I tapped my brakes softly, bringing my car to a gentle stop on the dusty Morayfield road. I peered out of the windshield up at the sun-bleached sign, trying desperately to read a landmark, get some idea where I was or where I was going.
I sighed and turned the engine off, the glare from the glass not letting me read anything. Swinging my body out, reluctantly into the heat, I quickly shut the door behind me and trudged up to the sign.
‘Morayfield…’ I murmured to myself, trying to decipher the lettering like I was some sort of archaeologist. ‘Morayfield… where the heck am I?’
I balled my fists up, frustrated, resisting the urge to have a full-on tantrum. Being alone doesn’t give you an excuse to abandon civility, my father’s voice sprang unbidden into my head.
‘Why can’t you give me anything useful?’ I grumbled at him. ‘Like directions to a mechanic near Morayfield? Car servicing tips? Hell, a decent inheritance would have been nice.’
Abandoning the sign, I walked back towards the car, dropping dejectedly into the driver’s seat. At least I’d have the aircon back on, I placated myself, twisting the key in the ignition. The car revved at my touch… and revved some more… but the engine never turned over.
‘What the…’ I frowned. ‘Why are you doing that?’
I tried again, giving it another turn of the key. The car stubbornly refused to start.
‘Now I have to figure out where to get a log book servicing as well,’ I huffed. ‘Thanks for nothing, Dad! Oh, come on,’ I pleaded, trying again, then just threw the key onto the passenger seat, frustrated beyond belief.
Something rubbed up against the back of my mind, and I turned towards the memory instinctively. My dad and me, bent over the front of an old sedan as he showed me how to check the oil myself, explained how the battery connection worked. The first time he helped me change a tyre.
‘Fine,’ I sighed. ‘Thanks for something.’