From Rover to Regal

Monday 15 December 2008

The day dawned cloudy and grey but I would not be dismayed. After an early and thorough shower I dressed in well-worn jeans, my navy-blue sweater, and my dark-brown maryjanes with the heels that are like 1-1/2" and the plain wide belt that matches them (sort of). And I wore my new (for my birthday) patchwork leather jacket with its hood and white (faux) fur trim. Roger arrived to drive us to school. This was arranged, for if I were to drive myself we would have the problem of Daddy getting to school to meet me. I was adamant about going directly from school.

At school I was very anxious all day. I say 'anxious'-- I do not say 'nervous'. It was the excited flutter of a child looking forward to seeing Father Christmas-- um, Santa Claus again, sorry. (I have not seen him as 'Santa Claus' in two years, but it is definitely something I will have to do later this week... of course.) After English I deposited everything in my locker (what care I for homework when there is driving to be done?) got my jacket, and skipped out to the kerb. There was the queue of buses, but no Daddy. Rita and Jessy (those two a pretty steady pair by now) came out, waved to Roger as he pulled in, and then said good-bye to me. I stamped my foot, frustrated. Jessy stopped halfway to the open door. 'What's wrong?' she asked me.

I made a pout. 'Daddy's not here yet,' I said.

'Yes he is.'

I whirled round, seeing the now-familiar blue-and-white Buick coming in from the road. 'Yay,' I said, honestly still doing the little-kid thing.

Daddy pulled up behind the dark-green Cadillac and got out. 'Sorry,' he said over the bonnet. 'I had to get gas.'

I nodded, smiling happily. Jessy and Daddy said good-bye and stepped off the kerb and went round to the offside-- um, driver's side. Then Daddy opened the other door and got in. 'All set?' he asked.

I nodded. 'Ready when you are.'

He nodded too and then laid a hand on my leg, like he often does, like to give comfort. At once he bent his fingers and pinched me-- or, actually, could not. 'What's this, paint?' he teased. 'I thought it was pants.'

I blushed. 'It's just jeans, Daddy!'

'Hmmm.'

I have mentioned before somewhere that my daddy collects cars. His collection is by no means ostentatious nor even very extensive, consisting merely of half a dozen older Buicks, the Jensen-Healey, and an unfinished restoration project of a Camaro convertible. Being sentimental he acquired copies of the first two cars he ever drove, a powder-blue 1968 Riviera and a navy-blue 1965 Wildcat convertible. Both the Wildcat and the 1961 Invicta are fitted with manual gearchange. One came from the factory specially-ordered like that and one Daddy had installed (I forget which). When Mother was our nanny he provided her with a silver-blue 1962 Skylark for commuting to and from university. That is the car I secretly suspected he would endow me with-- but that was not to be.

The car I have been learning on is a 1985 Regal T-Type coupe, all beautifully restored in a soft medium blue with a white hood (okay, roof) and white seats on a black carpet. It has alloy wheels and the 4.3-litre v-6 engine which Daddy says is one of his favourites (like the one in Mother's Skylark till he changed it back to the original v-8) and-- yes-- a 5-speed manual gearbox also was custom-fitted and the car is probably one-of-a-kind.

I have to apologise since all my terminology about the car is so British. It's only been since we've had Mother (meaning our stepmother, who's from Australia) and since we went to England that I began to get even remotely interested in cars and driving. At HOH we had a part-time class in driving and it was all 'propshaft' and 'dampers' and 'silencer' and 'bonnet' and 'windscreen' and I just learned it the way it was taught. Daddy gave me a few lessons in the car park when we were in Norwich, with the grey-green Rover we had there. Now I know some people find switching over from right to left to be a problem, especially when the shift patterns are different. The Rover in England had first gear up by your passenger's knee, Daddy's Jensen-Healey has it next to your own knee, since it's on your right hand, and the T-Type has it back by your hip. But I just look at the top of the gear lever, which usually has a diagram of the pattern, and I do not find it a problem at all to find the co-ordination, whichever hand I have to use.

I will say here that Jessy, who is over a year younger than me, has never driven on either the right or the left-- all she has ever driven has been the garden tractor, motor-scooters, and the junior Formula cars and karts she raced in England, and none of them are specific to any particular side.

