. Thats just Lucy, an old classmate from university. Were just friends.
Mother didnt let up. The glow of the dashboard lit her face, and it seemed to radiate heat. Twice she demanded we pull over, jumped onto the grassy verge, and walked ahead along a lane bordered by young pines. Each time Father followed, their silhouettes melting into the darkness. Once I caught a glimpse of them standing facetoface, Father gesturing wildly, trying to prove a point.
While the adults wrestled with their tension, Tommy and I turned the backseat into an impromptu Easteregg battlefield. Grandma had dyed the shells in onionskin shavings, giving them a dark amber hue with strange swirls.
My ones tougher! Tommy bragged when his egg survived another roll. Just you wait, this will smash them all!
When Mother and Father finally returned, a heavy silence settled over the car. We drove in mute for about five minutes, only the wind whistling through the cracked windows. Mother sat curled into a ball, shoulders trembling.
Dont you dare try to knock me off my perch, you stubborn mule! she erupted, as if a dam had burst.
And then it all poured outher catalogue of grievances: his endless business trips, the late nights at the office, even the way he stared at the waitress in that cafe three years ago. Words like hate, ruined my life, youre moving back with your mother, and the ominous divorce floated in the air like shards of broken glass.
Father answered sparingly, muttering Calm down or Youre exaggerating. The familiar set of raised eyebrows and pressed lips crept onto his face, the very expression that always set Mothers nerves on fire.
Suddenly the engine coughed, lurched, and died. Father turned the ignition, but only a hoarse sputter came back.
Bloody hell! he slammed his palm on the steering wheel. Brilliant! Just perfect!
Mother fell silent, her anger melting into raw fear.
Whats happened? she asked, her voice trembling.
I dont know. The motor stalled and wont restart.
Father stepped out, lifted the bonnet. I pressed my forehead against the window, watching the world pass. We were perched between the last thatched cottages of Littleton and the glow of our own town, Ashford, on the hill beyond. Dense pine wood flanked the road on both sides. I remembered how, last autumn, wed been gathering butterbur among the golden needles, the plants slick and scented with forest earth.
The carburettors clogged, Father concluded, climbing back into the seat. Well need to find help.
I wont stay here alone! Mother seized my hand. Its dark and scary.
We trudged toward the nearest hamlet, its rows of semidetached houses spilling out onto the lane. Father knocked on the first gate he saw, a cottage with a single amber light flickering behind lace curtains. A man in a greasedovercoat opened the door.
Help, eh? he croaked.
While Father explained, Mother spotted a modest stone church with its stainedglass windows catching the moonlight.
Well wait for you there, she told Father. Itll be brighter inside, less frightening.
We rarely visited churches. Mother called herself a believer, but she only turned to God in the toughest moments. Father was an outright atheist, dismissing religion as a relic of the past.
Inside, the nave was warm and solemn. A crowd knelt together, the air heavy with incense and fresh bread. Choirboys sang in clear, high tones, their music soaring toward the vaulted ceiling. Mother bought three thin wax candles at the entrance.
Lets light them and pray, she whispered. Ask for help.
How do you pray? Tommy asked.
Just speak from the heart, Mother replied, wrapping the white scarf shed taken from her neck around her shoulders.
I watched Mother approach the large icon of the Virgin Mary, her face softening as she murmured. The flare of candlelight made her look serene; all traces of rage vanished.
I tried to pray too, but I didnt know where to start. Ask for the car to be fixed? That seemed too petty for the Almighty. So I simply whispered, in the depths of my soul, for Mother and Father to fall in love again, for our home to be peaceful and bright.
When I opened my eyes, Tommy was gone.
Mum, wheres Tom? I asked.
We started searching, weaving through the crowd. Twenty minutes slipped by, panic rising. Mother was about to dash after Father when, at the doorway, a familiar figure appearedFather, cradling Tommy who was clutching a gingerbread at the church shop.
Where did you find him? Mother exclaimed, rushing forward.
He was in the shop, looking at the biscuits, Father smiled. The cars already running.
How? Mother demanded, incredulous.
I dont know, love. Honestly. The gentleman over there fetched a rope, I sat in the drivers seat, turned the key and it started as if it had never stalled.
We left the church, and our little blue Mini sat parked by the doorway, a thin wisp of steam drifting from the exhaust.
An Easter miracle, Mother said, crossing herself.
We drove home. The interior smelled of pine sap and oil. Mother stared out the window at passing lights, then rested her hand on the gear lever. Father looked at her, then, slowly, placed his hand over hers.
Im sorry, he whispered.
And youre sorry for me too, she replied.
He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. From then on, we rode together all the way to the front gate, hands clasped, and whenever he needed to change gear he briefly released her grip, only to find it again in the dim cabin.
Tommy slept on the back seat, and I watched the road unwind, convinced that sometimes true miracles do happeneven to the most ordinary people on an ordinary evening.
