Chapter One- All because of car trouble.

The day was mostly the same as any other in this drab spot of Liverpool, only things were getting colder.

I was preparing a breakfast of toast and a small bit of jam when I was roused from my thoughts by an awful bought of cursing from out front. Careful not to make a mess, I set the food down gently as I hurried to the porch finding my father, flustered and exercising his vocabulary fantastically.

He glanced up at me, myself being in nothing but a nightgown, and smiled sheepishly, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Sorry ‘bout all the noise. Cars givin' me a bita trouble.” I took a small step back to get a better view of the rusty old car my father took so much pride in. Smoke was billowing out the sides of the hood, I felt my cheeks burn white hot as I realized people normally heading to work, walked especially slow to investigate our situation. One boy seemed particularly interested, his blue eyes scanning the car. He seemed almost cautious about approaching my father, who was fuming more than the contents of the hood. But with a moment’s hesitation he approached him. He seemed about 16 or so, perhaps a bit older. But I hadn’t seen him around our school. He dressed like the Teds, and that seemed to make my Father immediately suspicious.

“You know, if you’re havin' any trouble with your car, I’ve been learnin’ to be an engineer... I could probably help you a bit.” He said, he mumbled a bit while he spoke, but he was polite about it. Even so, my father was ready to refuse help when a small explosion sounded from within the hood, and more black smoke added itself to the already heavy smog. I suppressed a giggle, but only barely, and I caught the scornful gaze of my father. The boy also turned to see what he had looked at, but when he noticed me, he looked quickly away and I felt myself blush.

“Fine,” he grumbled, “But I can’ pay you.”  He warned. The boy shrugged, but held out his hand.

“Ritchie Starkey.” He introduced himself.

Oh… I knew him. I went to school with him when we were younger. He was always sick, we never really hung out or anything. He had only recently gotten out of the hospital with a coma or lung problems or something… He didn’t go to school anymore, some people said it was because he was too dumb to keep up, and that’s why he played drums. But he was apparently working, and he didn’t look too bad. My father introduced himself, but only as Mr. Webb. Ritchie lifted the hood in a cloud of smoke as I heard him erupt in a fit of coughing, though the smoke had cleared for the most part, the car didn’t look much better.

“Do you have any tools Misser. Web?” I tuned out as they discussed what they would need, and I had turned to step back inside, where it was a few degrees warmer, when my father called my name. I turned reluctantly, my toes felt numb with cold; the thin, frilled night gown was doing little to keep me warm.

“Ana, would you grab the toolbox out the back?” I nodded politely, but also silently wished I had put a pair of socks on, and stepped lightly through the door and into the house. I welcomed the warmth for the few seconds it took me to cross to the back. Our back yard was pitifully small, you could hardly call it a yard, and it was littered with tires and old car parts, and fish bones. Stray cats would frequent our lawn to snatch up any scraps they found, so we sometimes found fresh dug holes that’d been covered up by the cat’s who’d heard nature calling.

In the tall weeds, in a tire, I found the rusty toolbox. But the tools were surprisingly nice., my father had spent nearly all of his paycheck recently on them. They seemed so out of place amongst the rust and decay, their silver glinting in the early morning sun. I hurried out front, I would have to get back to breakfast, I really didn’t wanna keep my mother waiting.

Now, I’m not usually such a biff, but my nightgown hooked on the edge of the doorframe, and I lurched forward, skinning my knee on the stony ground, spilling out every last tool onto the street. I cursed under my breath and frantically picked them up, noticing the chips in a few of them, and trying to ignore my father’s censored screams. I was blushing, and blinking furiously to keep tears from my eyes, so I hadn’t noticed that Ritchie was helping me pick them up. I only noticed when I heard him gently set them down in the tin box. Quickly swiping the lone tear that had slipped down my cheek, I tipped the remaining tools in. He helped me up, offering his hand, holding the box in the other. I thanked him quietly, taking the tool box when he offered it back to me. I didn’t understand why my heart was hammering so loudly, I didn’t usually mind so much when my father yelled.