Daddy has been the ideal driving teacher, more of a coach than a police officer about it. I cannot say I have not made mistakes and some of them have been almost dangerous and definitely illegal. That is in the nature of learning to drive. What I cherish so much about Daddy is that he is by nature very sweet-hearted and forgiving. He does not expect me to be perfect, at anything, really, and so treats me not with exacting standards but as a pretty decent person doing a pretty decent job. To please him I have done my level best, and I have to say I have learned it all pretty well.

We drove up to the DMV agency in Onancock and Daddy came in with me when I presented my paperwork. They assigned me an examiner and told me where to wait with the car. Daddy came with me (I would have insisted even if they had let me, as a student, drive the car round the building alone, because I was not feeling pretty nervous) till the DMV examiner came. The examiner was about 35, tall, exceedingly slender, with jet-black hair and steel-grey eyes, wearing silver metal-framed glasses and an official-looking black wool overcoat. He seemed like the coldest, severest examiner in the world and my heart rose to my throat. He got in to the car beside me and looked at the clipboard. 'You are... Janine?'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Nice car,' he said, looking round inside it. 'What year?'

I looked at him, trying not to appear terrified, although I really think I could not have looked too flirtatious either. Some girls try that, you know. ' 'Eighty-five,' I said.

He nodded. 'Very good.' Then he noticed. 'It's a stick.'

I nodded. 'Yes, Sir.'

'Why the Delaware plates?' he asked.

'Oh,' I said, not having expected that. 'My daddy collects cars, and that's where they're kept. He just let me learn on this one.'

The guy nodded. 'Very good.' Then he looked at me and smiled. 'Well, shall we go, then? Buckled up?'

I was. He wasn't, and got his belt on. He directed me to pull out and I signalled for it, and we proceeded with the driving course. I was not nervous. I was very smooth with all the changes and especially with the brakes. Daddy had taught me what his father had once taught him and called 'the chauffeur stop'. No matter how hard you have to brake, just before the car comes to a full stop, you lift the pedal and then bring it to a stop from that very low speed. Your passengers will not snap backwards from the sharp stop. I have practised it and can do it almost without notice. Exactly once the examiner indicated one of the turns too late-- it's said they do this on purpose-- and I had to brake hard and come to a full stop which I did to, well, perfection-- if I have to be the one to say it.

'Very good,' the examiner said, and then he was all too willing to overlook my slight awkwardness with the clutch during my k-turn. (No, I did NOT stall it. Not once.) In parallel parking I just remembered what I had been taught, to line myself up with the driver's seat in the other car, turn when my shoulder passes the other car's corner, and then turn back when my front corner will pass clear. I got it to within a foot or so of the kerb on the first try.

'Where did you get your lessons?' the examiner said. 'Nandua--?'

I shrugged. 'No, not at school, Sir. Just... my dad.'

'This is your first try?'

I nodded, looking at him as he looked at me again.

'Very good,' he said. 'Now, out here, and up to the corner.'

I nodded. 'Yes, Sir.'

Fifteen minutes later I had a plastic card in my hand with my photo on it and the words 'Commonwealth of Virginia' across the top. The examiner saw me as we stepped out of the building. 'Good luck,' he said, smiling at me. He didn't look so severe now. 'Be careful, now.'

'Yes, Sir. Thank you.'

'Thank you,' he said, and Daddy and I got into the T-Type then.

On the ride back Daddy asked me all about how my exam had gone, what I had to do, how I did, what the guy said. Finally I got up my nerve and said, 'So, Daddy....'

'Yes?' he asked warily-- as well he might have.

'I was wondering.... Well, Jessy and I, and some of the girls, want to finish our Christmas shopping, and I was going to ask....'

'Here if comes,' he said.

'... if would be all right if we could... go down to the mall. In VB. You know....'

'Wait-- tonight?'

'No,' I said quickly. 'Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow... after school.'

He made a wry smile at me. 'I am assuming you'll want to drive this car to school tomorrow.'

I blushed. 'Well....'

'Drive to school tomorrow, but let Roger drive you down to VB. I would worry about you coming home over that bridge in the dark. And this road can be dangerous. The people here drive like they're asleep half the time.' Then he thought a moment. 'I'd feel better about it if you were able to come home in daylight, you know.'

I nodded, hiding a smile. 'Yes, Daddy. It's all right.' That's my daddy.

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