Due to this, we weren’t even surprised when Toothy Archibald became to groan in a cloud of smoke to a stop.
Charlotte, who owned Toothy Archibald, flashed us an apologetic smile full braces as she swung out the driver’s seat, and, in a string of profanities, opened the car’s bonnet.
“Jesus, girl, you’ve really done it this time, haven’t you?” Charlotte groaned as she propped up the lid and stuck her face in a cloud of diesel. “Oi, Angel, bring me some water, would you?”
Although pressed against a back door, I managed to remove the bottle from the handle and lower myself outside.
Away from the sweat of the car, the night bit on my exposed skin. Cicadas sang lazily in the hazy streetlights.
Zipping up my jacket, I passed the bottle to Charlotte and watched as she poured some into the radiator.
Toothy Archibald stayed still. A moment later, the sound of the car door opening once again punctured the silence.
“Damn it’s cold out here.”
Marcel’s gangly figure leaned against the door, blocking my view of the back of the car, where George was complaining that Marcel should close the door to keep the warm air in.
Ignoring them, I passed the bottle over and watched Charlotte water the engine.
I frowned. “Did she overheat?”
“What, in this temperature?!” laughed George’s voice from the car.
Charlotte swore as her head hit the bonnet, righted herself, and slammed it closed.
“I wouldn’t put it past old Archie,” she said. “Well, everyone back in and let’s see if she’s in a good mood.”
Marcel and I piled back in beside George, pushing aside the sleeping Ash.
Charlotte turned the key and the ignition; Toothy Archibald began to splutter loudly. A dog’s barking penetrated the near darkness. Ash startled awake.