With my eyes downcast, I handed him the tools, and he snatched them from my grasp. I brushed past Ritchie on my way back in, hugging myself lightly for some warmth. I stepped inside, grateful to be out of my father’s sight, and to distract myself with chores, which was a strange thought.

I had forgotten about my knee, which was dirty, and blood ran halfway down my leg. When I reached the bathroom, I glanced out the window to See Ritchie still working on the car, my father peering over the edge for a look.

I ran the water for a moment, attempting to get it warm. I cleaned the cut quickly, and wrapped a bandage around it. Not much, because it wasn’t so severe. I slipped my nightgown off and dressed in clothes that were almost too worn for wear, but it was still my favorite outfit, and the color had not faded entirely from it, and the skirt wasn’t too short. I left my hair as it was; I couldn’t do much with it anyway, but it was still matted slightly with tangles from sleep.

There wasn’t any school today, even though it was Monday. Bank holiday or something.

My father came in; wiping his black hands on a black towel, one I could swear had once been yellow. He looked at me carefully, and then reached into his pocket, grabbing a few coins and paper notes. He pressed them into my palm and explained to me what I needed to buy. It was a car part, luckily a cheap one. But he needed it, and he had a friend who worked with cars and might just have a spare one lying around. Father made a lot of friends like this, assets in a way. He would’ve just given the money to Ritchie, but he wasn’t sure if he could trust him, and with good reason I suppose. The neighbourhood here isn’t exactly known for trustworthy people. And he couldn’t go, mostly because he had other things he might as well get done while he was delayed.

I didn’t own a coat or jacket, at least not one that wasn’t too small. I had been promised a newer one next time my father got paid, but my hopes weren’t high. I only slipped on a pair of shoes and the money in a fold in my skirt. I closed the door quietly behind me, not wanting to anger him much more than he already was.  He was testy that way, the little things bugged him.

Ritchie looked up from the car and smiled at me, just a friendly hello smile you’d give to anyone, really. But it still made my heart flutter slightly as I smiled back weakly. I had goose bumps on my arms from cold, but I managed not to let my teeth chatter, or to hug myself for warmth.

 “Your father said you’d know the way,” He said kindly, closing the hood to the car. I nodded, and awkwardly said ‘this way’ as I stepped outside the gate. He tried his hand at making conversation, but I don’t think I held my end up too well. “So, why aren’t you in school today?”

“I could ask you the same question.” I said with a small smile, and also worried he might take it as an insult. He laughed quietly, and I was relieved, but seemed reluctant to answer his own question, so I didn’t push it. We walked in an awkward silence for a few more moments.

“You cold?” He asked suddenly. He took off his black coat, thin though it was and faded at the elbows, and offered it to me. He had long sleeves underneath, while mine cut off right below my shoulders. I wished I could stop blushing so much that morning, but I think he blushed  a bit too as I accepted it from him. I knew how much of a cliché it was, but it was still a kind gesture, and even when the wind blew, he didn’t shiver. I pulled it on and noticed it was still warm from his touch, and it gave me a different kind of goose bumps.

After some moments of silence I could feel his eyes on me, and he spoke tentatively. “Your father usually yell at you like that?” He asked, and he seemed almost sympathetic about it all. “I know ya didn’ mean ta trip like that...” I twisted my fingers together tightly, and again I had to wonder why his every word made me shiver.

“He was pretty frosted this morning… But he only yells when I mess up. But it seems to be happenin’ a lot lately.” I wasn’t sure I felt comfortable telling him all this, but he didn’t judge, and I was grateful for that.

“You got a lot else to do today?” He asked, apparently sensing I longed for a change in subject.

“I’ll have to go get some groceries a bit later.” I said turning to look at him; I knew some part of me hoped it was more than a question he had asked just for conversation. “Why?” I ventured. The clouds in the sky darkened and a chill wind blew, turning my nose red in the cold.

