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be.’
    ‘I’ll have to call and tell them I can’t make it for nine,’ Dave grumbled. ‘But you’d better do something about getting that Merc moved. It can’t stay there.’
    ‘Not sure what I can do.’
    ‘Call the police. Report it. Or get onto a garage, I don’t care. Just get it moved.’

    Disgruntled by the encounter, Keith returned to his breakfast. What the hell did Dave expect him to do about some wretched Mercedes? It wasn’t his responsibility. But as he munched cold toast and sipped lukewarm coffee, he had to agree that his neighbour had a point. If Jenny couldn’t get the car in the garage they’d have a problem parking. They paid a fortune to use that garage. By the time he finished his breakfast, he was as outraged as Dave. He went storming round the back to see what was going on. He hoped the Mercedes would have gone, but rounding the corner into the narrow access lane he saw it, gleaming dark green, positioned right across the front of his garage, its boot jutting out past Dave’s garage door.
    ‘Bugger!’
    He felt his heart begin to race.
    ‘Selfish bloody bastard.’

    No one with a scrap of decency or common sense would park like that, blocking access to someone else’s garage. Such stupidity suggested the car had been stolen and abandoned there, in a quiet corner off the main road. Joyriders. Kids, most likely. All the same, Keith hesitated about calling the police straight away. They might want to talk to him and it was already quarter to eight. If he hung around much longer he would be late for work. It was a smart car and there was a chance the owner had been too drunk to drive home and had left it there for the night intending to return for it during the day, in which case the problem would simply go away. He decided to give it a day, and get onto the police if the Mercedes was still there that evening when he returned from work.

    After a difficult day at work, Keith was in no mood for any more aggravation, but the dark green Mercedes was still parked right outside his garage when he arrived home, gleaming in the moonlight. Although he couldn’t have said why, he had an uneasy sensation something was wrong. Frowning, he approached the vehicle for a closer look. He couldn’t see anything through the tinted side windows. Moving to the front he peered through the windscreen. It looked as though a man was sitting slumped in the driver’s seat. Keith ran round and tapped sharply with his knuckles on the driver’s window.
    ‘Oi! Wake up!’

    Stepping back, he noticed a trickle of dark oil had oozed into the road from the bottom of the driver’s door. It appeared to be leaking from behind the door, nowhere near the engine. In the meantime, there was no response from inside the car. Keith must have been mistaken. Frustrated, he went home to have something to eat and think about what to do. As if his day hadn’t been bad enough, he saw a dark smear appear on their new beige hall carpet. He must have trodden in the oil leaking from the Mercedes. Slipping off his shoes he went into the kitchen. Before he did anything else, he opened a beer.

    He almost knocked the bottle over when his mobile rang, startling him. It was Jenny.
    ‘How are you doing?’
    ‘Fine,’ he fibbed.
    It was almost true. He would soon have the oil patch cleaned up, and the owner of the Mercedes was bound to come back for it and drive off before long.
    ‘How about you?’
    Jenny chattered for a few moments about her trip.
    ‘I can’t wait to see you,’ she finished.
    ‘Me too.’
    He gulped down the last of his beer, promising himself another one after he had sorted out the hall carpet. Clutching a wet rag and a bottle of washing up liquid he dropped to his knees and scrubbed wretchedly at the stain, hoping he could clean it up before Jenny saw it. After a moment’s furious exertion, he sat back on his heels and a worried frown spread across his face. The patch had altered as he rubbed at it, turning from