the_gene_genie | OOM: Driving Lessons

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OOM: Driving Lessons

Gene holds the door open for her with a small smile. The view outside is of a street, red brick houses and a car parked on the corner. There's a high-rise behind the houses; it's all typically 70s. If Kate looks back behind them when the door's closed, she'll see a regular looking pub with a sign hanging near the door, declaring it to be The Railway Arms.

She'll also see Gene standing stock still, glaring at her like she's standing right in his way. Which she is, as far as he's concerned. She might also note that there is not a single spark of recognition on his face.

'You gonna shift yer arse, luv, or am I goin' to 'ave t'do it for ya?'

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She rolls her eyes long-sufferingly, and brushes past him. She'd really like to know what he means by not having her drive like a girl, since that's what she is, but leaves it alone. Knowing Gene, she probably doesn't want to know.

She swings herself down into the drivers seat, taking care to keep her knees together. Maybe wearing a dress wasn't such a great idea.

"Not sure how I feel, bein' on this side of the teaching experience," she mumbles offhandedly, searching for a seatbelt where they'd be in modern vehicles -- beside the seat, behind the door.

'Don' touch that!' he snaps immediately.

'I am the DCI of this district an' if anyone sees me with someone wearin' a seatbelt, I'll never 'ear the end of it. Anyway, wha' are you? A vicar?'

Gene hates seatbelts. They're poncey.

'OK.'

Another deep breath and he points.

'Tha's the handbrake. Don' take it off until you wan' t'move. Them three pedals - left one's the clutch, middle one's the brake, right one's the accelerator. With me so far?'

Of course, he has no idea that she has rarely sat in a car before. He assumes that she probably knows these things already but he's being cautious. This Cortina really is his baby.

Kate raises her hands, palms out, and lets him rant. His car, his territory. He told her he'd get her back for laughing during his horseback riding lessons, but the real irony is this is just the way he is, memories of the event or no.

Small smirk on her face, she follows where he indicates with her eyes. Brake, clutch, brake again, and the accelerator. Well, the last one is easy enough to figure out.

"There are two brakes?"

She braces herself for his reply.

The first pedal's not a brake. It's the clutch. It doesn't occur to him that she might know it as something else though, so this is going to get interesting.

'Yeah. Handbrake an' footbrake.'

He points again to make sure she knows - the lever between the seats? Handbrake. Pedal on the right, footbrake. He wants her to be really clear on how to stop, preferably without driving his car into some rubble.

'An' that there is the gearstick. You always start in first. So...' He pulls the lever into neutral. Not everyone leaves a car in gear when they stop, though he does.

'...when you can wiggle the gearstick like this,' he demonstrates, 'it's in neutral. Press the clutch down, push the stick to the left an' up, you're in first. Try it now before you start.'

He may actually have gone slightly pale. This is more nervewracking than facing down a gang of twats with shotguns.

(And yes, he's always like this. He's just naturally bolshy. We apologise.)

She's not exactly clear on why there are two brakes, or what exactly the clutch is, or what he means by 'first'...

Yeah, interesting.

But she pays attention, and does her best to follow instructions. She steps on the clutch, pressing it to the floor, and then moves the stick until she feels it click-click into first.

'OK then. When the car's runnin', you release the clutch pedal once you're in gear, until you 'ave to change it again.

This is hard. He's never had to teach someone to drive before and he's been doing it so long himself he can hardly remember what it was like to be clueless.

'Alright take 'er out of gear - do what you just did, only backwards. An' then...start 'er up.'

He'll go so far as to pray, if that'll keep his baby in one piece. Not out loud. But yeah, he's obviously nervous.

She nods, reversing the steps he'd just walked her through until the car is back in neutral again.

Nervous? Why are you nervous, Gene?

"An' I twist this thingymabobber here to start it?"

She means the key.

Which she does, in fact, twist. At least the engine is still hot enough that she doesn't need to pump the gas to keep it from stalling, but having her foot on the clutch would probably be a good idea.

He looks at her like she's a retard. Surely she must know that much.

'Ye...'

She's already started it, so he assumes she was taking the piss.

'Right.'

Breathe.

'Clutch in, put her in first. Leave your foot down. Push the accelerator just a bit. Then bring the clutch up - slowly - and you'll feel a point where it sorta catches. When that 'appens, let the clutch up completely an' press the accelerator a bit more. You'll move forward.'

Beat.

'An' for th' love of God, be gentle.'

He can handle her getting it wrong and stalling. He cannot handle her shooting forward, panicking, not being able to stop and crashing.

That would be bad.

'Oh, an' before you do any of tha', take the handbrake off.'

She's already starting the process of putting the car in gear when he remembers the handbrake. She stops abruptly.

"Slightly more complicated than ridin' a horse," she says once she manages to get the handbrake off, glancing up to give Gene a Look. "And I can do gentle."

Unlike someone, who shot off like a bat out of hell his first time on a horse because he kicked too hard.

Of course, this whole progression of thought comes just before she gets the car in gear, sets her foot on the gas, and is completely taken by surprise when the engine roars to life.

The car jerks, and then stalls.

Shit.

'Wha' is it wi' you an' horses? Anyone'd think you'd never seen a motor before.'

His hand goes to the dashboard as soon as she starts to hit the accelerator, his knuckles go white when she stalls and the car gets a pat of apology.

'S'alright, no problem.'

Of course, he should tell her that the handbrake should stay on until after she's found the point of contact with the pedals but he never leaves it on - unless he's on a hill - so he's not going to complicate things just yet.

'Try it again.'

"I've seen a motor before. At a world fair."