“I actually have ta go pick up a few things in the shop next door...” He replied, not entirely answering my question and scuffing his feet along the ground. “Don’ s’pose you’ll mind if I join ya?” He smiled and it made my heart flutter again, but I wanted to stay cool in front of him, so I only shrugged and nodded, but he didn’t seem deterred by my seemingly-less-than-enthusiastic reception. 

When we got to Mr. Shaw’s house (the man who sold spare car parts), I handed Ritchie the money, feeling the warmth of his hand for a moment. The exchange took less than a minute and we were headed home, this time with less money and Ritchie holding a piece of metal in his hands.

“You mind staying for a cuppa?” I asked him impulsively after we’d walked for awhile in silence. It was only an excuse to keep him around for a bit longer, my dad was bound to be off soon as the car was fixed, that old piece of metal was older than he was.  And since he wasn’t getting paid, why not?

“Yeah, I could probably hang around for a while.” He said smiling brightly and handing the few shillings I had left, back.

 Right before we reached my house, I slipped off his coat and reluctantly handed it back. He handed my father the car part as we said goodbye to each other and I fancied I saw a flicker of regret as I walked inside, but knowing I was able to see him soon left a permanent smile on my face.

 I was still thinking about Ritchie as I wandered into the kitchen for something to drink, when I spotted the abandoned toast on the counter. Silently cursing myself I quickly made some more, and decided I would eat the cold and crumbly toast. I carried the warmer slices to my mother on a tarnished silver plate; she smiled weakly at me as I entered the room, propping herself up against the pillows and closing the book she held in her lap.

I was a lot like my mother in some ways. She loved reading, and she was the one who helped feed my love of books. She had an entire shelf, crammed with old books she'd collected over the years, and I found myself completely enthralled in the words set on the pages. She used to read to me when I was little, and if there was anything she enjoyed more than books, it was music. She kept an old radio on the nightstand next to her bed, and she listened to it frequently. She always said it made her feel better, if only for a little while.

She set the book aside as I set the tray in her lap.

"What's your father out there shoutin' about?" Her voice cracked painfully from disuse, but it grew stronger as she continued to talk.

"The cars broken down a bit. But there's a neighbourhood boy helpin' him, his name's Ritchie." I smoothed the blankets at the foot of the bed and sat down.

She sighed and picked at her toast. I could tell there was something bothering her, but I wasn't sure she wanted to talk about it, so I didn't say anything. She pulled the tea to her lips with a shaky hand, the contents of the cup threatening to spill out.

We sat there for awhile, not talking. It was okay like that, talking confused things. She had almost finished her breakfast, or eaten her fill anyway, when I heard the engine sputter out front and the sound gradually faded. There was a knock at the door and my mother looked at me curiously. People didn't usually visit.

"You know who that might be?" She asked, finishing the last of her tea.

I could feel my cheeks burning and and looked away as casually as I could as I answered a little breathlessly, "Probably Ritchie... I invited him for a cuppa, since he wasn't getting paid..." I was embarrassed and didn't even know why.

My mother smiled at me, apparently she knew and wasn't gonna share, I saw a spark of the playfulness and beauty that was once hers return. I didn't know why, but that smile made me fidget uncomfortably. I picked up the tray and left her room, closing the door on my way out. I quickly put the tray in the sink and rushed to the door, worried I had delayed answering too long and he had gone.

When I opened it, it was of course Ritchie standing on the door step. He rubbed his hands together for warmth as he blew in.

I started the tea, and we chatted lightly while we waited on the water to boil, careful to keep quiet because I'd told him my mother was asleep.

When we finished our tea, he thanked me for it and offered to help me to clean the dishes. I remembered our earlier agreement for him to join me on my venture to the store, and grabbed my small purse. I placed the few shillings and pounds in it my Father had left on the counter, I wouldn’t be able to get much, and I was slightly embarrassed by the pitiful amount and shoved it in my purse before he could see it.

Once outside, things seemed a bit warmer- though the thermometer didn't say so. I felt a pressure on my shoulders and glanced behind me.

“I think I can deal with the cold for now.” He said with another smile, which warmed me far more than the coat had.