‘If one more tram dings that stupid flipping bell at me..’ my mother uncharacteristically growled to herself, the steering wheel creaking under her iron grip.
‘Why don’t you turn into Prahran then?’ my father asked, curtly. ‘Dear,’ he quickly added, as soon as he realised the tone he’d let slip out.
‘I can’t make a turn here!’ she said, gesturing in the general direction of the road.
‘Where?’
‘Here!’
‘South Yarra?’ my dad frowned.
My mother shook her head, swearing under her breath in Italian. We had no idea why she swore in Italian – she didn’t actually speak the language and, as far as I knew, had never even been to Italy.
‘Where is good mechanic to get your car serviced near South Yarra?’ I asked, partly out of curiosity and partly because I recognised the signs that my father was drowning.
‘Oh, anywhere is good,’ my mother waved her hand. ‘There are always good mechanics in the city.’
‘Righttt,’ I nodded, already focusing on my dinner order and tuning out what she was saying.
‘But,’ my dad quickly interjected, ‘there are also great mechanics to service your car around the Prahran area as well!’
He shot me a look that he needed my help, and I quickly echoed his call.
‘Oh, yeah,’ I nodded. ‘I’ve actually heard that from a lot of my friends. Colleagues. Friendly colleagues—friends from work, I guess.’ I frowned, glancing out of the window. ‘But if I have to qualify our friendship like that, are we really friends? Could I count on them to help me move? Would I invite them to my wedding?’
‘Martin, your son is doing it again,’ my mother sighed, as my dad flicked me on the shoulder to bring me back to reality.
‘Whoops, sorry,’ I grinned sheepishly. ‘Anyway, what’s for dinner.’
‘Michael, it’s two-thirty in the afternoon,’ my father frowned.
‘Yeah, but I figure by the time we finally park and drop the car off, we’ll be just about ready for a late-night snack.’