How did I get here?

How did I get here?

I’m standing in the forecourt of Liffey Valley Nissan showrooms with car keys in my hand for a car they doesn’t belong to me. I’m looking at the keys in bewilderment, turning them over and over, feeling them getting hot in my palm. What am I doing here I wonder?

Half an hour ago I was having coffee with Yvonne, catching up before she goes on holiday and reminiscing about her mum who died recently. Coffee was inevitably emotional; there were tears and sadness; pride and gratitude; memories cherished and quirky mannerisms remembered with love. I’m short, all those things we need so much to do when we lose someone and want to hold on to every bit of them. (Without wanting to sound brutal, I do obviously mean dead. A person can be well gone but very much alive, and then the job is to convince yourself not to hold onto anything and to find a way to shake his sticky presence off your fingers. But that’s another story).

We said good bye earlier than planned, Yvonne packing me off home because I’m pale and washed out beneath the fading tan. On my third course of anti biotics since getting back from the Camino, I’m feeling nauseous and giddy.  My hands are trembling, I’ve a terrible headache and my legs feel weak and wobbly.

And given this set of circumstances, you will understand why, on leaving Yvonne, I decided that the absolutely best thing, actually the totally right thing, indeed the ONLY possible thing to do now is to go and buy a car.

And so here I am, on the Nissan forecourt with a set of keys in my hand, wondering what I’m supposed to do next.

Having abandoned my old jalopy on the roadside, I strolled through the forecourt, checking out the car makes, models, mileage, cc and horse power (did you know they aren’t the same thing?), and undertaking a thorough inspection of all potential purchases. All of which to the casual observer might well have looked as if I was only looking at the colours of the cars, but I can assure you, it was a much more scientific process than that.

I confidently stepped inside the building and summoned over a sales guy, fully looking like someone who knew what she was doing. I could see him taking me in and realising I was going to drive a hard bargain. I’m sure I saw him take a deep breath and raise himself to full height as he walked over to greet me. Two minutes later, he’s taken my car keys to inspect my heap, and given me the keys so that I can ‘go and inspect’ the object of my desires. (Vehicularly speaking of course).

I’m still fumbling with the keys, trying to work out what to do with them.  I know I need to do something, I can’t stand here all day. He’ll be back in a minute and then he’ll know I haven’t a clue what I’m doing and he’ll sell me a pile of shite, and I will spend a fortune trying to fix the multiple problems and one day I will take a chance because I’m broke or lazy or too busy, and we will be on the motorway when the wheel falls off or the brakes fail or…. I’m not sure what else can go wrong but I bet there are loads of possibilities.

This is ridiculous, get on with it!

I hold the keys up and tentatively press the button, half expecting an explosion or something loud and dangerous to happen. Instead, the lights flicker and I hear the doors unlock. It works! Oh my god, this really is meant to be my car!   I open the drivers’ door, ease into the seat, and with my knees gently knocking, turn on the ignition. Lovely. Just a nice comforting engine kind of sound. I sit back feeling proud and comfortable but know that my inspection should really consist of more than this. I quickly look around, hoping for inspiration. I check the radio. Yes that works. It’s even got Spin FM tuned in. Ella will like that. She might even talk to me for a while. I check the mirrors. Yes, one on my side and oh, heaven, the passenger one has a light over the mirror! So great for doing my make up! I know I generally do it at the traffic lights but it’s excellent news that I can do it in good light if needed. Good news indeed.

I’ve run out of things to check. I suppose I could look at the engine? You know, check there is one? I don’t know how to pop the bonnet and to be perfectly honest, I feel like a total idiot sitting here pretending I know something about cars, or even just this car, when I so clearly haven’t a clue.  So I just get out of the car graciously, click the fob to lock it, as if I’ve been doing this all my life, and casually stroll to where the sales guy is locking my pile of shite.

Within twenty minutes, the deposit is paid and four days later I am driving out of there in the first car I have bought without male supervision. I feel so proud of myself, so chuffed with my 2012 reg Quasqai, and very much like a grown up!  And  by the way, it’s blue!