The noise in the engine had gotten louder. It pattered, shrill and rhythmic, beneath the hood, and Sam wondered if something metal—perhaps something important—had broken loose and was thrashing around. It grew faster at higher speeds, and now that they were on a straighter patch of road, the sound was becoming impossible to ignore.
Dettie had snapped the radio back on to drown it out, and skipping quickly over any news reports or talkback programs, she settled the dial on a station that boasted it played only ‘oldies’. At first syrupy love songs engulfed the car, overwrought duets that swelled with violins, and Sam could hear Dettie humming along under her breath. But when the lyrics to ‘Yellow Submarine’ began, Jon’s eyes lit up, and he stretched forward, tapping the side of Dettie’s seat.
‘Oh, louder, love,’ he said. ‘Louder. Please.’
Surprised, Dettie chuckled a little, turning the music up, and by the time the sound of the waves had begun, Jon was singing loudly, swinging his fist through the air as though leading a sea shanty. His excitement was infectious as he leant over to sing close to everyone’s ears, and soon Dettie was warbling along too. By the second chorus, even Katie had started, bopping her head and murmuring the tune when she didn’t know the words.
Sam, of course, could not sing. And as he sat and listened, realising that for once he hadn’t even bothered to try, an odd emptiness flooded through him. Suddenly, the crowd noise and the brass band behind the melody seemed creepy, almost ghostly, as he stared out at the empty roadside. He could feel the music wash over him, rhythmic and clanging, smothering: Katie’s flinty tones; the deep voice, rumbling and low, that Jon was putting on to make them laugh; and Dettie’s old-lady opera voice, trembling every time she held a note. There was a peculiar otherworldliness to the sound of it all. He couldn’t add anything to the cacophony, but felt it stirring the atmosphere of the car, quivering on his skin. It was as though he were a drum, his sunburnt flesh pulled tight and the submarine noises, the distant clanks and groans of the ship, amplified by the hollow in his chest.
In the front seat Katie was rocking in place and smiling, and as Sam watched his sister and Dettie laughing together, he remembered—from what felt like months ago now—their strange dance in the kitchen when they prepared the apple pie for their mother’s dinner party. He could still picture the way they had swept through each other’s arms, powdered with flour and swapping spoons. For a moment they seemed to be back there again too, giggling at each other, sliding in and out of harmony.
The song faded away, to be replaced by a crooning boy group, and as Dettie lowered the volume, despite Katie’s protests, she muttered something about smut. Slumping back in her seat, her arms crossed, Katie’s smile drained away. But her body wasn’t twisted as far away from her aunt as it had been before. In the sudden quiet, beneath the persistent hum of the air vents, the motor’s clatter persisted.
‘You know—if you want, love,’ Jon inched forward again, gesturing through the windshield, ‘I can take a look at that noise for you.’
‘It’s fine,’ Dettie said. ‘It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with.’
He raised his hands. ‘Righto. But my old man was a mechanic,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t make me one, of course, but I helped out with plenty of repairs in his shop growing up. If you were interested.’
Dettie was silent, shaking her head, but as the sound droned on, Sam could see she was thinking it over.