Assuming he means the piece that makes the car run.

He should just be happy the only other time Kate has seen an automobile was in France, so he doesn't have to deal with any 'poncey Yank questions' about why the steering wheel is on the wrong side of the vehicle.

"So, I didn' ... break it?"

Thank god. It certainly felt like she might have.

Starting the car back up, she tries again. This time, she just feathers the gas, waiting for that 'catch' Gene had mentioned. When she thinks she feels it, she lets off the clutch and gasps in shock when the car starts moving.

Hands grip the steering wheel like she's holding on to two pails of cement.

"Now what?!"

He lets out a breath - they're moving all of one mile an hour - and stares out of the window, making sure they're not about to run out of space.

Of course, at this speed it'd take ten minutes to get to the edge of the waste ground but you can't be too careful.

'Now go faster. Jus' a bit. You'll hear the engine complainin' because you're still in first gear. I jus' wan' you to hear what tha' sounds like so you know not t'do it again.'

He does not let himself think of potential damage to the gearbox, no matter how short a time she spends making it squeal.

'So just press the ol' 'go faster' pedal a little bit an' then back off. Then we'll change up to second.'

"Um. Okay."

Kate takes her eyes off of the expanse before them long enough to glance at her feet. The engine hums and then groans, making her wince before she backs off again.

She went maybe twenty miles an hour, but it felt more like one hundred.

"S'that right?"

'Yep right fine, enough of that.'

Painful.

'So now you know tha' if the engine sounds like that? You change gear. An' keep your bloody eyes facin' forward, woman. You know where your feet are, you don' need t'check.'

He's eyeing the space left. They've got enough.

'OK. Second gear. You take your foot off the accelerator an' put the clutch down at the same time. Pull the gearstick straigh' back. Then do wha' you did the first time - clutch up, accelerator down. Get 'em to meet in th' middle, same as you did before.'

Gears are easy once you get the hang of them. He's starting to wonder if steering will end up being an issue. This is a heavy old car and power steering won't be invented for almost thirty years. She's very small.

...he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it. He's trying not to think about the simple act of braking, at the moment, though it's going to be an issue soon enough.

Edited 2010-09-28 01:59 (UTC)

Kate keeps her eyes forward. But she's concentrating so hard on what Gene is saying that she's barely seeing anything.

She starts to slow down before she's ready to put the clutch down, and when she finally does catch up and try to run through the motions of switching gears, there's another groan. The car bucks.

And then stalls.

But this time inertia is working to keep it moving forward.

"...Gene?"

He swears and grips the dashboard when the car bucks, but he's not too worried about the movement as they're not going fast. If she does that at high speed, that's when he'll stress. And...not let her drive again. His car, at least.

'S'alrigh', no panic. Jus' put the clutch down, all the way, an' touch the brake. The middle pedal.'

She steps down on the brake a little hard. But, at least the car is, in fact, stopped.

"I'm gonna need a drink after this."

'You're gonna need a drink?!'

Yeah. Him too.

'OK.'

He takes a deep breath and readies himself again.

'Handbrake on. Put 'er in neutral. Start the engine. First gear. Handbrake off. Go.'

"I'm the one drivin'! This ain't exactly as easy as you made it sound."

The seats may be more comfortable, but give her a good old reliable horse any day of the week.

Okay. She follows the steps again, lips moving in quiet recitation. It takes the car stalling a few more times before she gets back to the point of trying second gear, but she is a determined little spitfire.

"Accelerator up, clutch down, straight back..."

She pulls the gearstick back into second, trying to ignore the brief grinding noise.

"...clutch up, accelerator down..."

And they're traveling in second.

'It is easy,' he insists, but then shuts up because she's clearly concentrating and he doesn't want to break that while she's at the wheel of his beloved. He manages to bite back every comment that springs to mind when she stalls - every time she stalls - though there are a few noticable winces that he can't quite suppress.

When she successfully hits second though, he grins openly.

'There ya go. You're drivin'.'

...

...

...yeah, they're running out of space.

'OK, now turn us round. You'll 'ave t'put your back into it, this baby weren't built for lasses. Nice wide turn to the left, point us th' other way and we'll get you in third.'

He tells her to put her back into it, and so she does. Arms that have spent the last two years (and most of her childhood) hauling hay bales, mucking stalls, breaking horses, and working farmland, pull hard to the left. The result isn't a nice, wide turn at 30 miles an hour, but something much tighter.

Tires slide in the dirt without pavement or asphalt to give them that nice, high-pitched squeal. But they are turned around, and so (heart racing) Kate calls this a win.

"Whoopsie-daisy."

'...an' I thought we were gonna leave th' tricks until next time.'

That'll be Gene going straight for his hipflask.

'I swear t'God woman, if you break this car...'

OK, breathe.

And again.

'...go for third. Everythin' the same as last time, only when the gearstick's in neutral, just push it straight forward.'

Edited 2010-10-02 21:13 (UTC)

"Jus' followin' instructions," she sing-songs. "Wasn't straight forward 'first'?"

'No. First was to th' side an' up. Second was straight back.'

Now he's worried that she's the type to forget everything they're told and he'll have to repeat everything twenty times.

'An' I didn't tell you to pull the wheel around like you're steerin' a galleon. I know women aren' renowned for their common sense bu' make an effort, eh?'

She glances over her shoulder and fixes him with an icy look.

"I'll do my best, Mr. Hunt."

Eyes straight ahead, she shifts the car into third.

(This time, she doesn't look quite as contrite when the gears grind.)

"Maybe y'should look into teaching. You'd be great with children."

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