“I thought you said there were three cars here?”
Dad likes the Peugeot 304 because he knows several people who’ve recommended them and I like the Corolla because it’s a coupe and it’s quite cool, but it has done a lot of mileage. The third car is a red Datsun 120Y, according to my list. Standing on tiptoe, I can see the back of it – or I think that must be it – over there behind the Peugeot 404 station wagon. It’s very appealing from this angle and it looks lonely, although I’m sure that’s not a good reason for buying a second-hand car.
“Over there?” I say, and we head towards it. A salesman emerges from the office and follows us. On closer inspection, there’s no price ticket on its windscreen. I cup my hands about my face and peer in through the driver’s window at smart grey and red upholstery, black floor mats and protective black carpetting on the rear window shelf and the top of the dashboard.
“How many kilometres on this one? And, I guess, how much?”
“This one? Sixty thousand kays,” says the salesman. “You’ve beaten me to even preparing a price ticket. It only came in on Wednesday and the guys are going to service it today. Lady owner’s husband has imported a new car for her from South Africa. How did you guess it was for sale?”
I could say, well my boss knows your boss and they’re very good buddies, but I don’t.
Sixty thousand kilometres is well within Dad’s specified range, but I mustn’t get too hopeful.
He doesn’t know the price anyway. “I’ll have to let you know how much when my mechanic’s given it a going over. At a guess I’d say around two eight? But I’ll call you later.”
Dad’s indifferent. As we get back into his car I say, “Two thousand eight hundred will be okay, won’t it? I’ll give you the extra three hundred. I’ve got one I can give you now and the other two over two months.”
“Let’s see what the man comes back with Tessa. Where’s next?”
But I don’t want to see any other cars. I’m already picturing myself in the Datsun, which is silly.